Whitworth. You ask the jury to believe that Griffith Gaunt, Esquire, a gentleman, and a man of spirit and honor, is alive, yet skulks and sends you hither, when by showing his face in this court he could clear his wife without a single word spoken?
Mercy. Yes, sir; I do hope to be believed, for I speak the naked truth. But, with due respect to you, Mr. Gaunt did not send me hither against my will. I could not bide in Lancashire, and let an innocent woman be murdered in Cumberland.
Whitworth. Murdered, quotha. That is a good jest. I'd have you to know we punish murders here, not do them.
Mercy. I am glad to hear that, sir, on the lady's account.
Whitworth. Come, come. You pretend you discovered this Griffith Gaunt alive, by means of an advertisement. If so, produce the advertisement.
Mercy Vint colored, and cast a swift, uneasy glance at Mrs. Gaunt.
Rapid as it was, the keen eye of the counsel caught it.
"Nay, do not look to the culprit for orders," said he. "Produce it, or confess the truth. Come, you never advertised for him."
"Sir, I did advertise for him."
"Then produce the advertisement."