The New Magdalen | Page 9

identity? Can
you give me the name and the place of an innocent woman? If I only
had your chance! If I only had your reputation and your prospects!" She
laid one hand over her bosom, and controlled herself. "Stay here," she
resumed, "while I go back to my work. I will see that your clothes are
dried. You shall wear my clothes as short a time as possible."
With those melancholy words--touchingly, not bitterly spoken--she
moved to pass into the kitchen, when she noticed that the pattering
sound of the rain against the window was audible no more. Dropping

the canvas for the moment, she retraced her steps, and, unfastening the
wooden shutter, looked out.
The moon was rising dimly in the watery sky; the rain had ceased; the
friendly darkness which had hidden the French position from the
German scouts was lessening every moment. In a few hours more (if
nothing happened) the English lady might resume her journey. In a few
hours more the morning would dawn.
Mercy lifted her hand to close the shutter. Before she could fasten it the
report of a rifle-shot reached the cottage from one of the distant posts.
It was followed almost instantly by a second report, nearer and louder
than the first. Mercy paused, with the shutter in her hand, and listened
intently for the next sound.
CHAPTER III.
THE GERMAN SHELL.
A THIRD rifle-shot rang through the night air, close to the cottage.
Grace started and approached the window in alarm.
"What does that firing mean?" she asked.
"Signals from the outposts," the nurse quietly replied.
"Is there any danger? Have the Germans come back?"
Surgeon Surville answered the question. He lifted the canvas screen,
and looked into the room as Miss Roseberry spoke.
"The Germans are advancing on us," he said. "Their vanguard is in
sight."
Grace sank on the chair near her, trembling from head to foot. Mercy
advanced to the surgeon, and put the decisive question to him.
"Do we defend the position?" she inquired.

Surgeon Surville ominously shook his head.
"Impossible! We are outnumbered as usual--ten to one."
The shrill roll of the French drums was heard outside.
"There is the retreat sounded!" said the surgeon. "The captain is not a
man to think twice about what he does. We are left to take care of
ourselves. In five minutes we must be out of this place."
A volley of rifle-shots rang out as he spoke. The German vanguard was
attacking the French at the outposts. Grace caught the surgeon
entreatingly by the arm. "Take me with you," she cried. "Oh, sir, I have
suffered from the Germans already! Don't forsake me, if they come
back!" The surgeon was equal to the occasion; he placed the hand of
the pretty Englishwoman on his breast. "Fear nothing, madam," he said,
looking as if he could have annihilated the whole German force with
his own invincible arm. "A Frenchman's heart beats under your hand. A
Frenchman's devotion protects you." Grace's head sank on his shoulder.
Monsieur Surville felt that he had asserted himself; he looked round
invitingly at Mercy. She, too, was an attractive woman. The Frenchman
had another shoulder at her service. Unhappily the room was dark--the
look was lost on Mercy. She was thinking of the helpless men in the
inner chamber, and she quietly recalled the surgeon to a sense of his
professional duties.
"What is to become of the sick and wounded?" she asked.
Monsieur Surville shrugged one shoulder--the shoulder that was free.
"The strongest among them we can take away with us," he said. "The
others must be left here. Fear nothing for yourself, dear lady. There will
be a place for you in the baggage-wagon."
"And for me, too?" Grace pleaded, eagerly.
The surgeon's invincible arm stole round the young lady's waist, and
answered mutely with a squeeze.

"Take her with you," said Mercy. "My place is with the men whom you
leave behind."
Grace listened in amazement. "Think what you risk," she said "if you
stop here."
Mercy pointed to her left shoulder.
"Don't alarm yourself on my account," she answered; "the red cross
will protect me."
Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to take his
place as director-general of the ambulance without any further delay.
He conducted Grace to a chair, and placed both her hands on his heart
this time, to reconcile her to the misfortune of his absence. "Wait here
till I return for you," he whispered. "Fear nothing, my charming friend.
Say to yourself, 'Surville is the soul of honor! Surville is devoted to
me!'" He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room,
and cast one look of unutterable homage at his charming friend. "A
bientot!" he cried, and kissed his hand