“Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the woman’s mind when she was struck by the shell might have been (quite probably) the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity and Miss Roseberry’s affairs? You think it likely enough? Well, what happens after that? The wounded woman is brought to life by an operation, and she becomes delirious in the hospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity ferments in her brain, and assumes its present perverted form. In that form it still remains. As a necessary consequence, she persists in reversing the two identities. She says she is Miss Roseberry, and declares Miss Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor ‘s explanation. What do you think of it?” “Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn’t quite satisfy me, however, for all that. I think--” What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. She suddenly checked herself, and held up her hand for the second time. “Another objection?” inquired Julian. “Hold your tongue!” cried the old lady. “If you say a word more I shall lose it again.” “Lose what, aunt?” “What I wanted to say to you ages ago. I have got it back again--it begins with a question. (No more of the doctor--I have had enough of him!) Where is she--_your_ pitiable lady, _my_ crazy wretch--where is she now? Still in London?” “Yes.” “And still at large?” “Still with the landlady, at her lodgings.” “Very well. Now answer me this! What is to prevent her from making another attempt to force her way (or steal her way) into my house? How am I to protect Grace, how am I to protect myself, if she comes here again?” “Is that really what you wished to speak to me about?” “That, and nothing else.” They were both too deeply interested in the subject of their conversation to look toward the conservatory, and to notice the appearance at that moment of a distant gentleman among the plants and flowers, who had made his way in from the garden outside. Advancing noiselessly on the soft Indian matting, the gentleman ere long revealed himself under the form and features of Horace Holmcroft. Before entering the dining-room he paused, fixing his eyes inquisitively on the back of Lady Janet’s visitor--the back being all that he could see in the position he then occupied. After a pause of an instant the visitor spoke, and further uncertainty was at once at an end. Horace, nevertheless, made no movement to enter the room. He had his own jealous distrust of what Julian might be tempted to say at a private interview with his aunt; and he waited a little longer on the chance that his doubts might be verified. “Neither you nor Miss Roseberry need any protection from the poor deluded creature,” Julian went on. “I have gained great influence over her--and I have satisfied her that it is useless to present herself here again.” “I beg your pardon,” interposed Horace, speaking from the conservatory door. “You have done nothing of the sort.”