Had she committed herself to the fraud? Hardly, yet. She had committed
herself to returning to England--nothing more. There was no necessity,
thus far, which forced her to present herself at Mablethorpe House, in
Grace's place. There was still time to reconsider her resolution--still
time to write the account of the accident, as she had proposed, and
to send it with the letter-case to Lady Janet Roy. Suppose she finally
decided on taking this course, what was to become of her when she found
herself in England again? There was no alternative open but to apply
once more to her friend the matron. There was nothing for her to do but
to return to the Refuge!
The Refuge! The matron! What past association with these two was now
presenting itself uninvited, and taking the foremost place in her mind?
Of whom was she now thinking, in that strange place, and at that crisis
in her life? Of the man whose words had found their way to her heart,
whose influence had strengthened and comforted her, in the chapel of
the Refuge. One of the finest passages in his sermon had been especially
devoted by Julian Gray to warning the congregation whom he addressed
against the degrading influences of falsehood and deceit. The terms
in which he had appealed to the miserable women round him--terms of
sympathy and encouragement never addressed to them before--came back to
Mercy Merrick as if she had heard them an hour since. She turned deadly
pale as they now pleaded with her once more. "Oh!" she whispered to
herself, as she thought of what she had proposed and planned, "what have
I done? what have I done?"
She turned from the window with some vague idea in her mind of following
Mr. Holmcroft and calling him back. As she faced the bed again she also
confronted Ignatius Wetzel. He was just stepping forward to speak to
her, with a white handkerchief--the handkerchief which she had lent to
Grace--held up in his hand.
"I have found this in her pocket," he said. "Here is her name written on
it. She must be a countrywoman of yours." He read the letters marked on
the handkerchief with some difficulty. "Her name is--Mercy Merrick."
_His_ lips had said it--not hers! _He_ had given her the name.
"'Mercy Merrick' is an English name?" pursued Ignatius Wetzel, with his
eyes steadily fixed on her. "Is it not so?"
The hold on her mind of the past association with Julian Gray began to
relax. One present and pressing question now possessed itself of the
foremost place in her thoughts. Should she correct the error into which
the German had fallen? The time had come--to speak, and assert her own
identity; or to be silent, and commit herself to the fraud.
Horace Holmcroft entered the room again at the moment when Surgeon
Wetzel's staring eyes were still fastened on her, waiting for her reply.