[CHAPTER XII]
"Be seated, mistress, if you please," said Mrs. Gaunt, with icy civility, "and let me know to what I owe this extraordinary visit."
"I thank you. Dame," said Mercy, "for indeed I am sore fatigued." She sat quietly down. "Why I have come to you? It was to serve you, and to keep my word with George Neville."
"Will you be kind enough to explain?" said Mrs. Gaunt, in a freezing tone, and with a look of her great grey eye to match.
Mercy felt chilled, and was too frank to disguise it. "Alas," said she, softly, "'tis hard to be received so, and me come all the way from Lancashire, with a heart like lead, to do my duty, God willing."
The tears stood in her eyes, and her mellow voice was sweet and patient.
The gentle remonstrance was not quite without effect. Mrs. Gaunt colored a little: she said, stiffly, "Excuse me if I seem discourteous: but you and I ought not to be in one room a moment. You do not see this, apparently. But at least I have a right to insist that such an interview shall be very brief, and to the purpose. Oblige me then, by telling me in plain terms why you have come hither."
"Madam, to be your witness at the trial."
"You to be my witness?"
"Why not? If I can clear you? What, would you rather be condemned for murder, than let me show them you are innocent? Alas, how you hate me!"