"'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.
"I have not overrated my interest," he said, pointing to a little
slip of paper in his hand. "Here is the pass. Have you got pen
and ink? I must fill up the form."
Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Horace
seated himself, and dipped the pen in the ink.
"Pray don't think that I wish to intrude myself into your
affairs," he said. "I am obliged to ask you one or two plain
questions. What is your name?"
A sudden trembling seized her. She supported herself against the
foot of the bed. Her whol e future existence depended on her
answer.
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