And oh! how could she see him to discuss a subject in which both knew who was the blood-stained man; and yet whose name might not be breathed by either; so dearly with all his faults, his sins, was he loved by both. All at once, when she. had ceased to try and remember, the name of Will's ship flashed across her mind. The John Cropper . He had named it, she had been sure, all along. He had named it in his conversation with her that last, that fatal Thursday evening. She repeated it over and over again, through a nervous dread of again forgetting it. The John Cropper . And then, as if she were rousing herself out of some strange stupor, she bethought her of Margaret. Who so likely as Margaret to treasure every little particular respecting Will, now Alice was dead to all the stirring purposes of life? She had gone thus far in her process of thought, when a neighbour stepped in; she with whom they had usually deposited the house-key, when both Mary and her father were absent from home, and who consequently took upon herself to answer all inquiries, and receive all messages which any friends might make or leave, on finding the house shut up. "Here's somewhat for you, Mary! A policeman left it." A bit of parchment. Many people have a dread of those mysterious pieces of parchment. I am one. Mary was another. Her heart misgave her as she took it, and looked at the unusual appearance of the writing, which, though legible enough, conveyed no idea to her, or rather her mind shut itself up against receiving any idea, which after all was rather a proof she had some suspicion of the meaning that awaited her. "What is it?" asked she, in a voice from which all the pith and marrow seemed extracted. "Nay! how should I know? Policeman said he'd call again towards evening, and see if you'd getten it. He were loath to leave it, though I telled him who I was, and all about my keeping th' key, and taking messages. "What is it about?" asked Mary again, in the same hoarse, feeble voice, and turning it over in her fingers, as if she dreaded to inform herself of its meaning. "Well! yo can read word of writing and I cannot, so it's queer I should have to tell you. But my master says it's a summons for yo to bear witness again Jem Wilson, at th' trial at Liverpool Assize." "God pity me!" said Mary, faintly, as white as a sheet. "Nay; wench, never take on so. What yo can say will go little way either to help or hinder, for folk say he's certain to be hung, and sure enough, it was t'other one as was your sweetheart." Mary was beyond any pang this speech would have given at another time.
Her thoughts were all busy picturing to herself the terrible occasion of their next meeting--not as lovers meet should they meet! "Well!" said the neighbour, seeing no use in remaining with one who noticed her words or her presence so little; "thou'lt tell policeman thou'st getten his precious bit of paper. He seemed to think I should be keeping it for mysel'; he's the first as has ever misdoubted me about giving messages, or notes Good day." She left the house, but Mary did not know it. She sat still with the parchment in her hand. All at once she started up. She would take it to Job Legh, and ask him to tell her the true meaning, for it could not be that . So she went, and choked out her words of inquiry. "It's a subpoena," he replied, turning the parchment over with the air of a connoisseur; for job loved hard words, and lawyer-like forms, and even esteemed himself slightly qualified for a lawyer, from the smattering of knowledge he had picked up from an odd volume of Blackstone that he had once purchased at a book-stall. "A subpoena--what is that?" gasped Mary, still in suspense. Job was struck with her voice, her changed miserable voice, and peered at her countenance from over his spectacles. "A subpoena is neither more nor less than this, my dear. It's a summonsing you to attend, and answer such questions as may be asked of you regarding the trial of James Wilson, for the murder of Henry Carson; that's the long and short of it, only more elegantly put, for the benefit of them who knows how to value the gift of language. I've been a witness before-time myself; there's nothing much to be afeard on; if they are impudent, why, just you be impudent, and give em tit for tat." "Nothing much to be afeard on!" echoed Mary, but in such a different tone. "Aye, poor wench, I see how it is. It'll go hard with thee a bit, I dare say; but keep up thy heart. Yo cannot have much to tell 'em, that can go either one way or th' other. Nay! maybe thou may do him a bit o' good, for when they set eyes on thee, they'll see fast enough how he came to be so led away by jealousy; for thou 'rt a pretty creature, Mary, and one look at thy face will let 'em into th' secret of a young man's madness, and make 'em more ready to pass it over." "Oh! Job, and won't you ever believe me when I tell you he's innocent?