GRIFFITH GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
She recoiled with a violent shudder at first; and hid her face with one hand. Then she gradually stole a horror-stricken side-glance.
She had not looked at it a moment, when she uttered a loud cry, and pointed at its feet with quivering hand.
"The shoes! the shoes!—It is not my Griffith."
With this she fell into violent hysterics, and was carried out of the room at Houseman's earnest entreaty.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Houseman, being freed from his fear that his client would commit herself irretrievably, recovered a show of composure, and his wits went keenly to work.
"On behalf of the accused," said he, "I admit the suicide of some person unknown, wearing heavy hobnailed shoes; probably one of the lower order of people."
This adroit remark produced some little effect, notwithstanding the strong feeling against the accused.
The coroner inquired if there were any bodily marks by which the remains could be identified.
"My master had a long black mole on his forehead," suggested Caroline Ryder.
"'Tis here!" cried a juryman, bending over the remains.
And now they all gathered in great excitement round the corpus delicti; and there, sure enough, was a long black mole.
Then was there a buzz of pity for Griffith Gaunt, followed by a stern murmur of execration.
"Gentlemen," said the coroner solemnly, "behold in this the finger of Heaven. The poor gentleman may well have put off his boots, since, it seems, he left his horse; but he could not take from his forehead his natal sign; and that, by God's will, hath strangely escaped mutilation, and revealed a most foul deed. We must now do our duty, gentlemen, without respect of persons."
A warrant was then issued for the apprehension of Thomas Leicester. And, that same night, Mrs. Gaunt left Hernshaw in her own chariot between two constables, and escorted by armed yeomen.
Her proud head was bowed almost to her knees, and her streaming eyes hidden in her lovely hands. For why? A mob accompanied her for miles, shouting, "Murderess!—Bloody Papist!—Hast done to death the kindliest gentleman in Cumberland. We'll all come to see thee hanged.—Fair face but foul heart!"—and groaning, hissing, and cursing, and indeed only kept from violence by the escort.
And so they took that poor proud lady and lodged her in Carlisle jail.
She was enceinte into the bargain. By the man she was to be hanged for murdering.
CHAPTER XL.
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,
