THE youngest of the three strangers--judging by features,complexion, and manner--was apparently an Englishman. He wore amilitary cap and military boots, but was otherwise dressed as acivilian. Next to him stood an officer in Prussian uniform, andnext to the officer was the third and the oldest of the party. Healso was dressed in uniform, but his appearance was far frombeing suggestive of the appearance of a military man. He haltedon one foot, he stooped at the shoulders, and instead of a swordat his side he carried a stick in his hand. After looking sharplythrough a large pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, first atMercy, then at the bed, then all round the room, he turned with acynical composure of manner to the Prussian officer, and brokethe silence in these words:

"A woman ill on the bed; another woman in attendance on her, andno one else in the room. Any necessity, major, for setting aguard here?"

"No necessity," answered the major. He wheeled round on his heeland returned to the kitchen. The German surgeon advanced alittle, led by his professional instinct, in the direction of thebedside. The young Englishman, whose eyes had remained riveted inadmiration on Mercy, drew the canvas screen over the doorway andrespectfully addressed her in the French language.

"May I ask if I am speaking to a French lady?" he said.

"I am an Englishwoman," Mercy replied.

The surgeon heard the answer. Stopping short on his way to thebed, he pointed to the recumbent figure on it, and said to Mercy,in good English, spoken with a strong German accent.

"Can I be of any use there?"

His manner was ironically courteous, his harsh voice was pitchedin one sardonic monotony of tone. Mercy took an instantaneousdislike to this hobbling, ugly old man, staring at her rudelythrough his great tortoiseshell spectacles.

"You can be of no use, sir," she said, shortly. "The lady waskilled when your troops shelled this cottage."

The Englishman started, and looked compassionately toward thebed. The German refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff, and putanother question.

"Has the body been examined by a medical man?" he asked.

Mercy ungraciously limited her reply to the one necessary word"Yes."

The present surgeon was not a man to be daunted by a lady'sdisapproval of him. He went on with his questions.

"Who has examined the body?" he inquired next.

Mercy answered, "The doctor attached to the French ambulance."

The German grunted in contemptuous disapproval of all Frenchmen,and all French institutions. The Englishman seized his firstopportunity of addressing himself to Mercy once more.

"Is the lady a countrywoman of ours?" he asked, gently.

Mercy considered before she answered him. With the object she hadin view, there might be serious reasons for speaking with extremecaution when she spoke of Grace.

"I believe so," she said. "We met here by accident. I knownothing of her."

"Not even her name?" inquired the German surgeon.

Mercy's resolution was hardly equal yet to giving her own nameopenly as the name of Grace. She took refuge in flat denial.

"Not even her name," she repeated obstinately.

The old man stared at her more rudely than ever, considered withhimself, and took the candle from the table. He hobbled back tothe bed and examined the figure laid on it in silence. TheEnglishman continued the conversation, no longer concealing theinterest that he felt in the beautiful woman who stood beforehim.

"Pardon me, "he said, "you are very young to be alone in war-timein such a place as this."

The sudden outbreak of a disturbance in the kitchen relievedMercy from any immediate necessity for answering him. She heardthe voices of the wounded men raised in feeble remonstrance, andthe harsh command of the foreign officers bidding them be silent.The generous instincts of the woman instantly prevailed overevery personal consideration imposed on her by the position whichshe had assumed. Reckless whether she betrayed herself or not asnurse in the French ambulance, she instantly drew aside thecanvas to enter the kitchen. A German sentinel barred the way toher, and announced, in his own language, that no strangers wereadmitted. The Englishman politely interposing, asked if she hadany special object in wishing to enter the room.

"The poor Frenchmen!" she said, earnestly, her heart upbraidingher for having forgotten them. "The poor wounded Frenchmen!"

The German surgeon advanced from the bedside, and took the matterup before the Englishman could say a word more.

"You have nothing to do with the wounded Frenchmen," he croaked,in the harshest notes of his voice. "The wounded Frenchmen are mybusiness, and not yours. They are _our_ prisoners, and they arebeing moved to _our_ ambulance. I am Ingatius Wetzel, chief ofthe medical staff--and I tell you this. Hold your tongue." Heturned to the sentinel and added in German, "Draw the curtainagain; and if the woman persists, put her back into this roomwith your own hand."

