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diff --git a/25463.txt b/25463.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5454801 --- /dev/null +++ b/25463.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19174 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Day of Judgment, by Joseph Hocking, +Illustrated by Charles L. Buchel + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Day of Judgment + + +Author: Joseph Hocking + + + +Release Date: May 13, 2008 [eBook #25463] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF JUDGMENT*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustration. + See 25463-h.htm or 25463-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/4/6/25463/25463-h/25463-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/4/6/25463/25463-h.zip) + + + + + +THE DAY OF JUDGMENT + +by + +JOSEPH HOCKING + +With Frontispiece by Charles B. Buchel + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "The two knelt . . . in the silence of the evening" +(_see page_ 12).] + + + + +Cassell and Company, Ltd +London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne +1915 + + + + +_DEDICATION_ + +To T. HARTLEY ROBERTS, Esq., J.P. + +_MY DEAR FRIEND,_ + +_I am dedicating this book to you, partly because when you read it in +MS. you told me you liked it better than any story I have ever written; +but more because, although words are at best utterly inadequate, I want +to tell you that one of the things I value most in life is your +friendship._ + +_JOSEPH HOCKING._ + +PRIOR'S CORNER, + TOTTERIDGE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + PROLOGUE + 1. A LEGACY OF HATE + 2. PAUL BEGINS HIS WORK + 3. PAUL IS SENT TO PRISON + 4. PAUL MEETS MARY BOLITHO + 5. PAUL'S MADNESS + 6. PAUL GOES TO SCOTLAND + 7. THE FIGHT AND THE RESULT + 8. THE COMING OF PAUL'S MOTHER + 9. THE SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS + 10. THE NEW MEMBER FOR BRUNFORD + 11. PAUL'S DARING + 12. A NIGHT OF DOOM + 13. HOW MARY BOLITHO RECEIVED THE NEWS + 14. PAUL IS APPREHENDED FOR MURDER + 15. THE CORONER'S INQUEST + 16. AWAITING THE TRIAL + 17. THE LOVERS + 18. THE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL + 19. PAUL DISCOVERS HIS FATHER + 20. MAN AND WIFE + 21. TRAVAIL + 22. THE DAY OF JUDGMENT + 23. THE DAY OF JUDGMENT (_continued_) + 24. FATHER AND SON + 25. MR. JUSTICE BRANSCOMBE + 26. PAUL'S DEFENCE + 27. THE VERDICT + 28. PAUL'S MOTHER AND MARY + 29. MARY'S ACCUSATION + 30. THE TESTIMONY OF ARCHIE FEARN + 31. EZEKIEL ASHWORTH, HERBALIST + 32. IN THE CONDEMNED CELL + 33. THE HOME-COMING + 34. JUDGE BOLITHO'S CONFESSION + + + + +THE DAY OF JUDGMENT + + +PROLOGUE + +Three young men sat in an old inn not far from the borderline which +divides England from Scotland. They were out on a holiday, and for +more than two weeks had been tramping northward. Beginning at the +Windermere Lakes, they had been roaming amidst the wild mountainous +scenery which is the pride and joy of all lovers of beauty who dwell in +that district. For two of them the holiday had practically come to an +end, and now, smoking their pipes after dinner in the old inn, they +were reviewing their experiences. + +"I envy you, Douglas," said one whose holiday was practically finished. +"We have to get back to work but you have yet nearly three weeks before +getting into harness again. It must be glorious, too, this going into +Scotland." + +"Yes," said the other, "and somehow Scotland is different from England. +I believe, if I knew nothing about the geography of the district, that +directly I put my foot on Scottish soil I should know it. Everything +is different there: the outlook on life, the customs, the laws and the +prevailing sentiments of the people. Why, we cannot be far from Gretna +Green now--think of the scenes which took place around here a few years +ago!" + +"Have the laws changed much in relation to marriage?" asked the first +speaker. "You are studying for the Bar, Douglas, you ought to know." + +The young man who had not yet spoken was different from the others. He +was cast in a more intellectual mould, and, although bronzed by the sun +and wind of the Cumberland Hills, his demeanour suggested the student. + +"I really don't know much about Scottish laws," he replied, "they are +so different from those of England. It is wonderful how people living +so close together could have framed laws so entirely dissimilar. Of +course, marriage laws have been a curious business both in England and +Scotland. Before Lord Hardwicke's Act the marriage arrangements in +England were very peculiar, but with that Act things took a different +course. In Scotland, however, I believe they remained pretty nearly +the same as before. As a matter of fact, marriage in Scotland is very +difficult to define." + +"In what way?" + +"Well, I believe, even now, a marriage is valid even although there are +no witnesses, no minister, no religious ceremony, and no formula +whatever." + +"But, my dear fellow," said one of the others, "that is surely +impossible." + +"I think not," replied the young man called Douglas. "I was talking +with an old Scotch lawyer only a few months ago, and he was telling me +that even yet Scotch marriages are about as loose as they can possibly +be. He explained to me that Scotch marriage is a contract constituted +by custom alone, and although generally of a well-attested nature, a +marriage may be completed by a solemn and deliberate consent of the +parties to take each other for husband and wife, and that such a +marriage is absolutely binding. No writing or witnesses are necessary. +He also explained to me that a marriage could be legally constituted in +Scotland by a _promise_ to marry followed by the parties living +together for a few hours. By the way, I wonder whether in this old inn +there is an encyclopaedia of some sort. Yes, here is one; evidently it +has not been opened for years. Here we are, 'Marriage,' yes, 'Scotch +Marriage': + + "A marriage will also be constituted by declarations + made by the man and the woman that they presently do + take each other for husband and wife. These declarations + may be emitted on any day, at any time, and without the + presence of witnesses, and either by writing or orally, or + by signs of any nature which is clearly an expression of + intention. Such a marriage is as effective to all intents + and purposes as a public marriage. The children of it + would be legitimate, and the parties to it would have all + the rights in the property of each other given by the law + of Scotland to husband and wife." + + +"But if there are no documents, how can anything be proved?" + +"I cannot say," replied Douglas, "but there it is. Of course, at +Gretna Green, which, as you say, is not far away, the blacksmith used +to witness marriages, although his presence was unnecessary. Old +stories have it that the contracting parties jumped a broomstick or a +pair of tongs, or something of that sort, but whether there were any +signatures I really do not know. Anyhow, the law in Scotland, as I +have been informed, is that if a man and a girl agree to take each +other as husband and wife, a marriage is legally performed, and is as +binding as if it took place in Westminster Abbey and was performed by +the Archbishop of Canterbury." + +There was silence for a few minutes, then one exclaimed, "I wonder we +do not hear more of divorces and marriage difficulties in Scottish law +courts." + +"Oh, these Scotch are canny people and wonderfully logical. They seem +to regard present arrangements as inevitable, and act upon them. After +all, what is marriage when one comes to think about it? It is really +the promise of the man and the woman to take each other as husband and +wife. All the rest, Church services and legal documents, are mere +attestations to the fact. Marriage, true marriage, is simply a matter +for the parties in question who have determined upon union." + +"Evidently you are not a High Churchman," remarked one of the others. + +From this the conversation drifted on to other matters, and presently +dwindled down to mere snatches, freely punctuated by yawns. Then the +young men, having finished their pipes, retired to rest. + +Two days later, Douglas Graham found himself alone. He had made +arrangements to pay a visit to a house near the borders of Scotland. +He was of Scotch descent on his father's side, while his mother's +family had always lived in the South of England. For that matter the +Grahams had lived in the South for three generations, so that, while he +was greatly interested in Scotland, he always called himself an +Englishman. The characteristics of both countries were clearly +expressed in both his mind and character. The Scotch side of him was +intellectual, practical, with, perhaps, a suggestion of hardness; but +to counteract this, he had inherited the gentleness and the softer +elements which appertain to the Southern peoples. He was only just +three and twenty; he had taken a good degree at Oxford, and then set +himself to qualify for the Bar. His personal appearance likewise +indicated a mixture of races--tall and well-knit, he suggested a strong +and determined nature; on the other hand, there was something almost +effeminate in the regularity of his features, and his lips were +somewhat sensuous. A passing stranger would be immediately attracted +by him. Blue eyes, brown hair, and well-formed features, together with +a sunny and kind-hearted disposition, had made him a popular man. +While very ambitious, he also possessed a happy disposition which made +him the best of companions. He was now on his way to visit a distant +relative on his father's side, and looked forward with exceeding +interest to spending the last weeks of his holiday in an old Scottish +stone mansion, situated among the wild hills. + +As a lover of beauty, he could not help being charmed by the scenery +through which he passed: the purple heather, which was now in its +glory, made the wild moorlands wondrous for their beauty, while the +valleys through which the rushing streams passed simply enchanted him. + +Presently he came to a lonely valley in a district which seemed almost +entirely uninhabited. Not a soul was in sight, and scarcely a sound +disturbed the silence. On each side of him, great heather-covered +hills sloped up to the sky, while at his feet a stream coiled its way +down the valley. Tramping along the narrow road which skirted the +stream, he presently saw some cattle rushing wildly around, and he +judged by the cries he heard that someone was greatly distressed. It +was not long before he saw what this meant. A young girl was trying to +keep some cattle together, but they, being in a turbulent mood, refused +to go the way she wished. Vainly