e sat down, and said,
gravely, and for the first time a little coldly, as one who had deserved
well, and been received ill: "Mistress Gaunt, you are accused of
murdering your husband. 'T is false; for two days ago I saw him alive."

"What do you say?" cried Mrs. Gaunt, trembling all over.

"Be brave, madam. You have borne great trouble: do not give way under
joy. He who has wronged us both--he who wedded you under his own name of
Griffith Gaunt, and me under the false name of Thomas Leicester--is no
more dead than we are; I saw him two days ago, and spoke to him, and
persuaded him to come to Carlisle town, and do you justice."

Mrs. Gaunt fell on her knees. "He is alive; he is alive. Thank God! O,
thank God! He is alive; and God bless the tongue that tells me so. God
bless you eternally, Mercy Vint."

The tears of joy streamed down her face, and then Mercy's flowed too.
She uttered a little pathetic cry of joy. "Ah," she sobbed, "the bit of
comfort I needed so has come to my heavy heart. _She_ has blessed me."

But she said this very softly, and Mrs. Gaunt was in a rapture, and did
not hear her.

* * * * *

"Is it a dream? My husband alive? and you the one to come and tell me
so? How unjust I have been to you. Forgive me. Why does he not come
himself?"

Mercy colored at this question, and hesitated.

"Well, dame," said she, "for one thing, he has been on the fuddle for
the last two months."

"On the fuddle?"

"Ay; he owns he has never been sober a whole day. And that takes the
heart out of a man, as well as the brains. And then he has got it into
his head that you will never forgive him, and that he shall be cast in
prison if he shows his face in Cumberland."

"Why in Cumberland more than in Lancashire?" asked Mrs. Gaunt, biting
her lip.

Mercy blushed faintly. She replied with some delicacy, but did not
altogether mince the matter.

"He knows I shall never punish him for what he has done to me."

"Why not? I begin to think he has wronged you almost as much as he has
me."

"Worse, madam; worse. He has robbed me of my good name. You are still
his lawful wife, and none can point the finger at you. But look at me. I
was an honest girl, respected by all the parish. What has he made of me?
The man that lay a dying in my house, and I saved his life, and so my
heart did warm to him,--he blasphemed God's altar, to deceive and betray
me; and here I am, a poor forlorn creature,