ABSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the opening door orto hear the murmur of voices in the conservatory.

The one terrible necessity which had been present to her mind atintervals for a week past was confronting her at that moment. Sheowed to Grace Roseberry the tardy justice of owning the truth.The longer her confession was delayed, the more cruelly she wasinjuring the woman whom she had robbed of her identity--thefriendless woman who had neither witnesses nor papers to produce,who was powerless to right her own wrong. Keenly as she feltthis, Mercy failed, nevertheless, to conquer the horror thatshook her when she thought of the impending avowal. Day followedday, and still she shrank from the unendurable ordeal ofconfession--as she was shrinking from it now!

Was it fear for herself that closed her lips?

She trembled--as any human being in her place must havetrembled--at the bare idea of finding herself thrown back againon the world, which had no place in it and no hope in it for_her_. But she could have overcome that terror--she could haveresigned herself to that doom.

No! it was not the fear of the confession itself, or the fear ofthe consequences which must follow it, that still held hersilent. The horror that daunted her was the horror of owning toHorace and to Lady Janet that she had cheated them out of theirlove.

Every day Lady Janet was kinder and kinder. Every day Horace wasfonder and fonder of her. How could she confess to Lady Janet?how could she own to Horace that she had imposed upon him? "Ican't do it. They are so good to me--I can't do it!" In thathopeless way it had ended during the seven days that had gone by.In that hopeless way it ended again now.

The murmur of the two voices at the further end of theconservatory ceased. The billiard-room door opened again slowly,by an inch at a time.

Mercy still kept her place, unconscious of the events that werepassing round her. Sinking under the hard stress laid on it, hermind had drifted little by little into a new train of thought.For the first time she found the courage to question the futurein a new way. Supposing her confession to have been made, orsupposing the woman whom she had personated to have discoveredthe means of exposing the fraud, what advantage, she now askedherself, would Miss Roseberry derive from Mercy Merrick'sdisgrace?

Could Lady Janet transfer to the woman who was really herrelative by marriage the affection which she had given to thewoman who had pretended to be her relative? No! All the right inthe world would not put the true Grace into the false Grace'svacant place. The qualities by which Mercy had won Lady Janet'slove were the qualities which were Mercy's won. Lady Janet coulddo rigid justice--but hers was not the heart to give itself to astranger (and to give itself unreservedly) a second time. GraceRoseberry would be formally acknowledged--and there it would end.

Was there hope in this new view?

Yes! There was the false hope of making the inevitable atonementby some other means than by the confession of the fraud.

What had Grace Roseberry actually lost by the wrong done to her?She had lost the salary of Lady Janet's "companion and reader."Say that she wanted money, Mercy had her savings from thegenerous allowance made to her by Lady Janet; Mercy could offermoney. Or say that she wanted employment, Mercy's interest withLady Janet could offer employment, could offer anything Gracemight ask for, if she would only come to terms.

Invigorated by the new hope, Mercy rose excitedly, weary ofinaction in the empty room. She, who but a few minutes since hadshuddered at the thought of their meeting again, was now eager todevise a means of finding her way privately to an interview withGrace. It should be done without loss of time--on that very day,if possible; by the next day at latest. She looked round hermechanically, pondering how to reach the end in view. Her eyesrested by chance on the door of the billiard-room.

Was it fancy? or did she really see the door first open a little,then suddenly and softly close again?

Was it fancy? or did she really hear, at the same moment, a soundbehind her as of persons speaking in the conservatory?

She paused; and, looking back in that direction, listenedintently. The sound--if she had really heard it--was no longeraudible. She advanced toward the billiard-room to set her firstdoubt at rest. She stretched out her hand to open the door, whenthe voices (recognizable now as the voices of two men) caught herear once more.

This time she was able to distinguish the words that were spoken.

"Any further orders, sir?" inquired one of the men.

"Nothing more," replied the other.

Mercy started, and faintly flushed, as the second voice answeredthe first. She stood irresolute close to the billiard-room,hesitating what to do next.

After an interval the second voice made itself heard again,advancing nearer to the dining-room: "Are you there, aunt?" itasked cautiously. There was a moment's pause. Then the voicespoke for the third time, sounding louder and nearer. "Are youthere?" it reiterated; "I have something to tell you." Mercysummoned her resolution and answered: "Lady Janet is not here."She turned as she spoke toward the conservatory door, andconfronted on the threshold Julian Gray.

They looked at one another without exchanging a word on eitherside. The situation--for widely different reasons--was equallyembarrassing to both of them.

There--as Julian saw _her_--was the woman forbidden to him, thewoman whom he loved.

There--as Mercy saw _him_--was the man whom she dreaded, the manwhose actions (as she interpreted them) proved that he suspectedher.