she went hither and thither, seeking +to guide them into a path which led over the hills. For two or three +minutes Douglas Graham watched her, and then, seeing her dilemma, went +up to her. + +She was evidently a Scotch peasant girl, as indicated by the clothes +she wore and by her hard, toilworn hands. Nevertheless, at first sight +of her Douglas was attracted, and for good reason--the face of the +girl, once seen, was not soon forgotten. During the time he had been +in Scotland it had seemed to him that the Scotch women were +hard-featured, uninteresting, and altogether unlovely; but this girl +was different. There was something of the savage in her, and yet she +possessed a charm which fascinated the young man. Her black hair hung +in curling and tangled tresses over her shoulders; her eyes were almost +as black as her hair and shone brightly. A kind of gipsy beauty she +possessed, and her eyes, her sensitive mouth, her square chin spoke of +a nature out of the ordinary. + +"If you will tell me what you wish," he said, "I will help you." + +She looked at him with a start of surprise, and for a moment he thought +she shrank from him. She seemed as shy as a young colt, and was +apparently frightened at his sudden appearance. As she looked at him, +however, her confidence came back. He was different from the raw +Scottish youths to whom she was accustomed. His pleasant smile and +laughing eyes reassured her. "I am trying to take the kine home," she +said, "but I think the witches have got hold of them. I never saw them +like this before." She spoke with a strong Scotch accent, and was +evidently what she seemed, either a servant at a farmhouse or, perhaps, +the daughter of some small tenant farmer who lived in the district. + +"We'll see if we can't destroy the witches' power," laughed Douglas, +and set to work to gather the cattle. It took some little time, but +the feat was accomplished at last. Then the two walked side by side, +driving the beasts before them. + +The romance in the young man's nature was aroused. There, amidst the +wild moorland scenery and in the light of the setting sun, it was +vastly pleasant to be walking beside this young creature, so instinct +with life. + +"Is your home far away?" he asked. + +"It must be more than two miles," she replied. + +"And do you know the house called 'Highlands'?" + +"It will be where Mr. Graham lives, I expect." + +"Yes," he said. + +"Then it will be only a mile beyond my father's farm," was her reply. + +"Oh, that is capital!" laughed Graham. "I shall get there before dark, +and be able to help you with the cattle at the same time." + +"But you are not the son at 'Highlands,'" she said, looking at him +curiously. + +"Oh, no," he replied. "The Grahams are distant relatives of mine, that +is all. There is just a little Scotch in me, that is why I love +Scotland so. Of course, you love Scotland too?" + +A far-away look came into her eyes. "I don't know," she said. + +"Not know if you love your own country?" And he laughed as he spoke. + +"I am not sure that it is my own country," was her reply. "You +see----" And then she stopped. "It will be nothing to you," she added +after a minute, and for some time they walked along together in silence. + +"It must be just lovely to live amid such surroundings as these; still, +I should find it lonely sometimes," he ventured at length. + +"You would, if--if--" And then the girl looked at him curiously. "But +I expect you'll not be understanding what I mean," she added. + +Again they walked on in silence, Douglas longing to ask her what she +meant, and yet shrinking from taking what he felt might be a liberty, +for there was something about the girl that kept him from speaking +freely. Dressed like a peasant as she was, he instinctively felt that +here was no ordinary farmer's drudge. She had uttered nothing beyond +commonplaces, but the look in her eyes, the tremor of her lips +suggested romance and mystery and poetry. + +"You see," she said a minute later, as if talking to herself, "I have +no mother. I never saw her; at least, I cannot remember ever seeing +her, and she was not Scotch." + +"No?" said Douglas. "Then we have something in common: my people on my +father's side were Scotch, but all my mother's people belong to the +South." + +"And mine, too," said the girl. "But what can it be to you?" And +again she seemed to be thinking of something far away. + +"Do you know," said the young man, "you are the first person I have +spoken to since morning? I have been on the tramp all the day. I had +my lunch by the side of a stream, and I have kept away from every +house. I wanted to be alone. I expect that is why I want you to tell +me why you don't seem happy." + +Again the girl looked at him curiously. "I think I should go mad +sometimes," she said, "if I did not think my dead mother was near me. +I do not mean when I am out here alone on the moors, but it's home that +makes it so hard." + +"Tell me," said the young fellow. It did not seem to him as though he +were talking to a stranger at all. The girl did not belong to his +class, and evidently her associations and education removed her far +from him, yet he had an instinctive sympathy with her. After all, I +suppose every young fellow is attracted by a young pretty face, wild, +longing eyes, and beautiful features suggestive of romance and poetry +and unsatisfied yearnings. + +"You see," said the girl, "my father was a fisherman. Years ago, when +he was a young man, he sailed down the West of England, and his boat +harboured at a little Cornish village called St. Ives. There he met my +mother, and I have heard him say that she had Spanish blood in her +veins. Anyhow, they fell in love with each other and got married. + +"I suppose her father and mother were very angry, and so he took her +away from St. Ives altogether, and came back here to Scotland. Just at +that time his father died, and left our farm to him. So my father gave +up fishing, and brought mother here, but I had not been born long +before mother died, so you see I never knew her. My father did not +remain unmarried long: the second time he married a Scotswoman, and I +hate the Scotch." + +"Why?" asked Graham. + +"Oh, well, my father says that the Cornish people are wild and +imaginative, and my stepmother hasn't any imagination. Years ago I +used to read Burns's poems and Sir Walter Scott's stories, but mother +took the books from me. She says a farmer's daughter has no time for +poetry and romance, but I love it all the same. That is why I am only +happy when I am out on the moors alone." + +A few minutes later a lonely farmhouse appeared to view. It was little +more than a cottage, and Graham judged that the farm consisted of only +about fifty acres of stony and barren land. + +"Good night," she said presently, "and thank you for helping me with +the kine." + +"Perhaps I shall be seeing you again," said the young man. "I am sure +I shall come round this way in the hope that you may be visible." And +he laughed almost nervously as he spoke. The girl had appealed to him. +She seemed to him like a flower in the wilderness, and aroused all the +romance of his nature. + +She shook her head. "No," she said, "you will never see me again." + +"At least you will tell me your name?" said Graham; "why, do you know, +we have been nearly an hour together? I am called Douglas Graham." + +"And my name is Jean Lindsay," she said, looking at him shyly; "not +that it matters much, for if you are staying with the Grahams you will +be a gentleman." + +"And do you go to fetch the cattle home every night?" he asked eagerly; +but she did not answer him. A hard-featured woman came up to the +farmyard gate as he spoke, while Jean silently, and with an almost +sullen look on her face, drove the cattle into the yard. He lifted his +cap and passed on. + +"Who is yon?" asked the woman in a harsh, strident voice. + +"I do not know," replied the girl; "he helped me with the cattle, that +is all." + +Douglas Graham climbed the hill which lay between him and his +relative's house with a strange feeling at his heart. Somehow life +seemed different, and the picture of this black-eyed girl remained with +him. "I should like to see her again," he said, as presently he came +up to the gates which led to the house; "yes, and I will, too!" + +During the next two days he made no attempt to see Jean Lindsay. He +found among his relatives at "Highlands" several young people, who not +only gave him a warm welcome, but entirely claimed his companionship, +and amidst the entertainments provided he almost forgot the meeting on +the moors. The third day, however, found him wandering away by himself +towards the lonely farmhouse. Had he tried to analyse his feelings, he +would have told himself that Jean Lindsay was only a chance +acquaintance, who was vastly interesting, but nothing more. But he +could not altogether drive her picture from his mind; the black, +speaking eyes, the strange longings which were revealed in the girl's +half-uttered sentences, filled his mind with unaccustomed thoughts. +That was why he found himself near the farmhouse, wondering whether he +should see her again. But he found no one there: the place might have +been forsaken. Wandering down the valley, however, he thought he heard +someone sobbing, and quickly discovered Jean Lindsay sitting by a +brook, crying as though her heart would break. + +"What is the matter?" he asked. + +For a moment the girl gave no reply. She seemed to resent his +presence, to be angry that he should have seen her in this frame of +mind. + +"I am sure you must be in trouble," he went on; "tell me about it." + +"She struck me," was her almost sullen reply. + +"Struck you! Who?" + +"My stepmother," she replied, "and I will not stand it, I will run +away; besides----" And then she stopped suddenly. + +A little later her passion seemed to have subsided, and she was able to +speak more freely. For more than an hour they talked, and when they +parted she told him that on the following day she had to go to a +village some four miles distant. + +That evening, at "Highlands," Douglas Graham was not an interesting +companion. The young people joked him about his solemn appearance, and +wondered why he looked so troubled. + +"Anyone would think you were crossed in love, Douglas," said one. +"Tell us all about it now; has she run away with her father's coachman, +or has she jilted you for a handsomer man?" + +But while Douglas replied to their good-tempered raillery in laughing +tones, it was easy to see that his mind was far away. For hours he lay +in bed that night without being able to sleep. The picture of the +dark-eyed sobbing girl remained with him, and all sorts of longings +filled his heart. It seemed