“You haven’t been on the streets for nothing. You are a woman with resources; you know the value of having two strings to your bow. If Mr. Holmcroft fails you, you have got Mr. Julian Gray. Ah! you sicken me. _I’ll_ see that Mr. Holmcroft’s eyes are opened; he shall know what a woman he might have married but for Me--” She checked herself; the next refinement of insult remained suspended on her lips. The woman whom she had outraged suddenly advanced on her. Her eyes, staring helplessly upward, saw Mercy Merrick’s face, white with the terrible anger which drives the blood back on the heart, bending threateningly over her. “‘You will see that Mr. Holmcroft’s eyes are opened,’” Mercy slowly repeated; “‘he shall know what a woman he might have married but for you!’” She paused, and followed those words by a question which struck a creeping terror through Grace Roseberry, from the hair of her head to the soles of her feet: “_Who are you?_” The suppressed fury of look and tone which accompanied that question told, as no violence could have told it, that the limits of Mercy’s endurance had been found at last. In the guardian angel’s absence the evil genius had done its evil work. The better nature which Julian Gray had brought to life sank, poisoned by the vile venom of a womanly spiteful tongue. An easy and a terrible means of avenging the outrages heaped on her was within Mercy’s reach, if she chose to take it. In the frenzy of her indignation she never hesitated--she took it. “Who are you?” she asked for the second time. Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stopped her with a scornful gesture of her hand. “I remember!” she went on, with the same fiercely suppressed rage. “You are the madwoman from the German hospital who came here a week ago. I am not afraid of you this time. Sit down and rest yourself, Mercy Merrick.” Deliberately giving her that name to her face, Mercy turned from her and took the chair which Grace had forbidden her to occupy when the interview began. Grace started to her feet. “What does this mean?” she asked. “It means,” answered Mercy, contemptuously, “that I recall every word I said to you just now. It means that I am resolved to keep my place in this house.” “Are you out of your senses?” “You are not far from the bell. Ring it. Do what you asked _me_ to do. Call in the whole household, and ask them which of us is mad--you or I.” “Mercy Merrick! you shall repent this to the last hour of your life!” Mercy rose again, and fixed her flashing eyes on the woman who still defied her. “I have had enough of you!” she said. “Leave the house while you can leave it. Stay here, and I will send for Lady Janet Roy.” “You can’t send for her! You daren’t send for her!”