I reminded her in reply that I held the position of English consul, and that my object was, if possible, to be of some assistance to her.
"You can be of the greatest assistance to me," she said, eagerly.
"Find Mercy Merrick!"
I saw the vindictive look come back into her eyes, and an angry flush rising on her white cheeks.
Abstaining from showing any surprise, I asked her who Mercy Merrick was.
"A vile woman, by her own confession," was the quick reply.
"How am I to find her?" I inquired next.
"Look for a woman in a black dress, with the Red Geneva Cross on her shoulder; she is a nurse in the French ambulance."
"What has she done?"
"I have lost my papers; I have lost my own clothes; Mercy Merrick has taken them."
"How do you know that Mercy Merrick has taken them?"
"Nobody else could have taken them—that's how I know it.
Do you believe me or not?"
She as beginning to excite herself again; I assured her that I would at once send to make inquiries after Mercy Merrick.
She turned round contented on the pillow.
"There's a good man!" she said.
"Come back and tell me when you have caught her."
Such was my first interview with the English patient at the hospital at Mannheim.
It is needless to say that I doubted the existence of the absent person described as a nurse.
However, it was possible to make inquiries by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, whose whereabouts was known to his friends in Mannheim.
I wrote to him, and received his answer in due time.
After the night attack of the Germans had made them masters of the French position, he had entered the cottage occupied by the French ambulance.
He had found the wounded Frenchmen left behind, but had seen no such person in attendance on them as the nurse in the black dress with the red cross on her shoulder.
The only living woman in the place was a young English lady, in a gray traveling cloak, who had been stopped on the frontier, and who was forwarded on her way home by the war correspondent of an English journal.'"
"That was Grace," said Lady Janet.
"And I was the war correspondent," added Horace.
"A few words more," said Julian, "and you will understand my object in claiming your attention."
He returned to the letter for the last time, and concluded his extracts from it as follows:
"'Instead of attending at the hospital myself, I communicated by letter the failure of my attempt to discover the missing nurse.
For some little time afterward I heard no more of the sick woman, whom I shall still call Mercy Merrick.
It was only yesterday that I received another summons to visit the patient.
She had by this time sufficiently recovered to claim her discharge, and she had announced her intention of returning forthwith to England.
The head physician, feeling a sense of responsibility, had sent for me.
It was impossible to detain her on the ground that she was not fit to be trusted by herself at large, in consequence of the difference of opinion among the doctors on the case.
All that could be done was to give me due notice, and to leave the matter in my hands.
On seeing her for the second time, I found her sullen and reserved.
She openly attributed my inability to find the nurse to want of zeal for her interests on my part.
I had, on my side, no authority whatever to detain her.
I could only inquire whether she had money enough to pay her traveling expenses.
Her reply informed me that the chaplain of the hospital had mentioned her forlorn situation in the town, and that the English residents had subscribed a small sum of money to enable her to return to her own country.
Satisfied on this head, I asked next if she had friends to go to in England.
"I have one friend," she answered, "who is a host in herself—Lady Janet Roy."
You may imagine my surprise when I heard this.
I found it quite useless to make any further inquiries as to how she came to know your aunt, whether your aunt expected her, and so on.
My questions evidently offended her; they were received in sulky silence.
Under these circumstances, well knowing that I can trust implicitly to your humane sympathy for misfortune, I have decided (after careful reflection) to insure the poor creature's safety when she arrives in London by giving her a letter to you.
You will hear what she says, and you will be better able to discover than I am whether she really has any claim on Lady Janet Roy.
One last word of information, which it may be necessary to add, and I shall close this inordinately long letter.
At my first interview with her I abstained, as I have already told you, from irritating her by any inquiries on the subject of her name.
On this second occasion, however, I decided on putting the question.'"