"You forget that I am a curate.
Curates are privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies.
Let me try."
He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of
the tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on his
hands, and the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was
something in the trivial action, and in the homely attention that
it implied, which in some degree quieted her fear of him. She
began to roll the wool off his hands into a ball. Thus occupied,
she said the daring words which were to lead him little by little
into betraying his suspicions, if he did indeed suspect the
truth.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.
"You were here when I fainted, were you not?" Mercy began. "You
must think me a sad coward, even for a woman."
He shook his head. "I am far from thinking that, "he replied. "No
courage could have sustained the shock which fell on you. I don't
wonder that you fainted. I don't wonder that you have been ill."
She paused in rolling up the ball of wool. What did those words
of unexpected sympathy mean? Was he laying a trap for her? Urged
by that serious doubt, she questioned him more boldly.
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