as though the Scotch side of his nature +was altogether repressed. He was no longer cautious and calculating, +his mind and heart were full of the half savage beauty of the young +girl of the moors. + +The next day he left his friends at "Highlands" without any excuse +whatever, and again wandered away alone. Near the village Jean Lindsay +had mentioned he saw her returning with a basket on her arm, and again +he entered into eager conversation with her. He forgot the foolishness +of his action, forgot the wrong he was doing to the girl by filling her +mind with thoughts about himself--for he could see that she was +attracted by him. To her he seemed some knight-errant like those she +had read about in the stories which her stepmother had forbidden her to +read. His mode of speech, his appearance, his sunny laugh, all made +her realise that there was a world hitherto unknown to her, but which +she now longed to enter. + +This meeting led to others, until Douglas's friends began to wonder why +he so often desired to leave them and wander away alone. A few days +before the time when his visit to "Highlands" was to come to an end he +found Jean strangely perturbed. She was overwhelmed by some great +emotion, but she would not speak to him concerning it. At length, +however, with much hesitation, she confessed to him that she was +troubled greatly. "I have to be married," she said. + +"Married, Jean!" he cried; "to whom--why?" + +"To Willie Fearn," was her reply. "Father told me so last night." + +"But why? Do you love him?" he asked. + +"Nay, I hate him," was the reply, "especially since----" And then she +ceased speaking, her face becoming crimson. "Father says I shall never +get such a good chance again," she went on presently. "He has the best +farm hereabouts, and could give me a good home, and my stepmother, she +wants to get rid of me--but I hate him, I hate him!" + +"Then you will not marry him?" said Douglas. + +"What can I do?" replied the girl; "for more than a year they have been +trying to persuade me, and father owes him money, too, and Willie says +he will forgive him ever paying if I will marry him." And the girl +burst out sobbing. + +Douglas was young and romantic. The Scotch side of his nature told him +that the resolution born in his mind was utterly mad, but this was +utterly destroyed by feelings of pity, and what to him was greater than +pity--a wild passion for the girl at his side. So, not thinking of +what his determination might mean, nor dreaming of what the future had +in store for him, he told Jean that she must never think of marrying +the farmer. + +"But how can I help it?" she asked. "They never let me rest, and, +while I hate him, how can I dare disobey my father and my mother? +Besides, when the minister came to tea at our house last week, he spoke +of it as a thing settled, and said that Willie would soon be made an +elder of the kirk. He thought it would be a grand thing for me, I +suppose, to be an elder's wife--but how can I--how can I?" + +I need not describe at length what followed. The young fellow casting +caution to the winds, mapped out his plan, and before parting they +arranged to meet again the next day. + +On his way back to "Highlands" the conversation which took place +between himself and his companions came back to him. He remembered +what he had read in the old Encyclopaedia about Scotch marriages, and +it possessed him strongly. He believed himself to be in love with this +peasant girl. To him she was a creature apart from all the rest of the +world--young, romantic, beautiful with a kind of beauty he had never +seen in any other. He felt he could not live his life apart from her. +He wanted to take her away from this barren farm among the hills and +make her life happy. And yet the madness of his thought appealed to +him too. How could he make her his wife? How could he introduce her +to his friends? Beautiful she might be, but was it not the beauty of a +savage? The Poles lay between her and the women into whose society he +would be cast in coming days. He was very ambitious for his own +future. He dreamed of becoming a popular barrister, of winning fame +and renown, of gaining a name throughout the country as a brilliant +lawyer and a pleader of eloquence and power. Like every other young +law student he had read of famous lawyers who had risen from obscurity +to renown, from poverty to wealth. His career at the University had +assured him that he had more than average abilities, while his speeches +at the Oxford Union had been received with so much applause that he +knew he had the gift of public speech in no ordinary degree. What then +should hinder him from attaining to high position in the world he had +chosen as his sphere? But all this seemed as nothing in comparison +with the mad passion which had been aroused in his heart by this +beauteous being of the moors. What was law, what was fame, what were +riches in comparison with the joy which her presence gave him? +Besides, it did not seem to him that the marriage he had in his mind +was the same as that in the English churches. It might be legal, but +there was something unreal, unstable about it, and who need know? A +Scotch marriage! It appealed to him almost as a joke, while at the +same time he knew it would satisfy this young girl's conscience. It +would make her his wife. And so, although he had many doubts, he made +his plans. + +All through the night he lay thinking. He wished he had some of his +law books with him, so that he could study the matter carefully, for he +was strangely ignorant. No minister, no church, no documents, no +witnesses--simply taking each other by the hand and declaring that he +took her as his wife. It seemed so easy, and surely, surely---- + +He was not a bad young fellow, this Douglas Graham. Some spoke of him +as a kind of dual personality, strong and weak at the same time--but he +had never been known to do anything dishonourable, and his career at +Oxford had been an unblemished one. To an extent he was cast in a +religious mould, and was susceptible to religious influences. He had +indeed been a communicant at a Presbyterian church, and thus, while +determined to carve out for himself a great career, he always dreamed +of acting honourably and conscientiously, and he would do so now, +only---- And then he thought out the whole matter again. Yes, it did +seem different from a marriage in an English church, but it would +satisfy Jean, and it would be a real marriage. + +Two days later he left the "Highlands," to walk to Carlisle, he said, +and take the train from there. So, packing in his knapsack the +absolute necessities of life, he took his departure from his relatives. +He did not tell them what he had in his mind--did not give a hint that +that afternoon he was to meet Jean Lindsay alone on the moors. He +tried to appear calm, but his mind was full of the plans he had made, +full of what Jean would say when he met her. Just as he was leaving +"Highlands" a servant brought him a letter, but he was too excited to +read it; he simply put it in his pocket with the thought that it could +wait, and then, bidding his relatives farewell, he started on his walk. + +Two hours later Jean and he were walking side by side away from her +father's farm. "You are sure it is all right, Douglas?" + +"Yes, sure." + +"And you love me?" + +"I love you more than my own life," he said, and into the girl's eyes +came a look of infinite trust and infinite joy. She had no qualms +about the Scotch marriage. She had heard of them again and again, and +they were mere commonplaces to her. It did seem strange, walking away +with him alone, but she had given him her heart's love, and she had a +perfection of trust in him. + +It was a strange experience, and Douglas Graham felt awed, as presently +they took each other by the hand, and he said, "Jean Lindsay, I do here +take you as my wife, and, God helping me, I will be a good and faithful +husband to you." + +The girl's eyes burned brightly with joy as she heard the words. + +"Douglas Graham," she said, "I, Jean Lindsay, do take you as my +husband, and, God helping me, I will love you and obey you and be +faithful to you till death." + +The sun was just setting, and the whole of the Western sky was ablaze +with glory. The hills, heather-covered, were enveloped in a purple +haze. The evening was windless; not a sound was heard; not a bird +chirped; and no one was near. He kissed the girl fondly. + +"There, Jean," he said, "I kiss you as my wife." + +The girl sobbed for joy. + +"I never knew what happiness meant before," she said; "but, but----" + +"What?" he asked eagerly. + +"Must there not be a word of prayer?" she said, and her voice shook +with emotion. + +The two knelt down by the roadside, and in the silence of the evening +they asked fervently for God's blessing on their union. + +When night came, they found themselves in the inn across the border +where Douglas had parted from his companions, and then he remembered +the letter which the servant had given him at "Highlands" just before +he parted from the family. He had read only a few lines when he +started and changed colour. + +"What is it, Douglas?" asked the girl. + +"It is all right," he said, but his voice was hoarse and troubled. + +The following morning Douglas Graham parted from his newly-made wife at +a railway station some distance from the inn. + +"You are sure you must go?" she asked, and her voice was trembling. + +"I simply must, Jean!" he replied. "But do not be afraid. I will be +back in a few days. You can tell your father everything. In a month +from now you shall be publicly proclaimed as my wife." + +"I don't like letting you go!" sobbed the girl. + +"I would give anything if I could stay, but I simply dare not--my whole +future depends upon my going!" + +The train swept into the station. + +"Good-bye, Douglas, my husband!" she said. "You'll soon be back?" + +"Good-bye, Jean, my wife! May God bless you! Yes, I'll soon be back." + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A LEGACY OF HATE + +Their meeting-place was on the Altarnun Moors, eight miles from the +town of Bodmin, perhaps as many from the rugged peaks--the highest +peaks in Cornwall--Router and Brown Willy. Almost as far as the eye +could reach was bare moorland. A white streak, the road which ran +between Altarnun and Bodmin, was the most striking thing seen. On +either side of the road were only bare, uncultivated, uninteresting +moors; and yet, perhaps, I do the district injustice. Here and there +was a rugged tor, and again a few fields taken in from the moorland by +some enterprising labourer who wanted to earn a living by farming. +Near this road, too, is the famous Dozmary Pool, known to all