he servants not to show any one in."
With those words he left her.

Mercy's first sensation was a sensation of relief--soon lost in a
feeling of shame at the weakness which could welcome any temporary
relief in such a position as hers. The emotion thus roused merged,
in its turn, into a sense of impatient regret. "But for Lady Janet's
message," she thought to herself, "I might have known my fate by this
time!"

The slow minutes followed each other drearily. She paced to and fro in
the library, faster and faster, under the intolerable irritation, the
maddening uncertainty, of her own suspense. Ere long, even the spacious
room seemed to be too small for her. The sober monotony of the long
book-lined shelves oppressed and offended her. She threw open the door
which led into the dining-room, and dashed in, eager for a change of
objects, athirst for more space and more air.

At the first step she checked herself; rooted to the spot, under a
sudden revulsion of feeling which quieted her in an instant.

The room was only illuminated by the waning fire-light. A man was
obscurely visible, seated on the sofa, with his elbows on his knees and
his head resting on his hands. He looked up as the open door let in
the light from the library lamps. The mellow glow reached his face and
revealed Julian Gray.

Mercy was standing with her back to the light; her face being
necessarily hidden in deep shadow. He recognized her by her figure, and
by the attitude into which it unconsciously fell. That unsought grace,
that lithe long beauty of line, belonged to but one woman in the house.
He rose, and approached her.

"I have been wishing to see you," he said, "and hoping that accident
might bring about some such meeting as this."

He offered her a chair. Mercy hesitated before she took her seat. This
was their first meeting alone since Lady Janet had interrupted her at
the moment when she was about to confide to Julian the melancholy story
of the past. Was he anxious to seize the opportunity of returning to
her confession? The terms in which he had addressed her seemed to imply
it. She put the question to him in plain words,

"I feel the deepest interest in hearing all that you have still to
confide to me," he answered. "But anxious as I may be, I will not hurry
you. I will wait, if you wish it."

"I am afraid I must own that I do wish it," Mercy rejoined. "Not on my
account--but because my time is at the disposal of Horace Holmcroft.