CHAPTER XLIII.
The trial began again; and the court was crowded to suffocation. All eyes were bent on the prisoner. She rose, calm and quiet, and begged leave to say a few words to the court.
Mr. Whitworth objected to that. She had concluded her address yesterday, and called a witness.
Prisoner. But I have not examined a witness yet.
Judge. You come somewhat out of time, madam; but, if you will be brief, we will hear you.
Prisoner. I thank you, my lord. It was only to withdraw an error. The cry for help that was heard by the side of Hernshaw Mere, I said, yesterday, that cry was uttered by Thomas Leicester. Well, I find I was mistaken: the cry for help was uttered by my husband,—by that Griffith Gaunt I am accused of assassinating.
This extraordinary admission caused a great sensation in court. The judge looked very grave and sad; and Sergeant Wiltshire, who came into court just then, whispered his junior, "She has put the rope round her own neck. The jury would never have believed our witness."
Prisoner. I will only add, that a person came into the town last night, who knows a great deal more about this mysterious business than I do. I purpose, therefore, to alter the plan of my defence; and to save your time, my lord, who have dealt so courteously with me, I shall call but a single witness.
Ere the astonishment caused by this sudden collapse of the defence was in any degree abated, she called "Mercy Vint."
There was the usual stir and struggle; and then the calm, self-possessed face and figure of a comely young woman confronted the court. She was sworn; and examined by the prisoner after this fashion.