JUST inside the door there appeared the figure of a small womandressed in plain and poor black garments. She silently lifted herblack net veil and disclosed a dull, pale, worn, weary face. Theforehead was low and broad; the eyes were unusually far apart;the lower features were remarkably small and delicate. In health(as the consul at Mannheim had remarked) this woman must havepossessed, if not absolute beauty, at least rare attractionspeculiarly her own. As it was now, suffering--sullen, silent,self-contained suffering--had marred its beauty. Attention andeven curiosity it might still rouse. Admiration or interest itcould excite no longer.

The small, thin, black figure stood immovably inside the door.The dull, worn, white face looked silently at the three personsin the room.

The three persons in the room, on their side, stood for a momentwithout moving, and looked silently at the stranger on thethreshold. There was something either in the woman herself, or inthe sudden and stealthy manner of her appearance in the room,which froze, as if with the touch of an invisible cold hand, thesympathies of all three. Accustomed to the world, habitually attheir ease in every social emergency, they were now silenced forthe first time in their lives by the first serious sense ofembarrassment which they had felt since they were children in thepresence of a stranger.

Had the appearance of the true Grace Roseberry aroused in theirminds a suspicion of the woman who had stolen her name, and takenher place in the house?

Not so much as the shadow of a suspicion of Mercy was at thebottom of the strange sense of uneasiness which had now deprivedthem alike of their habitual courtesy and their habitual presenceof mind. It was as practically impossible for any one of thethree to doubt the identity of the adopted daughter of the houseas it would be for you who read these lines to doubt the identityof the nearest and dearest relative you have in the world.Circumstances had fortified Mercy behind the strongest of allnatural rights--the right of first possession. C!circumstanceshad armed her with the most irresistible of all naturalforces--the force of previous association and previous habit. Notby so much as a hair-breadth was the position of the false GraceRoseberry shaken by the first appearance of the true GraceRoseberry within the doors of Mablethorpe House. Lady Janet feltsuddenly repelled, without knowing why. Julian and Horace feltsuddenly repelled, without knowing why. Asked to describe theirown sensations at the moment, they would have shaken their headsin despair, and would have answered in those words. The vaguepresentiment of some misfortune to come had entered the room withthe entrance of the woman in black. But it moved invisibly; andit spoke as all presentiments speak, in the Unknown Tongue.

A moment passed. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of theclock were the only sounds audible in the room.

The voice of the visitor--hard, clear, and quiet--was the firstvoice that broke the silence.

"Mr. Julian Gray?" she said, looking interrogatively from one ofthe two gentlemen to the other.

Julian advanced a few steps, instantly recovering hisself-possession. "I am sorry I was not at home," he said, "whenyou called with your letter from the consul. Pray take a chair."

By way of setting the example, Lady Janet seated herself at somelittle distance, with Horace in attendance standing near. Shebowed to the stranger with studious politeness, but withoututtering a word, before she settled herself in her chair. "I amobliged to listen to this person," thought the old lady. "But Iam _not_ obliged to speak to her. That is Julian's business--notmine. Don't stand, Horace! You fidget me. Sit down." Armedbeforehand in her policy of silence, Lady Janet folded herhandsome hands as usual, and waited for the proceedings to begin,like a judge on the bench.

"Will you take a chair?" Julian repeated, observing that thevisitor appeared neither to heed nor to hear his first words ofwelcome to her.

At this second appeal she spoke to him. "Is that Lady Janet Roy?"she asked, with her eyes fixed on the mistress of the house.

Julian answered, and drew back to watch the result.

The woman in the poor black garments changed her position for thefirst time. She moved slowly across the room to the place atwhich Lady Janet was sitting, and addressed her respectfully withperfect self-possession of manner. Her whole demeanor, from themoment when she had appeared at the door, had expressed--at onceplainly and becomingly--confidence in the reception that awaitedher.

"Almost the last words my father said to me on his death-bed,"she began, "were words, madam, which told me to expectprotection and kindness from you."

