She drew a deep breath of relief, and dropped into the nearest
chair. If Horace had stayed a moment longer--she felt it, she
knew it--her head would have given way; she would have burst out
before him with the terrible truth. "Oh!" she thought, pressing
her cold hands on her burning eyes, "if I could only cry, now
there is nobody to see me!"
The room was empty: she had every reason for concluding that she
was alone. And yet at that very moment there were ears that
listened--there were eyes waiting to see her.
Little by little the door behind her which faced the library and
led into the billiard-room was opened noiselessly from without,
by an inch at a time. As the opening was enlarged a hand in a
black glove, an arm in a black sleeve, appeared, guiding the
movement of the door. An interval of a moment passed, and the
worn white face of Grace Roseberry showed itself stealthily,
looking into the dining-room.
Her eyes brightened with vindictive pleasure as they discovered
Mercy sitting alone at the further end of the room. Inch by inch
she opened the door more widely, took one step forward, and
checked herself. A sound, just audible at the far end of the
conservatory, had caught her ear.
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