those who +love folk-lore and are acquainted with the legends of the most Western +county in England--a dismal piece of water, black as ink, and, so the +old stories have it, bottomless. It was here that Tregellas, of +Cornish myth, was set by the Devil to scoop out its water by means of a +limpet-shell. Here, too, in old times, coaches were robbed and dark +deeds done. At the time of which I am writing, however, it was simply +one of the most unattractive and bleak districts in what is otherwise +perhaps the most beautiful county in England. The woman had walked all +the way from Launceston, a distance of not less than a dozen miles. +The youth had come from Bodmin, and he had covered nearly the same +length of road. The afternoon was drawing to a close as they met. It +was a November day, and darkness would be upon them by five o'clock. +No one was near, for since the days of stage-coaches the traffic on +this road has been small. Occasionally a farmer's cart passes along, +or again a vehicle of more ornamental description, used by those who +wish to travel either to Bodmin or to Launceston. There is no railway +station within ten miles of that drear region, and it seemed a fitting +meeting-place for the couple who came there that day. The woman was +perhaps thirty-five years of age, and suggested the fact that in her +girlhood she must have been strangely beautiful. Even yet there were +times when one would have spoken of her as one possessing more than +ordinary attraction. That was when her eyes became soft, and her +features relaxed into a smile, but these times were very rare. As she +trudged along the dreary road her face was set and stern, her lips were +compressed, her eyes hard and relentless. As she passed through Five +Lanes and asked for a cup of tea at a cottage there, the villagers +remarked upon her and wondered who she was. "She might be a witch," +said one. + +"No, too young for that," said another. + +"But where can she be goin'? She is a straanger in thaise paarts." + +"Up to no good, I reckon." + +But the woman gave no confidences. Evidently her purpose was clear +before her mind, and after she had obtained her cup of tea she stepped +forward with the same resolution in her eyes, turning neither to the +right nor to the left. She seemed as little impressed by the +suggestion of beauty contained in the valley where the old Altarnun +Church stands, as she was by the bleak moors on to which she presently +entered. She might be looking into her own soul rather than on the +vast sweep of hill and dale which presently stretched out before her. +Now and then she muttered like one talking to herself, but she never +faltered on her way. She seemed to know no weariness. Firmly and +resolutely she went her way, her mind evidently set upon some grim +purpose. It was two o'clock when she left Five Lanes, and considerably +past three when she saw a dark object in the road in front of her. "It +must be he," she said to herself, and her lips quivered and her eyes +shone with a new light. As they drew nearer she quickened her +footsteps. + +"My boy!" she said; "what will he say--what will he do? But he must +know, for his own sake and for mine. He must know that his mother is +an honest woman and tried to do right." + +The day was dark and drear. Clouds hung heavily in the sky and the +moorland was wrapt in a fine mist so peculiar to that district. The +roads were heavy, and one could hear the silt crush beneath her feet as +she walked. + +A little later the two met, and the relationship was evident at the +first glance. They were mother and son. The youth was about seventeen +years of age, tall and muscular. He wore the dress of a mechanic, and +there was in his appearance a suggestion of capability and of resolute +resolve. Strangely handsome he was, and yet no one seemed attracted by +him. During his journey from Bodmin a labourer would pass the time of +day, but he seemed to take no notice. And once the driver of a +farmer's cart offered to give him a lift, but he only shook his head +and trudged on. There was an eager questioning look in his eyes, and +he seemed to be wondering greatly as to the result of his journey. Two +days before he had received a letter, urging him to come to a certain +spot on Altarnun Moors, and promising him that he should hear of things +concerning which he had long been anxious to know. The letter had no +signature, but the address given was "Lancroft, near Launceston." Who +the writer of the letter was the youth had not the slightest idea, but +he never thought of refusing the request made. Almost ever since he +could remember he had wondered concerning his father and mother, and +now he felt sure that the time of revelation was come. + +Presently the two met, and each looked steadily into the other's face, +as if wondering who the other might be. + +"You received a letter two days ago?" said the woman. + +"Yes," was his reply. + +"I wrote it." Simple as the words were, they were uttered with a sob. + +He saw that she was under very strong emotion, and noted the yearning +look in her eyes. + +"You have wondered all your life who your father and mother are?" and +the woman controlled her voice with difficulty. "I know you have. You +want to know all about them, don't you?" + +"I shouldn't have come here if I hadn't!" was his reply. + +"I'm your mother!" said the woman. + +He looked at her curiously. He had been thinking, ever since they had +met, whether this might not be so; nevertheless the news came to him as +a kind of shock. A woman with sad eyes and an expression of +unsatisfied yearning in her face; yet handsome withal. + +"Do you not believe it?" she asked. "My boy! my boy! I'm your mother, +and, if I have kept silent about it, it has been for love of you!" + +And she held out her hands towards him. + +It seemed as though something touched his heart, as though his whole +being thrilled with a recognition of the truth, and, in a way he could +not understand, a great love for this lonely woman sprang suddenly into +his heart. + +"Yes, I believe you are my mother." + +"I have come to tell you everything, Paul," she said. "It's a sad +story, but I believe you'll understand." + +"Yes," he replied, "I shall understand!" + +The woman looked at him, still with the same expression of tender +yearning in her eyes. + +"It's a hard question to ask," she said, "but can you feel towards me +as a laddie should feel to his mother?" + +"Yes," he replied, "I do." + +"Then call me 'Mother,' and kiss me!" she cried passionately. + +"Mother!" he said, and held her close to him. + +A few minutes later she began to tell him the things which for years he +had been longing to know, and concerning which gossip had been rife. + +"I want to know, mother," he said, "who my father is, where I was born, +and why the truth has been so long kept from me." + +"Born," she said, and her face became hard; "you were born in a +workhouse, and your father would call himself a gentleman, and we were +married in Scotland!" + +A bright light came into the youth's eyes at the last part of the +sentence. "But is my father alive?" he asked eagerly. + +"I do not know," she replied; "I think he must be. I feel sure he is, +but I cannot tell. Listen. I was reared in Scotland, not far beyond +the English border. My name was Jean Lindsay. My father had been a +fisherman as a young man, but came to Cornwall for his wife, and soon +after he brought her to Scotland and I was born, she died. He had a +farm in Scotland, and there I lived with my stepmother and stepbrothers +and sisters, who made life a misery for me until I was eighteen, and +then one day I met a gentleman. Oh, my lad, it was no wonder I loved +him; he was different from all the lads I had met in those parts, +young, handsome, laughter-loving, just the man to captivate a lassie's +heart. He married me, Scottish fashion, and on the day we were wed he +told me he had received a letter which urged him to go back to his home +at once. We were married secretly, my boy, because I was afraid for my +father and stepmother to know. They wanted me to wed a young farmer, +and would have forced me to do so but for him, and I could not--how +could I when I loved him and he loved me? And I believed in him too; +he was all the world to me. No one knew but he and me. But when we +were married and he came to the inn, he told the landlady I was his +wife." + +The boy nodded. "And the letter, mother?" he said, "the letter, what +of that?" + +"It urged him to go to his home," she replied. "You must remember, my +boy, that I was young and ignorant. I knew nothing of the ways of the +world, nothing of men, but I loved him devotedly. He was my king, my +life! When he had read the letter, he said he must leave the following +morning, and urged me to go back to my home and wait until he could +come and fetch me. I was to tell them, he said, that we were married, +and that thus I was free from the attentions of Willie Fearn, the +farmer they wanted me to wed." + +The youth did not seem to understand her, but looked at her with wild +wonder in his eyes, trying to comprehend the story she was telling. It +seemed utterly unreal to him. He wondered whether she fully realised +what she was saying. + +"Yes, mother," he said at length, "go on." + +"What could I do but obey him?" she said. "I had promised before God +that I would, and I did. I went back to my father--he had wondered +where I had gone--and told him I had wedded a young Englishman named +Douglas Graham. I think my father thought that all was right, for, +while he spoke harsh words to me, he seemed presently to settle down to +the conviction that my husband would soon come to me, and that I should +be a lady. But my stepmother said awful things. I will not tell you +what! Even now her words cut me like a knife." + +"Well," said the youth, "and what then?" + +"Day after day I waited for a letter from him," she replied. "At first +I hadn't a doubt; he had promised me and I believed him. But when one +month had gone, and then two, I grew desperate." + +"And he never wrote to you at all?" asked the youth. + +"At the end of three months," she replied, "I got a letter." + +"Yes"--and his voice was eager--"what did he say?" + +"Here it is," she replied, and she passed him a crumpled piece of +paper. The envelope was stamped with a London post-mark, but the paper +within had no address of any sort. It simply contained the words: + + + "DEAR JEAN,--It cannot be helped now, and + of course we were never really married. It + was only a joke.