“Well, how do you find her spirits to-day, Mr. Wilmington?” asked Mrs. Gott, kindly, and catching the conventional sound of the young man’s name, from having heard it so often in the mouth of Michael Millington. “It is an awful state for any human being to be in, and she a young, delicate woman; to be tried for murder, and for setting fire to a house, and all so soon!” “The most extraordinary part of this very extraordinary business, Mrs. Gott,” Jack replied, “is the perfect indifference of Miss Monson to her fearful jeopardy! To me, she seems much more anxious to be closely immured in gaol, than to escape from a trial that one would think, of itself, might prove more than so delicate a young lady could bear up against.” “Very true, Mr. Wilmington; and she never seems to think of it at all! You see what she has done, sir?” “Done!—Nothing in particular, I hope?” “I don’t know what _you_ call particular; but to me it does seem to be remarkably particular. Didn’t you hear a piano, and another musical instrument, as you approached the gaol?” “I did, certainly, and wondered who could produce such admirable music in Biberry.” “Biberry has a great many musical ladies, I can tell you, Mr. Wilmington,” returned Mrs. Gott, a little coldly, though her good-nature instantly returned, and shone out in one of her most friendly smiles; “and those, too, that have been to town and heard all the great performers from Europe, of whom there have been so many of late years. I have heard good judges say that Duke’s county is not much behind the Island of Manhattan with the piano in particular.” “I remember, when at Rome, to have heard an Englishman say that some young ladies from Lincolnshire were astonishing the Romans with their Italian accent, in singing Italian operas,” answered Jack, smiling. “There is no end, my dear Mrs. Gott, to provincial perfection in all parts of the world.” “I believe I understand you, but I am not at all offended at your meaning. We are not very sensitive about the gaols. One thing I will admit, however; Mary Monson’s harp is the first, I rather think, that was ever heard in Biberry. Gott tells me”—this was the familiar manner in which the good woman spoke of the _high_ sheriff of Duke’s, as the journals affectedly call that functionary—“that he once met some German girls strolling about the county, playing and singing for money, and who had just such an instrument, but not one-half as elegant; and it has brought to my mind a suspicion that Mary Monson may be one of these travelling musicians.” “What? to stroll about the country, and play and sing in the streets of villages!”