Mercy attempted to remonstrate. The Englishman respectfully tookher arm, and drew her out of the sentinel's reach.

"It is useless to resist," he said. "The German discipline nevergives way. There is not the least need to be uneasy about theFrenchmen. The ambulance under Surgeon Wetzel is admirablyadministered. I answer for it, the men will be well treated." Hesaw the tears in her eyes as he spoke; his admiration for herrose higher and higher. "Kind as well as beautiful, "he thought."What a charming creature!"

"Well!" said Ignatius Wetzel, eying Mercy sternly through hisspectacles. "Are you satisfied? And will you hold your tongue?"

She yielded: it was plainly useless to resist. But for thesurgeon's resistance, her devotion to the wounded men might havestopped her on the downward way that she was going. If she couldonly have been absorbed again, mind and body, in her good work asa nurse, the temptation might even yet have found her strongenough to resist it. The fatal severity of the German disciplinehad snapped asunder the last tie that bound her to her betterself. Her face hardened as she walked away proudly from SurgeonWetzel, and took a chair.

The Englishman followed her, and reverted to the question of herpresent situation in the cottage.

"Don't suppose that I want to alarm you," he said. "There is, Irepeat, no need to be anxious about the Frenchmen, but there isserious reason for anxiety on your own account. The action willbe renewed round this village by daylight; you ought really to bein a place of safety. I am an officer in the English army--myname is Horace Holmcroft. I shall be delighted to be of use toyou, and I _can_ be of use, if you will let me. May I ask if youare traveling?"

Mercy gathered the cloak which concealed her nurse's dress moreclosely round her, and committed herself silently to her firstovert act of deception. She bowed her head in the affirmative.

"Are you on your way to England?"

"Yes."

"In that case I can pass you through the German lines, andforward you at once on your journey."

Mercy looked at him in unconcealed surprise. His strongly-feltinterest in her was restrained within the strictest limits ofgood-breeding: he was unmistakably a gentleman. Did he reallymean what he had just said?

"You can pass me through the German lines?" she repeated. "Youmust possess extraordinary influence, sir, to be able to dothat."

Mr. Horace Holmcroft smiled.

"I possess the influence that no one can resist," heanswered--"the influence of the Press. I am serving here as warcorrespondent of one of our great English newspapers. If I askhim, the commanding officer will grant you a pass. He is close tothis cottage. What do you say?"

She summoned her resolution--not without difficulty, evennow--and took him at his word.

"I gratefully accept your offer, sir."

He advanced a step toward the kitchen, and stopped.

"It may be well to make the application as privately aspossible," he said. "I shall be questioned if I pass through thatroom. Is there no other way out of the cottage?"

Mercy showed him the door leading into the yard. He bowed--andleft her.

She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius Wetzelwas still at the bed, bending over the body, and apparentlyabsorbed in examining the wound which had been inflicted by theshell. Mercy's instinctive aversion to the old man increasedtenfold, now that she was left alone with him. She withdrewuneasily to the window, and looked out at the moonlight.

Had she committed herself to the fraud? Hardly, yet. She hadcommitted herself to returning to England--nothing more. Therewas no necessity, thus far, which forced her to present herselfat Mablethorpe House, in Grace's place. There was still time toreconsider her resolution--still time to write the account of theaccident, as she had proposed, and to send it with theletter-case to Lady Janet Roy. Suppose she finally decided ontaking this course, what was to become of her when she foundherself in England again? There was no alternative open but toapply once more to her friend the matron. There was nothing forher to do but to return to the Refuge!

The Refuge! The matron! What past association with these two wasnow presenting itself uninvited, and taking the foremost place inher mind? Of whom was she now thinking, in that strange place,and at that crisis in her life? Of the man whose words had foundtheir way to her heart, whose influence had strengthened andcomforted her, in the chapel of the Refuge. One of the finestpassages in his sermon had been especially devoted by Julian Grayto warning the congregation whom he addressed against thedegrading influences of falsehood and deceit. The terms in whichhe had appealed to the miserable women round him--terms ofsympathy and encouragement never addressed to them before--cameback to Mercy Merrick as if she had heard them an hour since. Sheturned deadly pale as they now pleaded with her once more. "Oh!"she whispered to herself, as she thought of what she had proposedand planned, "what have I done? what have I done?"

