Mercy knew in a moment who "her" must be. She looked scared, and drew back with manifest signs of repulsion. The movement did not escape Sir George: it alarmed him. He remembered what Mrs. Gaunt had said,--that this woman would be sure to hate Gaunt's lawful wife. But it was too late to go back. He did the next best thing, he rushed on. He threw himself on his knees before Mercy Vint. "O madam," he cried, piteously, "do not set your heart against the most unhappy lady in England. If you did but know her, her nobleness, her misery! Before you steel yourself against me, her friend, let me ask you one question. Do you know where Mrs. Gaunt is at this moment?" Mercy answered coldly, "How should I know where she is?" "Well, then, she lies in Carlisle jail." "She--lies--in Carlisle jail?" repeated Mercy, looking all confused. "They accuse her of murdering her husband." Mercy uttered a scream, and, catching her child up off the floor, began to rock herself and moan over it. "No, no, no," cried Sir George, "she is innocent, she is innocent." "What is that to _me_?" cried Mercy, wildly. "He is murdered, he is dead, and my child an orphan." And so she went on moaning and rocking herself. "But I tell you he is not dead at all," cried Sir George. "'Tis all a mistake. When did you see him last?" "More than six weeks ago." "I mean, when did you hear from him last?" "Never, since that day." Sir George groaned aloud at this intelligence. And Mercy, who heard him groan, was heart-broken. She accused herself of Griffith's death. "'T was I who drove him from me," she said. "'T was I who bade him go back to his lawful wife; and the wretch hated him. I sent him to his death." Her grief was wild, and deep. She could not hear Sir George's arguments. But presently she said, sternly, "What does that woman say for herself?" "Madam," said Sir George, dejectedly, "Heaven knows you are in no condition to fathom a mystery that hath puzzled wiser heads than yours or mine; and I am little able to lay the tale before you fairly; for your grief, it moves me deeply, and I could curse myself for putting the matter to you so bluntly and so uncouthly. Permit me to retire a while and compose my own spirits for the task I have undertaken too rashly." "Nay, George Neville," said Mercy, "stay you there. Only give me a moment to draw my breath." She struggled hard for a little composure, and, after a shower of tears, she hung her head over the chair like a crushed thing, but made him a sign of attention. Sir George told the story as fairly as he could; only of course his bias was in favor of Mrs. Gaunt; but as Mercy's bias was against her, this brought the thing nearly square. When he came to the finding of the body, Mercy was seized with a deadly faintness; and though she did not become insensible, yet she was in no condition to judge, or even to comprehend.