The New Magdalen

With those melancholy words--touchingly, not bitterly spoken--she moved

to pass into the kitchen, when she noticed that the pattering sound of

the rain against the window was audible no more. Dropping the canvas for

the moment, she retraced her steps, and, unfastening the wooden shutter,

looked out.

The moon was rising dimly in the watery sky; the rain had ceased; the

friendly darkness which had hidden the French position from the German

scouts was lessening every moment. In a few hours more (if nothing

happened) the English lady might resume her journey. In a few hours more

the morning would dawn.

Mercy lifted her hand to close the shutter. Before she could fasten it

the report of a rifle-shot reached the cottage from one of the distant

posts. It was followed almost instantly by a second report, nearer and

louder than the first. Mercy paused, with the shutter in her hand, and

listened intently for the next sound.