He bowed--and
left her.
She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius Wetzel
was still at the bed, bending over the body, and apparently
absorbed in examining the wound which had been inflicted by the
shell. Mercy's instinctive aversion to the old man increased
tenfold, now that she was left alone with him. She withdrew
uneasily to the window, and looked out at the moonlight.
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.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72