She turned from the window with some vague idea in her mind offollowing Mr. Holmcroft and calling him back. As she faced thebed again she also confronted Ignatius Wetzel. He was juststepping forward to speak to her, with a white handkerchief--thehandkerchief which she had lent to Grace--held up in his hand.

"I have found this in her pocket," he said. "Here is her namewritten on it. She must be a countrywoman of yours." He read theletters marked on the handkerchief with some difficulty. "Hername is--Mercy Merrick."

_His_ lips had said it--not hers! _He_ had given her the name.

"'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 Graybegan to relax. One present and pressing question now possesseditself of the foremost place in her thoughts. Should she correctthe error into which the German had fallen? The time had come--tospeak, and assert her own identity; or to be silent, and commitherself to the fraud.

Horace Holmcroft entered the room again at the moment whenSurgeon Wetzel's staring eyes were still fastened on her, waitingfor her reply.

"I have not overrated my interest," he said, pointing to a littleslip of paper in his hand. "Here is the pass. Have you got penand ink? I must fill up the form."

Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Horaceseated himself, and dipped the pen in the ink.

"Pray don't think that I wish to intrude myself into youraffairs," he said. "I am obliged to ask you one or two plainquestions. What is your name?"

A sudden trembling seized her. She supported herself against thefoot of the bed. Her whol e future existence depended on heranswer. She was incapable of uttering a word.

Ignatius Wetzel stood her friend for once. His croaking voicefilled the empty gap of silence exactly at the right time. Hedoggedly held the handkerchief under her eyes. He obstinatelyrepeated: "Mercy Merrick is an English name. Is it not so?"

Horace Holmcroft looked up from the table. "Mercy Merrick?" hesaid. "Who is Mercy Merrick?"

Surgeon Wetzel pointed to the corpse on the bed.

"I have found the name on the handkerchief, "he said. "This lady,it seems, had not curiosity enough to look for the name of herown countrywoman." He made that mocking allusion to Mercy with atone which was almost a tone of suspicion, and a look which wasalmost a look of contempt. Her quick temper instantly resentedthe discourtesy of which she had been made the object. Theirritation of the moment--so often do the most trifling motivesdetermine the most serious human actions--decided her on thecourse that she should pursue. She turned her back scornfully onthe rude old man, and left him in the delusion that he haddiscovered the dead woman's name.

Horace returned to the business of filling up the form. "Pardonme for pressing the question," he said. "You know what Germandiscipline is by this time. What is your name?"

She answered him recklessly, defiantly, without fairly realizingwhat she was doing until it was done.

"Grace Roseberry," she said.

The words were hardly out of her mouth before she would havegiven everything she possessed in the world to recall them.

"Miss?" asked Horace, smiling.

She could only answer him by bowing her head.

He wrote: "Miss Grace Roseberry"--reflected for a moment--andthen added, interrogatively, "Returning to her friends inEngland?" Her friends in England? Mercy's heart swelled: shesilently replied by another sign. He wrote the words after thename, and shook the sandbox over the wet ink. "That will beenough," he said, rising and presenting the pass to Mercy; "Iwill see you through the lines myself, and arrange for your beingsent on by the railway. Where is your luggage?"

Mercy pointed toward the front door of the building. "In a shedoutside the cottage," she answered. "It is not much; I can doeverything for myself if the sentinel will let me pass throughthe kitchen."

Horace pointed to the paper in her hand. "You can go where youlike now," he said. "Shall I wait for you here or outside?"

Mercy glanced distrustfully at Ignatius Wetzel. He was againabsorbed in his endless examination of the body on the bed. Ifshe left him alone with Mr. Holmcroft, there was no knowing whatthe hateful old man might not say of her. She answered:

"Wait for me outside, if you please."

