oor Sir George was moved and melted, and set himself to flatter and
console this impracticable lady, who hated her best friend in this sore
strait, for being what she was herself, a woman; and was much less
annoyed at being hanged than at not being loved.

When she was a little calmer, he left her, and rode off to Houseman.
That worthy was delighted.

"Get her to swear to those hobnailed shoes," said he, "and we shall
shake them." He then let Sir George know that he had obtained private
information which he would use in cross-examining a principal witness
for the crown. "However," he added, "do not deceive yourself, nothing
can make the prisoner really safe but the appearance of Griffith Gaunt.
He has such strong motives for coming to light. He is heir to a fortune,
and his wife is accused of murdering him. The jury will never believe he
is alive till they see him. That man's prolonged disappearance is
hideous. It turns my blood cold when I think of it."

"Do not despair on that score," said Neville. "I believe our good angel
will produce him."

Three days only before the assizes, came the long-expected letter from
Mercy Vint. Sir George tore it open, but bitter was his disappointment.
The letter merely said that Griffith had not appeared in answer to her
advertisements, and she was sore grieved and perplexed.

There were two postscripts, each on a little piece of paper.

First postscript, in a tremulous hand, "Pray."

Second postscript, in a firm hand, "Drain the water."

Houseman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Drain the water? Let the
crown do that. We should but fish up more trouble. And prayers quo' she!
'Tis not prayers we want, but evidence."

He sent his clerk off to travel post night and day, and subpoena
Mercy, and bring her back with him to the trial. She was to have every
comfort on the road, and be treated like a duchess.

The evening before the assizes, Mrs. Gaunt's apartments were Mr.
Houseman's head-quarters, and messages were coming and going all day, on
matters connected with the defence.

Just at sunset, up rattled a post-chaise, and the clerk got out and came
haggard and bloodshot before his employer. "The witness has disappeared,
sir. Left home last Tuesday, with her child, and has never been seen nor
heard of since."

Here was a terrible blow. They all paled under it: it seriously
diminished the chances of an acquittal.

But Mrs. Gaunt bore it nobly. She seemed to rise under it.