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.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73