"Wilkie Collins - The New Magdalen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius Wetzel was still at the
bed, bending over the body, and apparently absorbed in examining the wound which
had been inflicted by the shell. Mercy's instinctive aversion to the old man
increased tenfold, now that she was left alone with him. She withdrew uneasily
to the window, and looked out at the moonlight.
Had she committed herself to the fraud? Hardly, yet. She had committed herself
to returning to England--nothing more. There was no necessity, thus far, which
forced her to present herself at Mablethorpe House, in Grace's place. There was
still time to reconsider her resolution--still time to write the account of the
accident, as she had proposed, and to send it with the letter-case to Lady Janet
Roy. Suppose she finally decided on taking this course, what was to become of
her when she found herself in England again? There was no alternative open but
to apply once more to her friend the matron. There was nothing for her to do but
to return to the Refuge!
The Refuge! The matron! What past association with these two was now presenting
itself uninvited, and taking the foremost place in her mind? Of whom was she now
thinking, in that strange place, and at that crisis in her life? Of the man
whose words had found their way to her heart, whose influence had strengthened
and comforted her, in the chapel of the Refuge. One of the finest passages in
his sermon had been especially devoted by Julian Gray to warning the
congregation whom he addressed against the degrading influences of falsehood and
deceit. The terms in which he had appealed to the miserable women round
him--terms of sympathy and encouragement never addressed to them before--came
back to Mercy Merrick as if she had heard them an hour since. She turned deadly
pale as they now pleaded with her once more. "Oh!" she whispered to herself, as
she thought of what she had proposed and planned, "what have I done? what have I
done?"
She turned from the window with some vague idea in her mind of following Mr.
Holmcroft and calling him back. As she faced the bed again she also confronted
Ignatius Wetzel. He was just stepping forward to speak to her, with a white
handkerchief--the handkerchief which she had lent to Grace--held up in his hand.

"I have found this in her pocket," he said. "Here is her name written on it. She
must be a countrywoman of yours." He read the letters marked on the handkerchief
with some difficulty. "Her name 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 Gray began to relax.
One present and pressing question now possessed itself of the foremost place in
her thoughts. Should she correct the error into which the German had fallen? The
time had come--to speak, and assert her own identity; or to be silent, and
commit herself to the fraud.
Horace Holmcroft entered the room again at the moment when Surgeon Wetzel's
staring eyes were still fastened on her, waiting for her reply.
"I have not overrated my interest," he said, pointing to a little slip of paper
in his hand. "Here is the pass. Have you got pen and ink? I must fill up the
form."
Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Horace seated himself, and
dipped the pen in the ink.