"MADAM,--When I came here, I did not know you; and therefore I feared to trust you too far. But, now I do know you for the best woman in England, I take the open way with you. "Know that Mrs. Gaunt said the man would be here with you; and she charged me with a few written lines to him. She would be angry if she knew that I had shown them to any other. Yet I take on me to show them to you; for I believe you are wiser than any of us, if the truth were known. I do therefore entreat you to read these lines, and tell me whether you think the hand that wrote them can have shed the blood of him to whom they are writ. "I am, madam, with profound respect, "Your grateful and very humble servant, "GEORGE NEVILLE." He very soon received a line in reply, written in a clear and beautiful handwriting. "Mercy Vint sends you her duty; and she will speak to you at nine of the clock to-morrow morning. Pray for light." At the appointed time, Sir George found her working with her needle. His letter lay on a table before her. She rose and courtesied to him, and called the servant to take away the child for a while. She went with her to the door and kissed the bairn several times at parting, as if he was going away for good. "I'm loath to let him go," said she to Neville; "but it weakens a mother's mind to have her babe in the room,--takes her attention off each moment. Pray you be seated. Well, sir, I have read these lines of Mistress Gaunt, and wept over them. Methinks I had not done so, were they cunningly devised. Also I lay all night, and thought." "That is just what she does." "No doubt, sir; and the upshot is, I don't _feel_ as if he was dead. Thank God." "That is something," said Neville. But he could not help thinking it was very little; especially to produce in a court of justice. "And now," said she, thoughtfully, "you say that the real Thomas Leicester was seen thereabouts as well as my Thomas Leicester. Then answer me one little question. What had the real Thomas Leicester on his feet that night?" "Nay, I know not," was the half-careless reply. "Bethink you. 'Tis a question that must have been often put in your hearing." "Begging your pardon, it was never put at all; nor do I see--" "What, not at the inquest?" "No." "That is very strange. What, so many wise heads have bent over this riddle, and not one to ask how was yon pedler shod!" "Madam," said Sir George, "our minds were fixed upon the fate of Gaunt. Many did ask how was the pedler armed, but none how was he shod." "Hath he been seen since?" "Not he; and that hath an ugly look; for the constables are out after him with hue and cry; but he is not to be found." "Then," said Mercy, "I must e'en answer my own question. I do know how that pedler was shod. WITH HOBNAILED SHOES." Sir George bounded from his chair. One great ray of daylight broke in upon him.