The New Magdalen

Mercy recalled the conversation that had passed between her ill-fated

companion and herself. Miss Roseberry had spoken of her object in

returning to England. She had mentioned a lady--a connection by

marriage, to whom she was personally a stranger--who was waiting to

receive her. Some one capable of stating how the poor creature had met

with her death ought to write to her only friend. Who was to do it?

There was nobody to do it but the one witness of the catastrophe now

left in the cottage--Mercy herself.

She lifted the cloak from the chair on which she had placed it, and took

from the pocket the leather letter-case which Grace had shown to her.

The only way of discovering the address to write to in England was to

open the case and examine the papers inside. Mercy opened the case--and

stopped, feeling a strange reluctance to carry the investigation any

farther.

A moment's consideration satisfied her that her scruples were misplaced.

If she respected the case as inviolable, the Germans would certainly not

hesitate to examine it, and the Germans would hardly trouble themselves

to write to England. Which were the fittest eyes to inspect the papers

of the deceased lady--the eyes of men and foreigners, or the eyes of her

own countrywoman? Mercy's hesitation left her. She emptied the contents

of the case on the table.

That trifling action decided the whole future course of her life.