The New Magdalen

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.