_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. _Judge._ Let me see the papers. 'T is 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._ O, he called himself Thomas Leicester, did he? Then what makes you think he is Griffith Gaunt? _Mercy._ Well, sir, the pedler, 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; 't was the shirt he wore when he first came to us. 'T is 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.