The New Magdalen

She started to her feet. Lady Janet's letter was still in the pocket of

her apron--the letter which imperatively commanded her to abstain from

making the very confession that had just passed her lips! It was near

the dinner hour, and the library was the favorite place in which the

mistress of the house and her guests assembled at that time. It was no

matter of doubt; it was an absolute certainty that Lady Janet had only

stopped in the hall on her way into the room.

The alternative for Mercy lay between instantly leaving the library by

the dining-room door--or remaining where she was, at the risk of being

sooner or later compelled to own that she had deliberately disobeyed

her benefactress. Exhausted by what she had already suffered, she stood

trembling and irresolute, incapable of deciding which alternative she

should choose.

Lady Janet's voice, clear and resolute, penetrated into the room. She

was reprimanding the servant who had answered the bell.

"Is it your duty in my house to look after the lamps?"

"Yes, my lady."

"And is it my duty to pay you your wages?"

"If you please, my lady."

"Why do I find the light in the hall dim, and the wick of that lamp

smoking? I have not failed in my duty to You. Don't let me find you

failing again in your duty to Me."

(Never had Lady Janet's voice sounded so sternly in Mercy's ear as it

sounded now. If she spoke with that tone of severity to a servant who

had neglected a lamp, what had her adopted daughter to expect when she

discovered that her entreaties and her commands had been alike set at

defiance?) Having administered her reprimand, Lady Janet had not done with the

servant yet. She had a question to put to him next.

"Where is Miss Roseberry?"

"In the library, my lady."

Mercy returned to the couch. She could stand no longer; she had not even

resolution enough left to lift her eyes to the door.

Lady Janet came in more rapidly than usual. She advanced to the couch,

and tapped Mercy playfully on the cheek with two of her fingers.

"You lazy child! Not dressed for dinner? Oh, fie, fie!"

Her tone was as playfully affectionate as the action which had

accompanied her words. In speechless astonishment Mercy looked up at

her.

Always remarkable for the taste and splendor of her dress, Lady Janet

had on this occasion surpassed herself. There she stood revealed in her

grandest velvet, her richest jewelry, her finest lace--with no one to

entertain at the dinner-table but the ordinary members of the circle at

Mablethorpe House. Noticing this as strange to begin with, Mercy further

observed, for the first time in her experience, that Lady Janet's eyes

avoided meeting hers. The old lady took her place companionably on the

couch; she ridiculed her "lazy child's" plain dress, without an ornament

of any sort on it, with her best grace; she affectionately put her arm

round Mercy's waist, and rearranged with her own hand the disordered

locks of Mercy's hair--but the instant Mercy herself looked at her, Lady

Janet's eyes discovered something supremely interesting in the familiar

objects that surrounded her on the library walls.