On the surface of it, the incidents which had marked their firstmeeting were now exactly repeated, with the one difference thatthe impulse to withdraw this time appeared to be on the man'sside and not on the woman's. It was Mercy who spoke first.

"Did you expect to find Lady Janet here?" she asked,constrainedly. He answered, on his part, more constrainedlystill.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Another time will do."

He drew back as he made the reply. She advanced desperately, withthe deliberate intention of detaining him by speaking again.

The attempt which he had made to withdraw, the constraint in hismanner when he had answered, had instantly confirmed her in thefalse conviction that he, and he alone, had guessed the truth! Ifshe was right--if he had secretly made discoveries abroad whichplaced her entirely at his mercy--the attempt to induce Grace toconsent to a compromise with her would be manifestly useless. Herfirst and foremost interest now was to find out how she reallystood in the estimation of Julian Gray. In a terror of suspense,that turned her cold from head to foot, she stopped him on hisway out, and spoke to him with the piteous counterfeit of asmile.

"Lady Janet is receiving some visitors," she said. "If you willwait here, she will be back directly."

The effort of hiding her agitation from him had brought a passingcolor into her cheeks. Worn and wasted as she was, the spell ofher beauty was strong enough to hold him against his own will.All he had to tell Lady Janet was that he had met one of thegardeners in the conservatory, and had cautioned him as well asthe lodge-keeper. It would have been easy to write this, and tosend the note to his aunt on quitting the house. For the sake ofhis own peace of mind, for the sake of his duty to Horace, he wasdoubly bound to make the first polite excuse that occurred tohim, and to leave her as he had found her, alone in the room. Hemade the attempt, and hesitated. Despising himself for doing it,he allowed himself to look at her. Their eyes met. Julian steppedinto the dining-room.

"If I am not in the way," he said, confusedly, "I will wait, asyou kindly propose."

She noticed his embarrassment; she saw that he was stronglyrestraining himself from looking at her again. Her own eyesdropped to the ground as she made the discovery. Her speechfailed her; her heart throbbed faster and faster.

"If I look at him again" (was the thought in _her_ mind) "I shallfall at his feet and tell him all that I have done!"

"If I look at her again" (was the thought in _his_ mind) "I shallfall at her feet and own that I am in love with her!"

With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With downcast eyesshe bowed to him and took it. A dead silence followed. Never wasany human misunderstanding more intricately complete than themisunderstanding which had now established itself between thosetwo.

Mercy's work-basket was near her. She took it, and gained timefor composing herself by pretending to arrange the colored wools.He stood behind her chair, looking at the graceful turn of herhead, looking at the rich masses of her hair. He reviled himselfas the weakest of men, as the falsest of friends, for stillremaining near her--and yet he remained.

The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened againnoiselessly. The face of the listening woman appeared stealthilybehind it.

At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke: "Won't you sitdown?" she said, softly, still not looking round at him, stillbusy with her basket of wools.

He turned to get a chair--turned so quickly that he saw thebilliard-room door move, as Grace Roseberry closed it again.

"Is there any one in that room?" he asked, addressing Mercy.

"I don't know," she answered. "I thought I saw the door open andshut again a little while ago."

He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so Mercydropped one of her balls of wool. He stopped to pick it up forher--then threw open the door and looked into the billiard-room.It was empty.

Had some person been listening, and had that person retreated intime to escape discovery? The open door of the smoking-roomshowed that room also to be empty. A third door was open--thedoor of the side hall, leading into the grounds. Julian closedand locked it, and returned to the dining-room.

"I can only suppose," he said to Mercy, "that the billiard-roomdoor was not properly shut, and that the draught of air from thehall must have moved it."

She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to allappearance, not quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment ortwo he looked about him uneasily. Then the old fascinationfastened its hold on him again. Once more he looked at thegraceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of her hair. Thecourage to put the critical question to him, now that she hadlured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage thatfailed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work--too busyto look at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence becameunendurable. He broke it by making a commonplace inquiry afterher health. "I am well enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I havecaused and the trouble I have given," she answered. "To-day Ihave got downstairs for the first time. I am trying to do alittle work." She looked into the basket. The various specimensof wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose skeins.The skeins were mixed and tangled. "Here is sad confusion!" sheexclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. "How am I to set it rightagain?"

"Let me help you," said Julian.

"You!"

"Why not?" he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humorwhich she remembered so well. "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 ofthe tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on hishands, and the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There wassomething in the trivial action, and in the homely attention thatit implied, which in some degree quieted her fear of him. Shebegan to roll the wool off his hands into a ball. Thus occupied,she said the daring words which were to lead him little by littleinto betraying his suspicions, if he did indeed suspect thetruth.