"Hate you, child?" said Mrs. Gaunt, coloring to her temples: "of course I hate you. We are both of us flesh and blood, and hate one another. And one of us is honest enough, and uncivil enough, to say so."
"Speak for yourself, Dame," replied Mercy, quietly, "for I hate you not; and I thank God for it. To hate is to be miserable. I'd liever be hated than to hate."
Mrs. Gaunt looked at her. "Your words are goodly and wise," said she; "your face is honest; and your eyes are like a very dove's. But, for all that, you hate me quietly, with all your heart. Human nature is human nature."
"'Tis so. But grace is grace." Mercy was silent a moment, then resumed, "I'll not deny I did hate you for a time, when first I learned the man I had married had a wife, and you were she. We that be women are too unjust to each other, and too indulgent to a man. But I have worn out my hate. I wrestled in prayer, and the God of Love he did quench my most unreasonable hate. For 'twas the man betrayed me; you never wronged me, nor I you. But you are right, madam; 'tis true that nature without grace is black as pitch: the devil he was busy at my ear, and whispered me, 'If the fools in Cumberland hang her, what fault o' thine? Thou wilt be his lawful wife, and thy poor innocent child will be a child of shame no more.' But, by God's grace, I did defy him. And I do defy him." She rose swiftly from her chair, and her dove's eyes gleamed with celestial light. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I tell thee the hangman shall never have her innocent body, nor thou my soul."
The movement was so unexpected, the words and the look so simply noble, that Mrs. Gaunt rose too, and gazed upon her visitor with astonishment and respect—yet still with a dash of doubt.
She thought to herself, "If this creature is not sincere, what a mistress of deceit she must be!"
But Mercy Vint soon returned to her quiet self. She sat down, and said, gravely, and, for the first time, a little coldly, as one who had deserved well, and been received ill—"Mistress Gaunt, you are accused of murdering your husband. 'Tis false, for two days ago I saw him alive."
"What do you say?" cried Mrs. Gaunt, trembling all over.
"Be brave, madam; you have borne great trouble, do not give way under joy. He who has wronged us both—he who wedded you under his own name of Griffith Gaunt, and me under the false name of Thomas Leicester, is no more dead than we are; I saw him two days ago, and spoke to him, and persuaded him to come to Carlisle town and do you justice."
Mrs. Gaunt fell on her knees. "He is alive: He is alive. Thank God! Oh, thank God! He is alive: and God bless the tongue that tells me so. God bless you eternally, Mercy Vint."