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Updated: July 24, 2025
And Chance, or Fate, had so timed that adjournment as to bring Mercy back into the dining-room exactly at the moment when Grace Roseberry insisted on being confronted with the woman who had taken her place. She had never yet seen the circumstances in this sinister light. She was alone in her room, at a crisis in her life. She was worn and weakened by emotions which had shaken her to the soul.
The man doesn't live who trusts you more implicitly, who believes in you more devotedly, than I do." His eyes, his voice, his manner, all told her that those words came from the heart. Not only had she wronged Grace Roseberry she had wronged Julian Gray. Could she deceive him as she had deceived the others? Could she meanly accept that implicit trust, that devoted belief?
I had my gray cloak on; neither he nor any of them saw me in my nurse's dress. I am safe in your place; I am known by your name. I am Grace Roseberry; and you are Mercy Merrick. Disprove it, if you can!" Summing up the unassailable security of her false position in those closing words, Mercy pointed significantly to the billiard-room door.
Supposing her confession to have been made, or supposing the woman whom she had personated to have discovered the means of exposing the fraud, what advantage, she now asked herself, would Miss Roseberry derive from Mercy Merrick's disgrace?
There was an unsteady gravity in the way that he poked an impressive finger at Frank as he spoke to the youth. "What do you want?" demanded Frank, ungraciously enough, as he half guessed the mission of this bloated and untidy emissary of the law. "Judicial, see?" observed Roseberry, gravely balancing against the picket fence.
She waited with the most exasperating silence to hear more. Grace Roseberry drew back a step not intimidated only mortified and surprised. "Was my father wrong?" she asked, with a simple dignity of tone and manner which forced Lady Janet to abandon her policy of silence, in spite of herself. "Who was your father?" she asked, coldly.
A brief examination showed that the journal had been written by Miss Roseberry, and that it was mainly devoted to a record of the last days of her father's life. After replacing the journal and the correspondence in the case, the one paper left on the table was a letter. The envelope, which was unclosed, bore this address: "Lady Janet Roy, Mablethorpe House, Kensington, London."
The next moment Lady Janet's mask was on. Any superficial observer who had seen her now would have said, "This is a hard woman!" The door was opened by the maid. Grace Roseberry entered the room. She advanced rapidly, with a defiant assurance in her manner, and a lofty carriage of her head.
They might do one of two things: they might enter the drawing-room, or they might withdraw again by way of the garden. Kneeling behind the door, with her ear at the key-hole, Grace Roseberry waited the event. ABSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the opening door or to hear the murmur of voices in the conservatory.
Sooner or later inquiry led to discovery. Sometimes the servants threatened to give warning in a body and I was obliged to go. Sometimes, where there was a young man in the family, scandal pointed at me and at him and again I was obliged to go. If you care to know it, Miss Roseberry can tell you the story of those sad days.
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