mean. Are you not to be paid for telling us this romance?
Mercy. Nay, sir, I ask naught for telling the truth.
Whitworth. You were in the prisoner's company yesterday?
Mercy. Yes, sir, I visited her in the jail last night.
Whitworth. And there concerted this ingenious defence?
Mercy. Well, sir, for that matter, I told her that her man was alive, and I did offer to be her witness.
Whitworth. For naught?
Mercy. For no money or reward, if 't is that you mean. Why, 't is a joy beyond money to clear an innocent body, and save her life; and that satisfaction is mine this day.
Whitworth (sarcastically). These are very fine sentiments for a person in your condition. Confess that Mrs. Gaunt primed you with all that.
Mercy. Nay, sir, I left home in that mind; else I had not come at all. Bethink you; 't is a long journey for one in my way of life; and this dear child on my arm all the way.
Mrs. Gaunt sat boiling with indignation. But Mercy's good temper and meekness parried the attack that time. Mr. Whitworth changed his line.
Whitworth. You ask the jury to believe that Griffith Gaunt, Esquire, a gentleman, and a man of spirit and honor, is alive, yet skulks and sends you hither, when by showing his face in this court he could clear his wife without a single word spoken?
Mercy. Yes, sir; I do hope to be believed, for I speak the naked truth. But, with due respect to you, Mr. Gaunt did not send me hither against my will. I could not bide in Lancashire, and let an innocent woman be murdered in Cumberland.
Whitworth. Murdered, quotha. That is a good jest. I'd have you to know we punish murders here, not do them.
Mercy. I am glad to hear that, sir, on the lady's account.
Whitworth. Come, come. You pretend you discovered this Griffith Gaunt alive, by means of an advertisement. If so, produce the advertisement.
Mercy Vint colored, and cast a swift, uneasy glance at Mrs. Gaunt.
Rapid as it was, the keen eye of the counsel caught it.
"Nay, do not look to the culprit for orders," said he. "Produce it, or confess the truth. Come, you never advertised for him."
"Sir, I did advertise for him."
"Then produce the advertisement."
"Sir, I will not," said Mercy, calmly.
"Then I shall move the court to commit you."
"For what offence, if you please?"
"For perjury and contempt of court."
"I am guiltless of either, God knows. But I will not show the advertisement."
Judge. This is very extraordinary. Perhaps you have it not about you.
Mercy. My lord, the truth is I have it in my bosom. But, if I show it, it will not make this matter one whit clearer, and 't will open the wounds of two poor women. 'T is not for myself. But, O my lord, look at her. Hath she not gone through grief enow?
The appeal was made with a quiet, touching earnestness, that affected every hearer. But the judge had a duty to perform. "Witness," said he, "you mean well; but indeed you do the prisoner an injury by withholding this paper. Be good enough to produce it at once."
Prisoner (with a deep sigh). Obey my lord.
Mercy (with a patient sigh). There, sir, may the Lord forgive you the useless mischief you are doing.
Whitworth. I am doing my duty, young woman. And yours is to tell the whole truth, and not a part only.
Mercy (acquiescing). That is true, sir.
Whitworth. Why, what is this? 'T is not Mr. Gaunt you advertise for in these papers. 'T is Thomas Leicester.
Judge. What is that? I don't understand.
Whitworth. Nor I neither.
