When she could think calmly, she realised that she must discover where Jem had been on the Thursday night when the murder had been committed.  Tremblingly she went to Mrs. Wilson, and learnt what she wanted to know.  Jem had walked towards Liverpool with his cousin Will, a sailor who had spent all his money in Manchester, and could not afford railway-fare.  Will’s ship was to sail on Tuesday, and on Tuesday Jem was to be tried at the Liverpool assizes.

Job Legh engaged a lawyer to defend Jem, and Mary prepared to go to Liverpool to find the one man whose evidence could save her lover.  Ere she left, a policeman brought her a bit of parchment.  Her heart misgave her as she took it; she guessed its purport.  It was a summons to bear witness against Jem Wilson at the assizes.

IV.—­“Not Guilty”

Arrived at Liverpool on Monday, after the bewilderment of a railway journey—­the first she had ever made—­Mary found her way to the little court, not far from the docks, were Jem’s sailor cousin lodged.

“Is Will Wilson here?” she asked the landlady.

“No, he is not,” replied the woman, curtly.

“Tell me—­where he is?” asked Mary, sickening.

“He’s gone this very morning, my poor dear,” answered the landlady, relenting at the sight of Mary’s obvious distress.  “He’s sailed, my dear—­sailed in the John Cropper this very blessed morning!”

Mary staggered into the house, stricken into hopelessness.  Yet hope was not dead.  The landlady’s son told her that the John Cropper would be waiting for high-water to cross the sandbanks at the river’s mouth, and that there was a chance that a sailing-boat might overtake the vessel.

Mary hurried down to the docks, spent every penny she had in hiring a boat, and presently was tossing on the water for the first time in her life, alone with two rough men.

The boatmen hailed the John Cropper just as the crew were heaving anchor, and told their errand.  The captain refused with a dreadful oath to stop his ship for anyone, whoever swung for it.  But Will Wilson, standing at the stern, shouted through his hands, “So help me God, Mary Barton, I’ll come back in the pilot-boat time enough to save his life!”

As the ship receded in the distance, Mary asked anxiously when the pilot-boat would be back.  The boatmen did not know; it might be twelve hours, it might be two days.  A chance yet remained, but she could no longer hope.  When she reached the landing-place, faint and penniless, one of the boatmen took her to his home, and there she sat sleeplessly awaiting the dawn of the day of trial.

When she entered the witness-box next day, the whole court reeled before her, save two figures only—­that of the judge and that of the prisoner.  Jem sat silent—­he had held his peace ever since his arrest—­with his face bowed on his hands.

Mary answered a few questions with a sort of wonder at the reality of the terrible circumstances in which she was placed.