--DOUGLAS." + + +"And that was all?" said the youth. + +"That was all, God helping me, that was all." + +"And you have heard nothing from him since?" + +"Never a word since the morning he bid me good-bye at the station, and +told me to go back to my father, saying he would write to me at once, +and come to me soon. No, I have never seen nor heard of him since." + +The eyes of the youth became red with anger. His hands clenched and +unclenched themselves passionately, but he did not speak. It seemed as +if he could not. Then an oath escaped him, and his voice was hoarse. + +"But, mother," he cried presently, "tell me more. There must be more +than this. What about this marriage? Were there no witnesses? Have +you no marriage lines?" + +"Things are different in Scotland, my boy," was her answer. "There +many people just take each other as man and wife, and that is all, and +the marriage is legal. Do you know"--and her voice trembled with +passion--"that on the afternoon when he took me as his wife we knelt +down by the roadside, and he prayed with me that God would help us to +be true man and wife to each other?" + +"But, but----" he cried, and he was trembling with emotion, "and he +treated you like that?" + +The woman did not reply, but looked away across the moors with a hard, +stony stare. + +"My mother, my poor, poor mother!" He seemed incapable of saying more, +and for two or three minutes there was a silence between them. + +"And then, mother?" he went on presently. + +"Months later," she went on, "I was driven from home. I had no +friends, no relatives, no one to whom I could go, and I thought I +should go mad!" + +"And what did you do?" he asked. + +"There seemed to me only one thing I could do," she said. "I could not +stay near my old home, I was ashamed--besides, my father and stepmother +drove me away with a curse. They said I had disgraced the name of +Lindsay. I always hated Scotland, and as my heart turned to my +mother's home, I determined I would go to Cornwall. I had just three +pounds, and with that I commenced my journey." + +"You came by train?" he asked. + +"No, I walked. I wanted to hoard my money. You see it was very +little." + +"You walked all the way to Cornwall from Scotland?" + +"Every step," she said. "It was winter time, too, and it often rained, +but somehow I felt as though Cornwall would give me a home, a welcome. +It took me weeks to do it, but I got there at last. Often I slept in a +farmer's barn; more than once I walked all through the night." And +into her eyes came a far-away look, while her lips quivered as if with +pain. + +"And did you find a home and welcome?" he asked. + +She shook her head. "How could I? I went straight to St. Ives, but +everyone had forgotten my mother, and her people were dead. You see, I +looked like a vagrant, my clothes were weather-stained, my boots were +worn out, I had no money, and no one wanted me. More than once I +thought I should have died of starvation." + +"And what did you do?" he asked. + +"I did not know what to do. I went from place to place. Here and +there I got a day's work, but I never begged. I would rather have died +than have done that." + +A kind of grim satisfaction settled in the youth's face as he heard +this, but it was easy to see that the pain which lay in his mother's +heart also passed into his. He was not pleasant to look at at that +moment, and if murder can ever be seen in a man's eyes, it could be +seen in his at that moment. + +"Well, mother?" he said at length, "and what afterwards?" + +"I began to tramp northward again," she said. "I hoped that surely, +surely, someone would help me. And then one day I fell down by the +roadside. It was spring time now but terribly cold, and I thought, +'Now I shall die, and all will be over.' I think I went to sleep, +because I knew nothing of what happened. A great darkness fell upon +everything, and then, when I woke again, I found myself in a workhouse. +I knew it was a workhouse by the clothes the people wore and by the way +they talked; but I did not care much--I had got beyond that." She +hesitated, like one who did not know how to continue her story. Her +teeth became set, her lips quivered, her eyes were hard. "Oh, my boy, +my boy!" she said, "I could not help it, I thought I did what was +right!" + +The youth took hold of her hand almost awkwardly. He wanted to try and +comfort her, but knew not how. Perhaps the affectionate action, even +although accompanied by no words, was the best thing he could have done +to ease her aching heart. She laid her head upon his chest as though +she were tired. And then she sobbed convulsively. "There you were +born, my boy." + +"They always called me a workhouse brat," he said; "but never mind, +mother, never mind; what then?" + +"They never thought I would live, I suppose," she replied. "For weeks +I lay between life and death. I believe I should have died, but +presently I came to know that you were alive, and that you were a +great, strong, handsome boy. But you are not like him, thank God! He +had blue eyes and light hair, but your eyes are black, your hair is +black, and you are like me. They christened you in the workhouse, +unknown to me. The chaplain gave you a name. If I had had the +choosing of it, I should have called you Ishmael or Esau, but they +called you Paul. They wanted me to tell them my surname, but I would +not--I could not--so they called you Stepaside, the name of the little +hamlet where I fell down, as I thought, to die." + +"Well, I know everything after that," he replied. + +"Very nearly," was her answer. "You were brought up in the workhouse, +while I, as soon as I was strong enough, had to go away into service. +On the whole, I suppose, they did as well as one could expect for you. +They gave you good schooling, and taught you a trade, and now you are +beginning to earn your own living." + +"Yes, mother," he replied. "I have got a job as a blacksmith in the +Pencarrow Mines. Soon I shall be getting a pound a week, and later on +you must come and live with me." + +She shook her head. "No, Paul. While I am not with you, people will +not insult you. Now that you are away from the place where you were +born and reared, no one knows your history. No one knows that you were +born in a workhouse and that your mother does not know where your +father is." + +"But you were married, mother?" + +"Yes," she cried eagerly, "and that is why I have told you everything +to-day. When you were seventeen, I said to myself, 'Directly I can get +to him we will meet, and I will tell him, tell him with my own lips.' +Paul, that man has covered your mother with black shame. If he is +alive you must find him. The day he wrote me that letter he killed all +the love I had for him. The last feeling I had, when I lay down and +thought I was going to die on the roadside, was a feeling of hatred for +him. When I first saw you, although my heart went out to you with a +great love, I hated your father. For seventeen long years I have hated +him, and I hate him still." + +She looked like a savage, and there was a snarl in her voice as she +spoke. "But for him, but for him----" And then she stopped. "Paul, +find him out, wherever he is. Find him out!" + +The passion which burned in the mother's eyes passed into those of the +youth. She need not have told him what was in her heart. Paul +Stepaside hated his father from that day. + +"Yes, I will," he said grimly. "I will find him. An eye for an eye; a +tooth for a tooth; disgrace for disgrace; misery for misery. Mother, +all you have suffered he shall suffer, and a thousand times more. +Wherever he is, whatever he is, I will find him." His eyes turned away +towards the dreary moors. Router and Brown Willy stood like grim +sentinels watching over the scene. A slight wind had arisen, which +soughed its way across the great silent spaces, dispelling the mists. +The black tors in the near distance became visible again; frogs croaked +in the marshes near by. + +"But tell me more, mother. I know nothing yet. Who is he? What is +he? Tell me all you know of him." + +"There is little I can tell," said the mother. "He told me his name +was Douglas Graham. I believe that to be true. I found out that from +the people at 'Highlands,' the big house close by my father's farm." + +"Ah, they can tell us," he cried. + +"Nay," replied the mother. "They only had the house for a short time, +and then left. They are gone, I know not whither, and I, fool that I +was, was too ignorant to find out in those days more about him. But he +was called Douglas Graham, there is no doubt about that." + +"And is that all?" + +"Only this," replied the mother, "he is a lawyer--what they call an +English barrister. I have heard that books are kept, containing a list +of such people. I expect they'll be in London; but these barrister men +go around the country, some of them. Anyhow, that is for you to find +out." + +He nodded his head. "Yes, I will find out," he said; "but the thing +will be difficult, mother. I see what you mean now, and why you cannot +live with me. I must go to London, or to one of the other big places +where I can find out the truth about such things. Oh, I shall know, +and I will not spare him. Don't be afraid, mother, you shall be +avenged for all he's done to you." + +A kind of evil joy flashed from the woman's eyes. "Yes, Paul," she +said presently, "and you are clever, you were the cleverest lad in the +workhouse school. I found out that. You were always ahead with your +lessons, and you are quick with your brains and you are strong. But +remember, he is clever and strong too, and he has much book-learning, +and he knows all about the law, English law especially. You must be +able to meet him on equal terms. You must learn, my boy--you must know +everything. You need not fear for me. I have a place now where I can +live comfortably; but remember, I shall never be happy until either he +sets me and you right before the world, or I have made him suffer all I +have suffered and all you have suffered." + +For half an hour more they stood talking, he asking questions, she +answering and explaining. Night had fallen now, but the moon had risen +and made darkness impossible. The mists had cleared away, too, and +patches of blue were to be seen in the sky. Here and there a star +peeped out. + +"Good night, Paul," she said at length. "You will write me often, +won't you? Remember, you are the only thing I love on earth." + +"You know what I will do," he replied. "Good night, mother." + +For a few seconds he held her like a man might hold the maid he loved, +and then, turning, he walked slowly back towards Bodmin, from which +town he intended to take the train to the place where he lived. Mile +after mile he walked, seeming to take no notice of his surroundings. +It might be day, it might be night; it might be summer, it might be +winter, for all he cared. The iron had entered his soul, the poison of +hatred had filled his heart. He loved his mother with a kind of +savage, passionate love, but the man who was his father he hated, and +on him he swore to be revenged. "That is my work in life," he said to +himself; "that is the purpose for which I shall live, and I will do +it--yes, I will do it." