The wise in their own conceit are blinded. In Cumberland, where all this befell, they went not to God for light, as you and I did, George."
In saying this, she gave him her hand to celebrate their success.
He kissed it devoutly, and owned afterward that it was the proudest moment of his life, when that sweet Puritan gave him her neat hand so cordially, with a pressure so gentle yet frank.
And now came the question how they were to make a Cumberland jury see this matter as they saw it.
He asked her would she come to the trial as a witness?
At that she drew back with manifest repugnance.
"My shame would be public. I must tell who I am; and what. A ruined woman."
"Say rather an injured saint. You have nothing to be ashamed of. All good men would feel for you."
Mercy shook her head. "Ay, but the women. Shame is shame with us. Right or wrong goes for little. Nay, I hope to do better for you than that. I must find him, and send him to deliver her. 'Tis his only chance of happiness."
She then asked him if he would draw up an advertisement of quite a different kind from those he had described to her.
He assented, and between them they concocted the following:—
"If Thomas Leicester, who went from the 'Packhorse' two months ago, will come thither at once, Mercy will be much beholden to him, and tell him strange things that have befallen."
Sir George then, at her request, rode over to Lancaster, and inserted the above in the county paper, and also in a small sheet that was issued in the city three times a week. He had also handbills to the same effect printed, and sent into Cumberland and Westmoreland. Finally, he sent a copy to his man of business in London, with orders to insert it in all the journals.
Then he returned to the "Packhorse," and told Mercy what he had done.
The next day he bade her farewell, and away for Carlisle. It was a two days' journey. He reached Carlisle in the evening, and went all glowing to Mrs. Gaunt. "Madam," said he, "be of good cheer. I bless the day I went to see her; she is an angel of wit and goodness."
He then related to her, in glowing terms, most that had passed between Mercy and him. But, to his surprise, Mrs. Gaunt wore a cold, forbidding air.
"This is all very well," said she. "But 't will avail me little unless he comes before the judge and clears me; and she will never let him do that."
"Ay, that she will,—if she can find him."
"If she can find him? How simple you are!"
"Nay, madam, not so simple but I can tell a good woman from a bad one, and a true from a false."
"What! when you are in love with her? Not if you were the wisest of your sex."
"In love with her?" cried Sir George; and colored high.
"Ay," said the lady. "Think you I cannot tell? Don't deceive yourself. You have gone and fallen in love with her. At your years! Not that 'tis any business of mine."
"Well, madam," said Sir George, stiffly, "say what you please on that score; but at least welcome my good news."
Mrs. Gaunt begged him to excuse her petulance, and thanked him kindly for all he had just done. But the next moment she rose from her chair in great agitation, and burst out, "I'd as lief die as owe anything to that woman."
Sir George remonstrated. "Why hate her? She does not hate you."
"O, yes, she does. 'Tis not in nature she should do any other."
"Her acts prove the contrary."
"Her acts! She has done nothing, but make fair promises; and that has blinded you. Women of this sort are
