The New Magdalen

"You have one thing to remember, ladies," said the surgeon. "Beware

of opening the shutter, for fear of the light being seen through the

window. For the rest, we are free to make ourselves as comfortable here

as we can. Compose yourself, dear madam, and rely on the protection of a

Frenchman who is devoted to you!" He gallantly emphasized his last words

by raising the hand of the English lady to his lips. At the moment when

he kissed it the canvas screen was again drawn aside. A person in

the service of the ambulance appeared, announcing that a bandage had

slipped, and that one of the wounded men was to all appearance bleeding

to death. The surgeon, submitting to destiny with the worst possible

grace, dropped the charming Englishwoman's hand, and returned to his

duties in the kitchen. The two ladies were left together in the room.

"Will you take a chair, madam?" asked the nurse.

"Don't call me 'madam,'" returned the young lady, cordially. "My name is

Grace Roseberry. What is your name?"

The nurse hesitated. "Not a pretty name, like yours," she said, and

hesitated again. "Call me 'Mercy Merrick,'" she added, after a moment's

consideration.

Had she given an assumed name? Was there some unhappy celebrity attached

to her own name? Miss Roseberry did not wait to ask herself these

questions. "How can I thank you," she exclaimed, gratefully, "for your

sisterly kindness to a stranger like me?"

"I have only done my duty," said Mercy Merrick, a little coldly. "Don't

speak of it."

"I must speak of it. What a situation you found me in when the French

soldiers had driven the Germans away! My traveling-carriage stopped; the

horses seized; I myself in a strange country at nightfall, robbed of my

money and my luggage, and drenched to the skin by the pouring rain! I am

indebted to you for shelter in this place--I am wearing your clothes--I

should have died of the fright and the exposure but for you. What return

can I make for such services as these?"

Mercy placed a chair for her guest near the captain's table, and seated

herself, at some little distance, on an old chest in a corner of the

room. "May I ask you a question?" she said, abruptly.

"A hundred questions," cried Grace, "if you like." She looked at the

expiring fire, and at the dimly visible figure of her companion seated

in the obscurest corner of the room. "That wretched candle hardly gives

any light," she said, impatiently. "It won't last much longer. Can't

we make the place more cheerful? Come out of your corner. Call for more

wood and more lights."

Mercy remained in her corner and shook her head. "Candles and wood are

scarce things here," she answered. "We must be patient, even if we

are left in the dark. Tell me," she went on, raising her quiet voice a

little, "how came you to risk crossing the frontier in wartime?"