It was not Lady Janet's business to speak. She listened with theblandest attention. She waited with the most exasperating silenceto hear more.

Grace Roseberry drew back a step--not intimidated--only mortifiedand surprised. "Was my father wrong?" she asked, with a simpledignity of tone and manner which forced Lady Janet to abandon herpolicy of silence, in spite of herself.

"Who was your father?" she asked, coldly.

Grace Roseberry answered the question in a tone of sternsurprise.

"Has the servant not given you my card?" she said. "Don't youknow my name?"

"Which of your names?" rejoined Lady Janet.

"I don't understand your ladyship."

"I will make myself understood. You asked me if I knew your name.I ask you, in return, which name it is? The name on your card is'Miss Roseberry.' The name marked on your clothes, when you werein the hospital, was 'Mercy Merrick.'"

The self-possession which Grace had maintained from the momentwhen she had entered the dining-room, seemed now, for the firsttime, to be on the point of failing her. She turned, and lookedappealingly at Julian, who had thus far kept his place apart,listening attentively.

"Surely," she said, "your friend, the consul, has told you in hisletter about the mark on the clothes?"

Something of the girlish hesitation and timidity which had markedher demeanor at her interview with Mercy in the French cottagere-appeared in her tone and manner as she spoke those words. Thechanges--mostly changes for the worse--wrought in her by thesuffering through which she had passed since that time were now(for the moment) effaced. All that was left of the better andsimpler side of her character asserted itself in her brief appealto Julian. She had hitherto repelled him. He began to feel acertain compassionate interest in her now.

"The consul has informed me of what you said to him," heanswered, kindly. "But, if you will take my advice, I recommendyou to tell your story to Lady Janet in your own words."

Grace again addressed herself with submissive reluctance to LadyJanet.

"The clothes your ladyship speaks of," she said, "were theclothes of another woman. The rain was pouring when the soldiersdetained me on the frontier. I had been exposed for hours to theweather--I was wet to the skin. The clothes marked 'MercyMerrick' were the clothes lent to me by Mercy Merrick herselfwhile my own things were drying. I was struck by the shell inthose clothes. I was carried away insensible in those clothesafter the operation had been performed on me."

Lady Janet listened to perfection--and did no more. She turnedconfidentially to Horace, and said to him, in her gracefullyironical way: "She is ready with her explanation."

Horace answered in the same tone: "A great deal too ready."

Grace looked from one of them to the other. A faint flush o fcolor showed itself in her face for the first time.

"Am I to understand," she asked, with proud composure, "that youdon't believe me?"

Lady Janet maintained her policy of silence. She waved one handcourteously toward Julian, as if to say, "Address your inquiriesto the gentleman who introduces you." Julian, noticing thegesture, and observing the rising color in Grace's cheeks,interfered directly in the interests of peace

"Lady Janet asked you a question just now," he said; "Lady Janetinquired who your father was."

"My father was the late Colonel Roseberry."

Lady Janet made another confidential remark to Horace. "Herassurance amazes me!" she exclaimed.

Julian interposed before his aunt could add a word more. "Praylet us hear her," he said, in a tone of entreaty which hadsomething of the imperative in it this time. He turned to Grace."Have you any proof to produce," he added, in his gentler voice,"which will satisfy us that you are Colonel Roseberry'sdaughter?"

Grace looked at him indignantly. "Proof!" she repeated. "Is myword not enough?"

Julian kept his temper perfectly. "Pardon me," he rejoined, "youforget that you and Lady Janet meet now for the first time. Tryto put yourself in my aunt's place. How is she to know that youare the late Colonel Roseberry's daughter?"

Grace's head sunk on her breast; she dropped into the nearestchair. The expression of her face changed instantly from anger todiscouragement. "Ah," she exclaimed, bitterly, "if I only had theletters that have been stolen from me!"

"Letters, "asked Julian, "introducing you to Lady Janet?"

