The New Magdalen

While she was still considering the question she was startled by a knock

at her door. On opening it she admitted Lady Janet's maid, with a morsel

of folded note-paper in her hand.

"From my lady, miss," said the woman, giving her the note. "There is no

answer."

Mercy stopped her as she was about to leave the room. The appearance of

the maid suggested an inquiry to her. She asked if any of the servants

were likely to be going into town that afternoon.

"Yes, miss. One of the grooms is going on horseback, with a message to

her ladyship's coach-maker."

The Refuge was close by the coach-maker's place of business. Under the

circumstances, Mercy was emboldened to make use of the man. It was a

pardonable liberty to employ his services now.

"Will you kindly give the groom that letter for me?" she said. "It will

not take him out of his way. He has only to deliver it--nothing more."

The woman willingly complied with the request. Left once more by

herself, Mercy looked at the little note which had been placed in her

hands.

It was the first time that her benefactress had employed this formal

method of communicating with her when they were both in the house. What

did such a departure from established habits mean? Had she received her

notice of dismissal? Had Lady Janet's quick intelligence found its way

already to a suspicion of the truth? Mercy's nerves were unstrung. She

trembled pitiably as she opened the folded note.

It began without a form of address, and it ended without a signature.

Thus it ran: "I must request you to delay for a little while the explanation which

you have promised me. At my age, painful surprises are very trying

things. I must have time to compose myself, before I can hear what you

have to say. You shall not be kept waiting longer than I can help. In

the meanwhile everything will go on as usual. My nephew Julian, and

Horace Holmcroft, and the lady whom I found in the dining-room, will, by

my desire, remain in the house until I am able to meet them, and to meet

you, again."

There the note ended. To what conclusion did it point?

Had Lady Janet really guessed the truth? or had she only surmised that

her adopted daughter was connected in some discreditable manner with

the mystery of "Mercy Merrick"? The line in which she referred to the

intruder in the dining-room as "the lady" showed very remarkably that

her opinions had undergone a change in that quarter. But was the

phrase enough of itself to justify the inference that she had actually

anticipated the nature of Mercy's confession? It was not easy to decide

that doubt at the moment--and it proved to be equally difficult to

throw any light on it at an aftertime. To the end of her life Lady Janet

resolutely refused to communicate to any one the conclusions which she

might have privately formed, the griefs which she might have secretly

stifled, on that memorable day.