The tears of joy streamed down her face, and then Mercy's flowed too. She uttered a little pathetic cry of joy. "Ah," she sobbed, "the bit of comfort I needed so has come to my heavy heart. She has blessed me!"
But she said this very softly, and Mrs. Gaunt was in a rapture, and did not hear her.
"Is it a dream? my husband alive? and you the one to come and tell me so? How unjust I have been to you. Forgive me. Why does he not come himself?"
Mercy colored at this question, and hesitated.
"Well, Dame," said she, "for one thing, he has been on the fuddle for the last two months."
"On the fuddle?"
"Ay; he owns he has never been sober a whole day. And that takes the heart out of a man, as well as the brains. And then he has got it into his head that you will never forgive him; and that he shall be cast in prison if he shows his face in Cumberland."
"Why in Cumberland more than in Lancashire?" asked Mrs. Gaunt, biting her lip.
Mercy blushed faintly: she replied with some delicacy, but did not altogether mince the matter.
"He knows I shall never punish him for what he has done to me."