The county was against her, with some few exceptions. Sir George Neville
and Mr. Houseman stood stoutly by her.
Sir George's influence and money obtained her certain comforts in jail;
and, in that day, the law of England was so far respected in a jail that
untried prisoners were not thrown into cells, nor impeded, as they now
are, in preparing their defence.
Her two stanch friends visited her every day, and tried to keep her
heart up.
But they could not do it. She was in a state of dejection bordering upon
lethargy.
"If he is dead," said she, "what matters it? If, by God's mercy, he is
alive still, he will not let me die for want of a word from him.
Impatience hath been my bane. Now, I say, God's will be done. I am
weary of the world."
Houseman tried every argument to rouse her out of this desperate frame
of mind; but in vain.
It ran its course, and then, behold, it passed away like a cloud, and
there came a keen desire to live and defeat her accusers.
She made Houseman write out all the evidence against her; and she
studied it by day, and thought of it by night, and often surprised both
her friends by the acuteness of her remarks.
* * * * *
Mr. Atkins discontinued his advertisements. It was Houseman, who now
filled every paper with notices informing Griffith Gaunt of his
accession to fortune, and entreating him for that, and other weighty
reasons, to communicate in confidence with his old friend, John
Houseman, attorney at law.
Houseman was too wary to invite him to appear and save his wife; 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 be more able to cope with her."
"Nay," said Mrs. Gaunt, "Sir George is young and handsome. If he manages
well, she will tell him more than she will you. All I beg of him is to
drop the chevalier for this once, and see women with a woman's eyes and
not a man's,--see them as they are. Do not go telling a creature of
this kind that she has had my money, as well as my husband, and ought to
pity me lying here in prison. Keep me out of her sight as much as you
can. Whether Griffith hath deceived her or not, you will never raise in
her any feeling but love for him, and hatred for his lawful wife. Dress
like a yeoman; go quietly, and lodge in the house a day or two; begin by
flattering her; and then get from her when she saw him last, or heard
from him. But indeed I fear you will surprise him with her."
"Fear?" exclaimed Sir George.
"Well, hope, then," said the lady; and a tear trickled down her face in
a moment. "But if you do, promise me, on your honor as a gentleman, not
to affront him. For I know you think him a villain."
"A d----d villain, saving your presence."
"Well, sir, you have said it to me. Now promise me to say naught to
_him_, but just this: 'Rose Gaunt's mother, she lies in Carlisle jail,
to be tried for her life for murdering you. She begs of you not to let
her die publicly upon the scaffold; but quietly at home, of her broken
heart.'"
"Write it," said Sir George, with the tears in his eyes, "that I may
just put it in his hand; for I can never utter your sweet words to such
a monster as he is."
Armed with this appeal, and several minute instructions, which it is
needless to particularize here, that stanch friend rode into Lancashire.
And next day the black horse justified his mistress's sagacity, and his
own.
He seemed all along to know where he was going, and late in the
afternoon he turned off the road on to a piece of green: and Sir George,
with beating heart, saw right before him the sign of the "Packhorse,"
and, on coming nearer, the words