"Yes." She turned suddenly to Lady Janet. "Let me tell you how Ilost them," she said, in the first tones of entreaty which hadescaped her yet.

Lady Janet hesitated. It was not in her generous nature to resistthe appeal that had just been made to her. The sympathies ofHorace were far less easily reached. He lightly launched a newshaft of satire--intended for the private amusement of LadyJanet. "Another explanation!" he exclaimed, with a look of comicresignation.

Julian overheard the words. His large lustrous eyes fixedthemselves on Horace with a look of unmeasured contempt.

"The least you can do," he said, sternly, "is not to irritateher. It is so easy to irritate her!" He addressed himself againto Grace, endeavoring to help her through her difficulty in a newway. "Never mind explaining yourself for the moment," he said."In the absence of your letters, have you any one in London whocan speak to your identity?"

Grace shook her head sadly. "I have no friends in London," sheanswered.

It was impossible for Lady Janet--who had never in her life heardof anybody without friends in London--to pass this over withoutnotice. "No friends in London!" she repeated, turning to Horace.

Horace shot another shaft of light satire. "Of course not!" herejoined.

Grace saw them comparing notes. "My friends are in Canada," shebroke out, impetuously. "Plenty of friends who could speak forme, if I could only bring them here."

As a place of reference--mentioned in the capital city ofEngland--Canada, there is no denying it, is open to objection onthe ground of distance. Horace was ready with another shot. "Farenough off, certainly," he said.

"Far enough off, as you say," Lady Janet agreed.

Once more Julian's inexhaustible kindness strove to obtain ahearing for the stranger who had been confided to his care. "Alittle patience, Lady Janet," he pleaded. "A littleconsideration, Horace, for a friendless woman."

"Thank you, sir," said Grace. "It is very kind of you to try andhelp me, but it is useless. They won't even listen to me." Sheattempted to rise from her chair as she pronounced the lastwords. Julian gently laid his hand on her shoulder and obligedher to resume her seat.

"_I_ will listen to you," he said. "You referred me just now tothe consul's letter. The consul tells me you suspected some oneof taking your papers and your clothes."

"I don't suspect," was the quick reply; "I am certain! I tell youpositively Mercy Merrick was the thief. She was alone with mewhen I was struck down by the shell. She was the only person whoknew that I had letters of introduction about me. She confessedto my face that she had been a bad woman--she had been in aprison--she had come out of a refuge--"

Julian stopped her there with one plain question, which threw adoubt on the whole story.

"The consul tells me you asked him to search for Mercy Merrick,"he said. "Is it not true that he caused inquiries to be made, andthat no trace of any such person was to be heard of?"

"The consul took no pains to find her," Grace answered, angrily."He was, like everybody else, in a conspiracy to neglect andmisjudge me."

Lady Janet and Horace exchanged looks. This time it wasimpossible for Julian to blame them. The further the stranger'snarrative advanced, the less worthy of serious attention he feltit to be. The longer she spoke, the more disadvantageously shechallenged comparison with the absent woman, whose name she soobstinately and so audaciously persisted in assuming as her own.

"Granting all that you have said," Julian resumed, with a lasteffort of patience, "what use could Mercy Merrick make of yourletters and your clothes?"

"What use?" repeated Grace, amazed at his not seeing the positionas she saw it. "My clothes were marked with my name. One of mypapers was a letter from my father, introducing me to Lady Janet.A woman out of a refuge would be quite capable of presentingherself here in my place."

Spoken entirely at random, spoken without so much as a fragmentof evidence to support them, those last words still had theireffect. They cast a reflection on Lady Janet's adopted daughterwhich was too outrageous to be borne. Lady Janet rose instantly."Give me your arm, Horace," she said, turning to leave the room."I have heard enough."

Horace respectfully offered his arm. "Your ladyship is quiteright," he answered. "A more monstrous story never was invented."

He spoke, in the warmth of his indignation, loud enough for Graceto hear him. "What is there monstrous in it?" she asked,advancing a step toward him, defiantly.

