Sir George, thus advised, acted as he would have done had the advice been just the opposite.
He sent Mercy a love-letter by every post, and he often received one in return; only his were passionate, and hers gentle and affectionate.
But one day came a letter that was a mere cry of distress.
"George; my child is dying. What shall I do?"
He mounted his horse, and rode to her.
He came too late. The little boy had died suddenly of croup, and was to be buried next morning.
The poor mother received him upstairs, and her grief was terrible. She clung sobbing to him, and could not be comforted. Yet she felt his coming. But a mother's anguish overpowered all.
Crushed by this fearful blow, her strength gave way for a time, and she clung to George Neville, and told him she had nothing left but him, and one day implored him not to die and leave her.
Sir George said all he could think of to comfort her; and at the end of a fortnight persuaded her to leave the "Packhorse" and England, as his wife.
She had little power to resist now; and indeed little inclination.