mayhap than thou lovest me. But to keep it from thee, and she in her grave,—O, I had not the heart."
But Griffith's agitation increased instead of diminishing; and, even while she was trying to soothe him, he rushed wildly out of the room, and into the open air.
Mercy went, in perplexity and distress, and told her mother.
Mrs. Vint, not being blinded by affection, thought the whole thing had a very ugly look, and said as much. She gave it as her opinion that this Kate was alive, and had sent the token herself, to make mischief between man and wife.
"That shall she never," said Mercy, stoutly; but now her suspicions were thoroughly excited, and her happiness disturbed.
The next day, Griffith found her in tears. He asked her what was the matter. She would not tell him.
"You have your secrets," said she; "and so now I have mine."
Griffith became very uneasy.
For now Mercy was often in tears, and Mrs. Vint looked daggers at him.
All this was mysterious and unintelligible, and, to a guilty man, very alarming.
At last he implored Mercy to speak out. He wanted to know the worst.
Then Mercy did speak out. "You have deceived me," said she. "Kate is alive. This very morning, between sleeping and waking, you whispered her name; ay, false man, whispered it like a lover. You told me she was dead. But she is alive, and has sent you a reminder, and the bare sight of it hath turned your heart her way again. What shall I do? Why did you marry me, if you could not forget her? I did not want you to desert any woman for me. The desire of my heart was always for your happiness. But O Thomas, deceit and falsehood will not bring you happiness, no more than they will me. What shall I do? what shall I do?"
Her tears flowed freely, and Griffith sat down, and groaned with horror and remorse, beside her.
He had not the courage to tell her the horrible truth,—that Kate was his wife, and she was not.
"Do not thou afflict thyself," he muttered. "Of course, with you putting that bullet in my hand so sudden, it set my fancy a wandering back to other days."
"Ah!" said Mercy, "if it be no worse than that, there's little harm. But why did thy namesake start so at sight of thy picture?"
"My namesake!" cried Griffith, all aghast.
"Ay, he that brought thee that love-token,—Thomas Leicester. Nay, for very shame, feign not ignorance of him. Why, he hath thy very mole on his temple, and knew thy picture in a moment. He is thy half-brother; is he not?"
"I am a ruined man," cried Griffith, and sank into a chair without power of motion.
"God help me, what is all this?" cried Mercy. "O Thomas, Thomas, I could forgive thee aught but deceit: for both our sakes speak out, and tell me the worst. No harm shall come near thee while I live."
"How can I tell thee? I am an unfortunate man. The world will call me a villain; yet I am not a villain at heart. But who will believe me? I have broken the law. Thee I could trust, but not thy folk; they never loved me. Mercy, for pity's sake, when was that Thomas Leicester here?"
"Four days ago."
"Which way went he?"
"I hear he told Paul he was going to Cumberland."
"If he gets there before me, I shall rot in gaol."
"Now God forbid! O Thomas, then mount and ride after him."
"I will, and this very moment."
He saddled Black Dick, and loaded his pistols for the journey; but, ere he went, a pale face looked out into the yard, and a finger beckoned. It was Mercy. She bade him follow her. She