Julian checked her. He too--though he had only once seenMercy--felt an angry sense of the insult offered to the beautifulcreature who had interested him at his first sight of her."Silence!" he said, speaking sternly to Grace for the first time."You are offending--justly offending--Lady Janet. You are talkingworse than absurdly--you are talking offensively--when you speakof another woman presenting herself here in your place."

Grace's blood was up. Stung by Julian's reproof, she turned onhim a look which was almost a look of fury.

"Are you a clergyman? Are you an educated man?" she asked. "Haveyou never read of cases of false personation, in newspapers andbooks? I blindly confided in Mercy Merrick before I found outwhat her character really was. She left the cottage--I know it,from the surgeon who brought me to life again--firmly persuadedthat the shell had killed me. My papers and my clothesdisappeared at the same time. Is there nothing suspicious inthese circumstances? There were people at the Hospital whothought them highly suspicious--people who warned me that I mightfind an impostor in my place." She suddenly paused. The rustlingsound of a silk dress had caught her ear. Lady Janet was leavingthe room, with Horace, by way of the conservatory. With a lastdesperate effort of resolution, Grace sprung forward and placedherself in front of them.

"One word, Lady Janet, before you turn your back on me," shesaid, firmly. "One word, and I will be content. Has ColonelRoseberry's letter found its way to this house or not? If it has,did a woman bring it to you?"

Lady Janet looked--as only a great lady can look, when a personof inferior rank has presumed to fail in respect toward her.

"You are surely not aware," she said, with icy composure, "thatthese questions are an insult to Me?"

"And worse than an insult," Horace added, warmly, "to Grace!"

The little resolute black figure (still barring the way to the conservatory) was suddenly shaken from head to foot. The woman'seyes traveled backward and forward between Lady Janet and Horacewith the light of a new suspicion in them.

"Grace!" she exclaimed. "What Grace? That's my name. Lady Janet,you _have_ got the letter! The woman is here!"

Lady Janet dropped Horace's arm, and retraced her steps to theplace at which her nephew was standing.

"Julian, "she said. "You force me, for the first time in my life,to remind you of the respect that is due to me in my own house.Send that woman away."

Without waiting to be answered, she turned back again, and oncemore took Horace's arm.

"Stand back, if you please," she said, quietly, to Grace.

Grace held her ground.

"The woman is here!" she repeated. "Confront me with her--andthen send me away, if you like."

Julian advanced, and firmly took her by the arm. "You forget whatis due to Lady Janet," he said, drawing her aside. "You forgetwhat is due to yourself."

With a desperate effort, Grace broke away from him, and stoppedLady Janet on the threshold of the conservatory door.

"Justice!" she cried, shaking her clinched hand with hystericalfrenzy in the air. "I claim my right to meet that woman face toface! Where is she? Confront me with her! Confront me with her!"

While those wild words were pouring from her lips, the rumblingof carriage wheels became audible on the drive in front of thehouse. In the all-absorbing agitation of the moment, the sound ofthe wheels (followed by the opening of the house door) passedunnoticed by the persons in the dining-room. Horace's voice wasstill raised in angry protest against the insult offered to LadyJanet; Lady Janet herself (leaving him for the second time) wasvehemently ringing the bell to summon the servants; Julian hadonce more taken the infuriated woman by the arms and was tryingvainly to compose her--when the library door was opened quietlyby a young lady wearing a mantle and a bonnet. Mercy Merrick(true to the appointment which she had made with Horace) enteredthe room.

The first eyes that discovered her presence on the scene were theeyes of Grace Roseberry. Starting violently in Julian's grasp,she pointed toward the library door. "Ah!" she cried, with ashriek of vindictive delight. "There she is!"

Mercy turned as the sound of the scream rang through the room,and met--resting on her in savage triumph--the living gaze of thewoman whose identity she had stolen, whose body she had left laidout for dead. On the instant of that terrible discovery--with hereyes fixed helplessly on the fierce eyes that had found her--shedropped senseless on the floor.