The New Magdalen

"Ignatius Wetzel?" cried Horace.

"Ignatius Wetzel," repeated Julian, looking at the letter.

"It _is_ the same!" said Horace. "Lady Janet, we are really interested

in this. You remember my telling you how I first met with Grace? And you

have heard more about it since, no doubt, from Grace herself?"

"She has a horror of referring to that part of her journey home,"

replied Lady Janet. "She mentioned her having been stopped on the

frontier, and her finding herself accidentally in the company of another

Englishwoman, a perfect stranger to her. I naturally asked questions on

my side, and was shocked to hear that she had seen the woman killed by

a German shell almost close at her side. Neither she nor I have had any

relish for returning to the subject since. You were quite right, Julian,

to avoid speaking of it while she was in the room. I understand it all

now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my name to her fellow-traveler. The

woman is, no doubt, in want of assistance, and she applies to me through

you. I will help her; but she must not come here until I have prepared

Grace for seeing her again, a living woman. For the present there is no

reason why they should meet."

"I am not sure about that," said Julian, in low tones, without looking

up at his aunt.

"What do you mean? Is the mystery not at an end yet?"

"The mystery has not even begun yet. Let my friend the consul proceed."

Julian returned for the second time to his extract from the letter: "'After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the German surgeon

arrived at the conclusion that a case of suspended animation had (in the

hurry of the French retreat) been mistaken for a case of death. Feeling

a professional interest in the subject, he decided on putting his

opinion to the test. He operated on the patient with complete success.

After performing the operation he kept her for some days under his own

care, and then transferred her to the nearest hospital--the hospital at

Mannheim. He was obliged to return to his duties as army surgeon, and he

left his patient in the condition in which I saw her, insensible on

the bed. Neither he nor the hospital authorities knew anything whatever

about the woman. No papers were found on her. All the doctors could do,

when I asked them for information with a view to communicating with

her friends, was to show me her linen marked with her, name. I left the

hospital after taking down the name in my pocket-book. It was "Mercy

Merrick."'"

Lady Janet produced _her_ pocket-book. "Let me take the name down too,"

she said. "I never heard it before, and I might otherwise forget it. Go

on, Julian."