"I am guiltless of either, God knows. But I will not show the advertisement."
The Judge. "This is very extraordinary. Perhaps you have it not about you."
Mercy. "My lord, the truth is I have it in my bosom. But, if I show it, it will not make this matter one whit clearer, and 'twill open the wounds of two poor women. 'Tis not for myself. But, oh my lord, look at her; hath she not gone through grief enow?"
The appeal was made with a quiet touching earnestness, that affected every hearer. But the judge had a duty to perform. "Witness," said he, "you mean well; but indeed you do the prisoner an injury by withholding this paper. Be good enough to produce it at once."
The Prisoner (with a deep sigh). Obey my lord.
Mercy (with a deep sigh). There, sir, may the Lord forgive you the useless mischief you are doing.
Whitworth. I am doing my duty, young woman. And yours is to tell the whole truth, and not a part only.
Mercy (acquiescing). That is true, sir.
Whitworth. Why, what is this? This not Mr. Gaunt you advertise for in these papers. 'Tis Thomas Leicester.
The Judge. What is that? I don't understand.