She listened--satisfied herself that she was not mistaken--and
drawing back with a frown of displeasure, softly closed the door
again, so as to hide herself from view. The sound that had
disturbed her was the distant murmur of men's voices (apparently
two in number) talking together in lowered tones, at the garden
entrance to the conservatory.
Who were the men? and what would they do next? They might do one
of two things: they might enter the drawing-room, or they might
withdraw again by way of the garden. Kneeling behind the door,
with her ear at the key-hole, Grace Roseberry waited the event.
CHAPTER XVI.
THEY MEET AGAIN.
ABSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the opening door or
to hear the murmur of voices in the conservatory.
The one terrible necessity which had been present to her mind at
intervals for a week past was confronting her at that moment. She
owed to Grace Roseberry the tardy justice of owning the truth.
The longer her confession was delayed, the more cruelly she was
injuring the woman whom she had robbed of her identity--the
friendless woman who had neither witnesses nor papers to produce,
who was powerless to right her own wrong.
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