One of her hands was pressed over her bosom, the other hung listlessly at her side.
Julian rose from the place that he had occupied.

Horace neither moved nor spoke.

His head was on his breast: the traces of tears on his cheeks owned mutely that she had touched his heart.

Would he forgive her?
Julian passed on, and approached Mercy's chair.
In silence he took the hand which hung at her side.

In silence he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, as her brother might have kissed it.