for, in
that case, he feared the Crown would use his advertisements as evidence
at the trial, should Griffith not appear.

The fact is, Houseman relied more upon certain _lacunae_ in the evidence,
and the absence of all marks of violence, than upon any hope that
Griffith might be alive.

The assizes drew near, and no fresh light broke in upon this mysterious
case.

Mrs. Gaunt lay in her bed at night, and thought and thought.

Now the female understanding has sometimes remarkable power under such
circumstances. By degrees Truth flashes across it, like lightning in the
dark.

After many such nightly meditations, Mrs. Gaunt sent one day for Sir
George Neville and Mr. Houseman, and addressed them as follows:--"I
believe he is alive, and that I can guess where he is at this moment."

Both the gentlemen started, and looked amazed.

"Yes, sirs; so sure as we sit here, he is now at a little inn in
Lancashire, called the 'Packhorse,' with a woman he calls his wife."
And, with this, her face was scarlet, and her eyes flashed their old
fire.

She exacted a solemn promise of secrecy from them, and then she told
them all she had learned from Thomas Leicester.

"And so now," said she, "I believe you can save my life, if you think it
is worth saving." And with this, she began to cry bitterly.

But Houseman, the practical, had no patience with the pangs of love
betrayed, and jealousy, and such small deer, in a client whose life was
at stake. "Great Heaven! madam," said he, roughly: "why did you not tell
me this before?"

"Because I am not a man--to go and tell everything, all at once," sobbed
Mrs. Gaunt. "Besides, I wanted to shield his good name, whose dear life
they pretend I have taken."

As soon as she recovered her composure, she begged Sir George Neville to
ride to the "Packhorse" for her. Sir George assented eagerly, but asked
how he was to find it. "I have thought of that, too," said she. "His
black horse has been to and fro. Ride that horse into Lancashire, and
give him his head: ten to one but he takes you to the place, or where
you may hear of it. If not, go to Lancaster, and ask about the
'Packhorse.' He wrote to me from Lancaster: see." And she showed him the
letter.

Sir George embraced with ardor this opportunity of serving her. "I'll be
at Hernshaw in one hour," said he, "and ride the black horse south at
once."

"Excuse me," said Houseman; "but would it not be better for me to go? As
a lawyer, I may