"Well, then, she lies in Carlisle jail."
"She--lies--in Carlisle jail?" repeated Mercy, looking all confused.
"They accuse her of murdering her husband."
Mercy uttered a scream, and, catching her child up off the floor, began
to rock herself and moan over it.
"No, no, no," cried Sir George, "she is innocent, she is innocent."
"What is that to _me_?" cried Mercy, wildly. "He is murdered, he is
dead, and my child an orphan." And so she went on moaning and rocking
herself.
"But I tell you he is not dead at all," cried Sir George. "'Tis all a
mistake. When did you see him last?"
"More than six weeks ago."
"I mean, when did you hear from him last?"
"Never, since that day."
Sir George groaned aloud at this intelligence.
And Mercy, who heard him groan, was heart-broken. She accused herself of
Griffith's death. "'T was I who drove him from me," she said. "'T was I
who bade him go back to his lawful wife; and the wretch hated him. I
sent him to his death." Her grief was wild, and deep. She could not hear
Sir George's arguments.