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +PAUL BEGINS HIS WORK + +In some senses Paul Stepaside had suffered but little because of his +being a pauper. His education was quite equal to that of the lads who +had gone to the elementary school in the district. He had passed what +was called the sixth standard, and although this meant very little more +than a knowledge of the three "r's," he was considered by the workhouse +schoolmaster as his cleverest pupil. After leaving school at the age +of fourteen he was apprenticed to a local blacksmith, with whom it was +arranged he should remain for four years. John Tresidder, the +blacksmith, however, died two years after Paul's apprenticeship, and so +at sixteen, with his trade half learned, he found himself homeless and +friendless. But that did not trouble him much. He knew, or, at least, +he thought he knew, practically all that Tresidder could teach him, and +he was eager to start life on his own account. During the two years he +had been an apprentice, moreover, he had attended a night-school, and +had studied subjects which were beyond the range of the curriculum in +the ordinary day-schools. He had some knowledge of geometry, and had +mastered the first book of Euclid. He also knew a little of history, +and the schoolmaster, having some acquaintance with chemistry, and +finding Paul an apt pupil, had given him some lessons in that science. +Being a strong, healthy lad, he had no difficulty in finding work in +the blacksmith's shop at the Pencarrow Mines, where he was called an +Improver. He had been working here for a year, and, as he had told his +mother, his wages had just been raised to one pound a week. + +Paul was not popular among his companions. The Cornish people are +extremely proud, and have a proper scorn for those who have been reared +on charity. Moreover, a shadow rested upon his name, and he was often +insulted as a consequence. Epithets were constantly hurled at him, +which aroused black rage in the boy's heart. Being of an exceedingly +sensitive disposition, he resented the things that were said even while +he made no reply; many, as they caught the flash of his eyes, realised +something of the passion that lay smouldering in his heart. Still, he +was respected as a well-behaved, although uncompanionable lad. Like +all other youths in the district, he attended the Methodist chapel, and +seemed to listen attentively to the teachings enunciated there, but no +apparent impression was made upon him. Revival services were +frequently held, but no one could induce Paul to find his way to the +penitent form. Many looked upon him as an unbeliever. On more than +one occasion the evangelist, who was appointed to the St. Mabyn +circuit, had tried to get into conversation with him, but found his +task extremely difficult. Paul would listen in silence, but would make +no response whatever to the minister's eager questionings. + +On his return to St. Mabyn, after his meeting with his mother on the +Altarnun Moors, he seemed more grim and taciturn than ever. Silently +he went to his work, and silently he continued the whole day, paying +but little heed to the gibes of the miners, and never laughing at their +elementary jokes. During his evenings he read eagerly concerning life +in the big towns, of the means of education there, and of opportunities +for obtaining knowledge, but he said nothing about it to the cottagers +with whom he lived. He never uttered a word concerning what his mother +had told him. The secret lay deep in his heart, and his purposes must +be made known to none. + +In truth, a new passion had entered his heart: a greater bitterness +than he had yet known completely possessed him. Hitherto, while he had +resented the insults which had been heaped upon him by those who +sneered at the place of his birth and upbringing, he never seemed to +think of himself as hardly treated; now he pondered deeply over the +black shadow that lay upon his life. What had he done that he should +be treated so? Why should he be homeless and friendless while other +lads were situated so differently? What was the good of the minister +talking about a kind Providence and the love of God? He remembered the +previous Sunday evening sermon on the "Duty of forgiving one's +enemies." What did the preacher know about it? He called to mind the +look on his mother's face, the agony of her voice; he realised the +bitter years she had spent in silence and misery, and remembered who +was responsible for it all. Thus Paul became a kind of atheist. He +was not yet old enough to think deeply about it, but incipient unbelief +was in the boy's mind and heart. It darkened his thoughts and gave a +sombre hue to life. In any case he was not going to trouble about +religion. He remembered the vow he had made after he had left his +mother, and he determined that nothing should stop him from carrying +out his purposes. + +As chance would have it, too, events seemed to shape his course +quickly. A few weeks after his journey to Altarnun Moors, a young +fellow who was commonly called Jacker, a kind of half-gipsy lad who +worked at the mines, and who was looked upon as the champion boxer in +that district, made a dead set on Paul. Jacker had often sought his +friendship, and Paul had as often repulsed his advances. Jacker's own +parentage lay under a cloud, and he felt angry that Paul, whom he +regarded as in a like predicament, should refuse to be friendly with +him. One evening, therefore, when Paul seemed less inclined than ever +to be sociable, Jacker determined to have it out with him. He was +passing through what is called the Church Town, when a number of +youths, among whom Jacker was conspicuous, asked him to go into the +public house. Paul refused. On being asked his reason for his +refusal, he replied that he was on his way to the night-school. A few +minutes later there was an uproar. Things were said about Paul's +parentage that roused the young fellow beyond the pitch of endurance. +"I have borne with you a long time," he said, "but, remember, if you +say that again you shall pay for it." + +"Iss, and I be willing to pay for it!" cried Jacker, who was eager for +a fight. The youths had often accused him of being afraid of Paul, and +Jacker, true to his nature, wanted to prove his superiority to any +youth in the district. A little later the group of lads had adjourned +to a field, and Paul and Jacker appeared as combatants. The result of +it was that Paul, in a mad passion, nearly killed his opponent, and was +that same evening apprehended by the police as drunk and disorderly. +He was taken to the nearest lock-up, and detained there until the next +sittings of the magistrate. The landlord at the inn, being Jacker's +friend, had appeared as a witness on his behalf, and had declared that +Jacker was always a quiet, well-behaved youth, while Paul was a surly +villain, with whom it was impossible for quiet lads to live in peace. +Of course the truth presently came out, and, while Paul suffered no +imprisonment, he had to pay a fine for what had taken place, and was +bound over to keep the peace. + +This incident, although seemingly unimportant, bore fruit in Paul's +life. It determined him to leave the neighbourhood at once. But where +should he go? He hated Cornwall, hated the Pencarrow Mines, and longed +to get away where he could begin what he regarded as his life's work. +As it happened, a man, whose father had left Cornwall several years +before, paid a visit to St. Mabyn, and declared that there was always +good work for men in Lancashire. When Paul heard of it he made his way +to this man. "Peter Wadge," he said, "you have come from Lancashire, I +am told?" + +Wadge admitted that he had. + +"Where do you live?" he asked. + +"Brunford," replied Wadge; "and Brunford is the place for a chap like +you. No questions will be asked about you there, and the wage is +double what it is here!" + +"You see," continued Wadge, "the working man has a chance in +Lancashire, and we stand no nonsense with the masters." + +Paul looked at him questioningly. + +"You don't believe me?" said Wadge. "Why, think. Lately, owing to the +change in the price of cotton, the manufacturers were making money hand +over fist. Well, what did the weavers do? They just went to them and +demanded more wages. The manufacturers refused; they were having a big +harvest, and did not mean to allow the weavers to have a share in it. +But you see we are organised there, and a meeting of the Weavers' Union +was called, and the next thing was that they all went on strike. Of +course the manufacturers could do nothing without them, and so there +was an increase of wage right away. That's the way we deal with them +up there. Why, I knew a chap who was sacked because one of the +manufacturer's sons didn't like him. Do you think we stood it? Not +we! We sent a deputation to the master, and told him that unless the +chap were taken back we should all 'come out.'" + +"And was he taken back?" asked Paul. + +"I should think he was," was the reply. "Why, we working people are +somebody up there. We have our representatives on the town council and +on the board of guardians. Down here it is the parson and squire that +do everything; up there we are alive, and there's a chance for a chap +who's got brains. Why, a fellow like you up in Brunford, with your +education and gifts, could be a big man in a few years." + +Paul thought quietly for a few minutes. There was something in what +Wadge said that appealed to him. He longed to put his finger on the +pulse of the great busy life of the world, but he remembered the object +for which he lived. He longed to get on, but only for that purpose, +and he remembered that the man whom he had determined to punish was +educated and had a high position. + +"And are there any chances," he asked, "for a poor man to be educated? +I mean to be educated in the higher things--to learn law and government +and that sort of thing?" + +"Chances? I should think there are!" replied Wadge. "Why, think of +our Mechanics' Institute. We have more than a thousand students there. +They all come of an evening, after work, and they pay next to nothing +for their lessons; but I've known lots of them who have got on so well +that they have been able to go to Owens College at Manchester--even +taken degrees. And there is no end to the possibilities for the chap +who has taken a degree." + +Paul had only a vague idea of what this