The sentinel drew back with a military salute at the sight of thepass. All the French prisoners had been removed; there were notmore than half-a-dozen Germans in the kitchen, and the greaterpart of them were asleep. Mercy took Grace Roseberry's clothesfrom the corner in which they had been left to dry, and made forthe shed--a rough structure of wood, built out from the cottagewall. At the front door she encountered a second sentinel, andshowed her pass for the second time. She spoke to this man,asking him if he understood French. He answered that heunderstood a little. Mercy gave him a piece of money, and said:"I am going to pack up my luggage in the shed. Be kind enough tosee that nobody disturbs me." The sentinel saluted, in token thathe understood. Mercy disappeared in the dark interior of theshed.

Left alone with Surgeon Wetzel, Horace noticed the strange oldman still bending intently over the English lady who had beenkilled by the shell.

"Anything remarkable," he asked, "in the manner of that poorcreature's death?"

"Nothing to put in a newspaper," retorted the cynic, pursuing hisinvestigations as attentively as ever.

"Interesting to a doctor--eh?" said Horace.

"Yes. Interesting to a doctor," was the gruff reply.

Horace good-humoredly accepted the hint implied in those words.He quitted the room by the door leading into the yard, and waitedfor the charming Englishwoman, as he had been instructed, outsidethe cottage.

Left by himself, Ignatius Wetzel, after a first cautious look allround him, opened the upper part of Grace's dress, and laid hisleft hand on her heart. Taking a little steel instrument from hiswaistcoat pocket with the other hand, he applied it carefully tothe wound, raised a morsel of the broken and depressed bone ofthe skull, and waited for the result. "Aha!" he cried, addressingwith a terrible gayety the senseless creature under his hands."The Frenchman says you are dead, my dear--does he? The Frenchmanis a Quack! The Frenchman is an Ass!" He lifted his head, andcalled into the kitchen. "Max!" A sleepy young German, coveredwith a dresser's apron from his chin to his feet, drew thecurtain, and waited for his instructions. "Bring me my blackbag," said Ignatius Wetzel. Having given that order, he rubbedhis hands cheerfully, and shook himself like a dog. "Now I amquite happy," croaked the terrible old man, with his fierce eyesleering sidelong at the bed. "My dear, dead Englishwoman, I wouldnot have missed this meeting with you for all the money I have inthe world. Ha! you infernal French Quack, you call it death, doyou? I call it suspended animation from pressure on the brain!"

Max appeared with the black bag.

Ignatius Wetzel selected two fearful instruments, bright and new,and hugged them to his bosom. "My little boys," he said,tenderly, as if they were his children; "my blessed little boys,come to work!" He turned to the assistant. "Do you remember thebattle of Solferino, Max--and the Austrian soldier I operated onfor a wound on the head?"

The assistant's sleepy eyes opened wide; he was evidentlyinterested. "I remember," he said. "I held the candle."

The master led the way to the bed.

"I am not satisfied with the result of that operation atSolferino," he said; "I have wanted to try again ever since. It'strue that I saved the man's life, but I failed to give him backhis reason along with it. It might have been something wrong inthe operation, or it might have been something wrong in the man.Whichever it was, he will live and die mad. Now look here, mylittle Max, at this dear young lady on the bed. She gives me justwhat I wanted; here is the case at Solferino once more. You shallhold the candle again, my good boy; stand there, and look withall your eyes. I am going to try if I can save the life and thereason too this time."

He tucked up the cuffs of his coat and began the operation. Ashis fearful instruments touched Grace's head, the voice of thesentinel at the nearest outpost was heard, giving the word inGerman which permitted Mercy to take the first step on herjourney to England:

"Pass the English lady!"

The operation proceeded. The voice of the sentinel at the nextpost was heard more faintly, in its turn: " Pass the Englishlady!"

The operation ended. Ignatius Wetzel held up his hand for silenceand put his ear close to the patient's mouth.

The first trembling breath of returning life fluttered over GraceRoseberry's lips and touched the old man's wrinkled cheek. "Aha!"he cried. "Good girl! you breathe--you live!" As he spoke, thevoice of the sentinel at the final limit of the German lines(barely audible in the distance) gave the word for the last time:

"Pass the English lady!"

SECOND SCENE.

Mablethorpe House.

PREAMBLE.

THE place is England.

The time is winter, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy.

The persons are, Julian Gray, Horace Holmcroft, Lady Janet Roy,Grace Roseberry, and Mercy Merrick.