Poor Cynthia's dilemma was desperate. She did not know how to act. I shook my fist at the wicked wag, and began to wish heartily that I had not added to my other weaknesses by shirking the consequences of them. I longed to come to her aid. But I had less desire than ever to expose myself now; and after all here was a very pretty comedy. "Come, come, madam," says Mr. Fielding. "I would not have you trifle with justice in this manner. What is your husband's name?" "His name is Smith," says she at last, taking the name we had been married in. The pseudo-justice expressed his disappointment. He grieved to say that to the best of his knowledge no person of that name had called upon him that evening. "But he was among the gypsies that were brought to your house this evening," Cynthia persisted. "What is become of them?" "Is your husband a gypsy, madam?" says he. "I should have thought it not at all likely, to judge by the appearance of his wife?" "No, he is not," says she. "Then why is he concerned with gypsies in such a scandalous charge?" At every turn the mischievous fellow contrived some new means of embarrassing her story; and at the same time he embarrassed my patience also, as he very well knew. But it was quite in vain for me to publish my threats from behind the screen. Both of us were delivered into his hands. "I am disappointed that he was among the gypsies, madam," says he, "since they were discharged and sent away several hours ago." "Oh," says Cynthia eagerly, "how glad I am to hear that!" But then her face fell. "How may I find him?" she says, very anxiously. "Nay, madam," says Fielding, "that is more than I can tell. But I am disappointed to hear that his name is Smith. You are sure his name is Smith, madam?" Cynthia hesitated between hope and fear. Could it be possible that my true name had been discovered, and that concealment was no longer desirable or necessary? "It is most strange, madam," says her relentless persecutor, "that you should not be certain of the name of your own husband. I suppose you could not by any chance have made a mistake in regard to the name of him?" "I might have done," poor Cynthia faltered; whilst I felt such an overpowering desire to execute a prompt vengeance on the wretch that it was as much as I could do to remain in my seclusion. "Well, if you might have done," says he, "his name could not by any chance have begun with a 'T.' Could his name be something like 'Tivy,' or 'Tantivy'?" Poor Mrs. Cynthia had completely lost her bearings by this. She was utterly nonplussed, and looked at the wicked Fielding as helplessly as a child. She was still unable to overcome her scruples about revealing my real name. To do so to a justice of the peace of all people in the world was like to be a most imprudent act. But at the same time she could not rid her mind of the thought that he already knew more than he would tell.