_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 'twill open the wounds of two poor women. 'Tis not for myself. But, oh 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." _The Prisoner_ (with a deep sigh). Obey my lord. _Mercy_ (with a deep 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? This not Mr. Gaunt you advertise for in these papers. 'Tis Thomas Leicester. _The Judge._ What is that? I don't understand. _Whitworth._ Nor I neither. _The Judge._ Let me see the papers. 'Tis Thomas Leicester sure enough. _Whitworth._ And you mean to swear that Griffith Gaunt answered an advertisement inviting Thomas Leicester? _Mercy._ I do. Thomas Leicester was the name he went by in our part. _Whitworth._ What? what? You are jesting. _Mercy._ Is this a place or a time for jesting? I say he called himself Thomas Leicester. Here the business was interrupted again by a multitudinous murmur of excited voices. Everybody was whispering astonishment to his neighbor. And the whisper of a great crowd has the effect of a loud murmur. _Whitworth._ Oh, he called himself Thomas Leicester, did he? Then what makes you say he is Griffith Gaunt? _Mercy._ Well, sir, the pedlar, whose real name was Thomas Leicester, came to our house one day, and saw his picture, and knew it; and said something to a neighbor that raised my suspicions. When he came home, I took this shirt out of a drawer; 'twas the shirt he wore when he first came to us. 'Tis marked "G. G." (The shirt was examined). Said I, "For God's sake speak the truth: what does G. G. stand for?" Then he told me his real name was Griffith Gaunt, and he had a wife in Cumberland. "Go back to her," said I, "and ask her to forgive you." Then he rode north, and I never saw him again till last Wednesday. _Whitworth_ (satirically). You seem to have been mighty intimate with this Thomas Leicester, whom you now call Griffith Gaunt. May I ask what was, or is, the nature of your connection with him? Mercy was silent. _Whitworth._ I must press for a reply, that we may know what value to attach to your most extraordinary evidence. Were you his wife--or his mistress? _Mercy._ Indeed I hardly know; but not his mistress, or I should not be here. _Whitworth._ You don't know whether you were married to the man or not? _Mercy._ I do not say so. But-- She hesitated, and cast a piteous look at Mrs. Gaunt, who sat boiling with indignation.