might mean, but he knew it +meant something of importance, and his heart beat quickly at the +thought of it. Still, the idea of Lancashire did not appeal to him. +He felt sure that Douglas Graham would be in London, and, after all, +London was the great heart of things. It was there all these big men +went, and it was there, he felt sure, his work lay. Nevertheless, he +went on asking Wadge many questions about life in the big towns of +Lancashire, and more and more became enamoured by the thought of going +there. + +"Look here," continued Wadge presently, "I have got a copy of the +_Brunford Mercury_ where I am staying, and I'll lend it you. You can +see then what's going on." + +A few hours later Paul was perusing the journal he had been promised. +At first he was disappointed. After all, there did not seem to be +anything much more attractive going on in Brunford than in Cornwall. +The _West Briton_ was, as far as he could see, a more interesting +paper. Presently, however, his heart gave a leap. He saw that a law +case of some sort had been going on in Manchester, and as the counsel +for one of the parties, he saw the name of "G. D. Graham." At first he +could scarcely believe his own eyes. He did not realise that there +might be hundreds of Grahams, many of whom might be barristers. With +his small parochial ideas, there could be only one Graham who could +occupy such a position--and Manchester was only a few miles from +Brunford. Of course all the barristers could not live in London. +There must be many all over the country, and Graham lived there. A +strange feeling filled his heart; he felt sure he had found his father, +the man who had wronged his mother, who had blighted her life. Again +the picture of her as he saw her last flashed back to his mind, the +care-worn, tired, sad-looking woman whom he loved as his mother; and +she was going back to servitude, to misery, and all this because of the +man who had deceived her, ruined her life. He had taken her as his +wife, and then written her that cruel, insulting letter, and left her +to the scorn and mercilessness of a hard world. And he would see him. +If he lived in Manchester he would be employed for other cases. It +would be easy to find out all about them, and he could go there and +watch. He realised that he could do nothing while he was ignorant. +Perhaps this G. D. Graham was a great man by now, and he would deny all +knowledge of what he had done; therefore he must find out, he must +prepare himself, and he could only do that through getting a knowledge +of the world, a knowledge of law, a knowledge of men. + +This decided him. He remembered what Wadge had said about the +Mechanics' Institute, and about working-lad students belonging to Owens +College and obtaining University degrees. Of course that must mean +knowledge, and knowledge was power. So much he had learnt, at all +events, at the night-school where he had attended. + +He counted up his money, of which he had been very saving, and +determined to leave Cornwall at once, and shortly after Christmas he +found himself in the train bearing him northward. He had never been +out of Cornwall before, and his heart beat high with hope. New scenes, +new experiences, new modes of life and thought, a new world--and he was +going to enter it! It was on a Monday morning that he started on his +journey, and it was dark when he left the little village of St. Mabyn, +carrying in his hand a portmanteau which contained all his earthly +possessions. It was several miles to the nearest railway station, but +that did not trouble him at all. Young and strong as he was, a +five-mile walk was nothing, and he found it no hardship to get up in +the cold, dark morning in order to catch the first train, northward. +He did not arrive in Manchester until late that night, and then found +that the last train for Brunford had left some time before he came. +Like all lads country-reared, he had heard about the dangers of big +towns, of thieves, of midnight murder--and Manchester frightened him. +He could not understand it at all, and in his ignorance and fear he +shrunk from asking questions. + +"You'll go to some pub., I suppose?" said a porter who had told him +about the last train to Brunford. + +"I don't know," said Paul. + +"But you must, man. You can't stay out all night. It's cold, too. +Will you have a cab?" + +"I don't know where to go," said Paul. "Can you tell me of a +respectable place?" + +But before the porter could answer, someone else claimed his attention, +and Paul was left alone. He took his bag and looked around, then, +seeing the notice, "Left Luggage Office," he acted upon impulse, and +left his portmanteau there, after which he went out into the streets. +He had missed the connection at Bristol, and, the later train having +been delayed, it was now past ten o'clock. He had bought some +sandwiches on his way, so he did not feel hungry. But he was terribly +depressed and lonely. The traffic of the city was subsiding somewhat, +but still the rush and roar of the great northern metropolis stunned +and bewildered him. Presently he came to the Town Hall, which stood in +a great square not far from the station. Around him were trams, cabs, +and a hurrying multitude of people. This was life--life in a great +city! It was utterly different from what he had expected; and it was +bitterly cold. A damp fog hung over the city, the air was depressing, +and the streets were black with slimy mud. Still, the thought that +more than half a million of people were around him was wonderful to +him. He was in the heart of the manufacturing North, where poor +friendless boys had risen to position and power. That Town Hall stood +for something--stood for the government of this great metropolis. It +seemed to him that London could be nothing compared with this, and in +his ignorance he felt as though Manchester were the centre of the +world. He wandered on and on, passing through St. Anne's Square until +he came to Market Street. Here all was a blaze of light, even although +the crowd had largely departed. It was all fascinating, bewildering. +He felt strangely afraid, and he did not know what to do. A tram +stopped just in front of him, and he noticed the words, "Rusholme, +Oxford Road." And, again acting on impulse, he entered the tram. A +few minutes later the conductor came to him. + +"Where do you want to go?" he asked. + +Paul had not the slightest idea, and looked at him in a kind of dazed +way. + +"Where do you want to get out?" went on the conductor. "We only go as +far as the tramway shed at Rusholme. Do you want to go as far as that, +or where?" + +"I don't know," said Paul. "Where do we pass?" + +"Why, we go up Oxford Road, and pass Owens College." + +"That's it," cried Paul eagerly; "I want to get out at Owens College." + +The conductor eyed him curiously, but he was a man of large experience, +and took very little notice of the vagaries of his passengers. + +"Here you are," he said at length, as the tram stopped. "This is Owens +College." + +Paul got out, and the tram went on. He looked at the great building +like one spell-bound. He had heard, in a vague sort of way, that this +was the head-quarters of the Victoria University. He did not know much +as to what this meant, but it appealed to him, captivated him. It was +the centre of learning--knowledge. Here men taught the knowledge that +meant power, progress, achievement. It was not quite so foggy here as +in the heart of the city, and the moon did its best to pierce the +clouds, and in its pale light Paul could see something of the +proportions of this great centre of learning. He wandered around it, +and noted what he supposed were the various departments of education. +He almost forgot where he was; he did not heed the lapse of time. This +was Owens College! It seemed to him the heart of the universe, the +centre of the world of knowledge, and he would go there some day, he +would learn things; and before his eyes flashed a vision of a brilliant +future. What others had done he could do. It meant work; but what of +that? He loved it. It meant suffering; but then he had never known +anything else. + +Presently he found himself in Oxford Road again, and then, like one in +a dream, he tramped back to the centre of the city. He had been +travelling from early morning, but he felt no weariness. Manchester +was the city of dreams. By the time he had got back to Market Street +again the streets were deserted, save for a few late stragglers. The +trams had ceased running, the theatres had emptied themselves while he +had been away, and only an occasional vehicle passed him. All through +the night he wandered through the dark, murky streets, and as he did so +the mystery of it all, the wonder of it all, filled his heart. Yes, he +was in a new world, and in this new world were new thoughts, new modes +of life. In after-years Paul recalled the experiences of that night; +it seemed to him that it marked a new era in his life. Especially did +he feel this as again and again he came to the Town Hall. The place +had a strong attraction for him, because it was here he believed that +the G. D. Graham of whom he had read had defended the man who, as it +appeared to him, was guilty of a crime. More than one policeman +noticed him as he stood there looking at its lofty towers and listening +for the deep tones of the bell which told of the passing time. But no +one molested him; he was respectably dressed, and did not appear to be +a suspicious character. Strange to say, the squalor, the misery, the +poverty did not impress him: it was the size, the wondrousness, and the +vast avenues of life, which the city suggested, that appealed to his +mind. + +Early in the morning he found himself at the Central Station again, +where, having obtained his bag, he made his way towards Victoria +Station and caught the early train for Brunford. + +By the time he had reached Haslingden the grey light of morning +revealed the dreary scenes through which he passed. He wished he had +stayed in Manchester. The district through which he passed seemed +nothing but a procession of dreary houses, built apparently without +thought of order or architecture. He saw stunted men and pale-faced +girls with shawls over their heads as if on their way to their work. +He heard the clatter of their iron-ringed clogs on the hard +paving-stones. Here was a new life indeed, but there was no romance. +It was all sordid, grimy. Still he must go on, and presently, when the +porter shouted the word, "Brunford," he got out of the train feeling +that his new life had really commenced. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PAUL IS SENT TO PRISON + +The next few years of Paul Stepaside's life must be described somewhat +briefly, although they were not without importance. They were the +formative period of the young man's history and naturally shaped his +whole future. Habits of thought were formed, and the tendencies of his +boyhood were hardened and fashioned by the circumstances which +surrounded him. Consequently, the passing from youth to manhood, with +all its shaping, moulding forces, is doubtless the most vital in the +life of any man. Nevertheless there is not much to say about them, as +only a few outstanding events happened to him. The development of his +character went on, but that development was silent and almost unnoticed +by those with whom he came into contact. Still, there were certain +things of which cognisance must be taken, because not only did they +affect his future but they formed a part of the chain of events which +led to the tragic issues which presently evolved. + +His first few days in Brunford were not happy ones. The life of a busy +manufacturing town was utterly different from that of St. Mabyn. The +long rows of ugly houses, the black, slimy streets, the smoke-begrimed +atmosphere, the roar of machinery, and the life of the operatives, all +made him feel that here was a new world indeed! It seemed to him +harsh, sordid, ugly, and more than once he longed for the clear skies, +the green fields, and the quiet restfulness of his old Cornish home. +Nevertheless it had its compensations. He was at the heart of a great, +busy, manufacturing centre, and the life there could not help but be +educational in the highest degree. He had no difficulty in finding +work. A loom manufacturer took him on for a few days to give him a +trial, and then, finding that Paul was skilful with his blacksmithing +tools, he engaged him as one of his permanent hands. He obtained +lodgings near the centre of the town, with an old couple who took quite +an interest in him. They were Methodists, and, learning that Paul was +acquainted with a minister who had formerly been in the Brunford +circuit, felt quite at home with him. This led, moreover, to his being +visited by the minister of Hanover Chapel, who took a great interest in +him, notwithstanding Paul's unconcealed contempt for anything like +religious influences. The legacy which his mother had left him seemed +to close up all those avenues of life and thought. His programme was +clearly marked out, and in order to carry it through, everything must +become subservient to it. His trade, the earning of wages, were merely +means to an end, and that end he constantly kept before his eyes. +First he must become educated; he must have knowledge--knowledge +sufficient to enable him to fulfil the purpose which was born in his +mind on the night he met his mother on the Altarnun Moors. If he could +satisfy his ambitions, so much the better; but he determined that +nothing should stand in the way of his carrying out the grim resolution +which was the great purpose for which he lived. + +He had not been in Brunford many months when he saw in the _Manchester +Guardian_ an account of a trial which was being conducted in that city, +and noticed that the leading counsel was G. D. Graham, the name which +had determined him to come to Brunford. He had made up his mind that +this man was his father. He knew he had very insufficient data on +which to go; nevertheless, it became a sort of fixed idea with him. +But he determined to make sure, and so, obtaining leave from his work, +he started one morning to Manchester, in order to be present at the +trial which was attracting some notice in the county. It was with a +grim sort of feeling in his heart that he entered the Manchester Law +Courts and climbed the steps leading to the room wherein the trial was +being held. + +"I shall know him," he said to himself, "know him among a thousand!" + +He did not seem to consider that this visit would lead to anything; he +only wanted to see the man who had blackened his mother's life. The +justice chamber was very full as he entered it, and he could not help +being impressed by the scene before him. The judge, with his legal +robes and his formidable-looking wig, sitting grave and stern on his +seat of eminence; the eager faces of the barristers; the watchful eyes +of the solicitors; the important look on the faces of the twelve +jurymen who sat huddled in a kind of square box; the anxious face of +the man who stood in the witness-box giving evidence; all appealed to +the young fellow's imagination, and caused his pulses to throb +violently. So great was the impression made upon him that for the +moment he almost forgot the purpose for which he came. This was life +indeed, and the work of making looms appeared to him as a kind of +sordid drudgery. The ambitions which had lain smouldering in his heart +for a long time sprang into flame again, and he determined that, while +he saw no chance of his being a judge, or even like one of the +barristers who sat around the table beneath the judge's bench, he at +least could become prominent in the great busy life of the world. The +case itself, too, cast a kind of spell upon him; he listened eagerly to +the questions that were being asked, and as he caught the meaning of +the things for which these men were fighting, the picture of his +mother's sorrows became less real and less vital. But this was not for +long. Presently one of the counsel rose to address the jury, and there +was a kind of flutter among the spectators as he did so. + +"Yon's Graham," he heard a man say by his side, and then the purport of +his coming to Manchester laid hold of him. + +"Which is Graham?" he asked of the man. + +"Yon man who has just got on his feet," was the reply. "He's a rare +'un, is Graham. I wouldn't like 'im to cross-examine me! You'll see, +he'll tear t'other chap's case all to flitters!" + +Paul turned his eyes towards the barrister in question, and then, he +could not tell why, but his heart became like lead. This was not the +man he had come to see. It was true he could not see the colour of his +hair, because It was hidden by his barrister's wig, but the face was +different from any he had ever seen in his dreams. The eyes were dark +and piercing, the features were almost classical. No, this was not the +man who had robbed his mother of her youth and of her beauty. After +this he took only an academical interest in the proceedings. He still +remained interested in the case, but only as a case; and the man Graham +was only a name to him. This fact altered his outlook for a time. +Hitherto he had fancied he knew where he might find the man whom he +called his enemy, but now he did not know; and, as a consequence, +everything became different. Not that he troubled much. He never +meant to try to do anything until he was ready. Somehow he knew that +when he set himself to struggle against the man he hated, the battle +would be long and hard; therefore he must be prepared; and he was not +ready yet--he had only just begun. That was why he did not trouble to +find him. When the time came he would surely have no difficulty in +discovering his whereabouts. Still, the visit to Manchester was not +without its effects. He saw a new vision of life, and that vision made +him discontented with being a mere operative. He would not, in the +future, be one who was led--he would be a leader. + +When he returned to Brunford, therefore, he worked harder than ever. +He took classes at the Mechanics' Institute, and spent all his spare +time in study. By the time he was twenty Paul Stepaside could have +matriculated at the London University; but he never thought of doing +so. After all, what was passing examinations? It was a mere knowledge +of certain specified subjects, and he felt that these would not enable +him to perform the great work which he had set himself to do. + +Paul was naturally greatly influenced by the life of the town in which +he lived. Brunford was a huge manufacturing centre, and was typical of +its class. The minds of the people were keenly alive, especially to +those questions which, as they believed, affected their welfare. All +sorts of socialistic schemes were discussed eagerly, and before long +Paul was keenly interested in them. He found that the town was a very +Mecca of revolutionary thoughts concerning the accepted order of +things. There were many who were of the "down-with-everything" order. +They did not believe in kings or governments, and although their +anarchism was of a mild order, there were some who proclaimed it with +such enthusiasm that Paul for a time was influenced by it. Others +there were who did not believe in private ownership of property, and +advocated that everything should be taken over by the State. There +were also several atheistic societies in the town, and before long Paul +found himself standing at street corners listening to orators who +proclaimed that there was no God, that man had no soul, that there was +no future life, and that Christianity was a great organised fraud. In +opposition to this, on the other hand, there were many who held the +wildest opinions about religion. Every conceivable sect seemed to be +represented in the town. Seventh-Day Adventists, Spiritualists, +Theosophists, Christadelphians, and innumerable others, claimed to have +the exclusive possession of the Truth. + +For a time he was influenced by all these contradictory views, but +presently his strong common sense asserted itself, and he began to +laugh at the fallacies which first of all fascinated him. Nevertheless +the life of Brunford influenced him greatly, and his whole intellectual +outlook was coloured by what he saw and heard. As a working man he +naturally allied himself with the working classes, even although he did +not share many of their views, and by the time he was a little over +one-and-twenty he began to be regarded as a leader. He became an adept +in public speaking too, and the announcement that he was to be present +at a meeting was almost sure to draw a crowd. He ceased attending any +place of worship, and indeed the incipient atheism of his earlier years +seemed to settle into a kind of general unbelief in anything spiritual +or supernatural. + +One evening the minister of the Hanover Chapel called at the house in +which he was lodging, and, seeing him deeply engrossed in his books, +complimented him upon his studious habits. "I hear you are becoming +quite a scholar, Mr. Stepaside," he said. + +Paul shook his head. + +"Why, but it's becoming well known in the town," persisted the +minister. "I noticed that you took a lot of prizes on prize-giving day +in the Mechanics' Institute, and all sorts of complimentary things were +said about you in the papers. I am sorry, however, that I've not seen +you at chapel lately." + +Paul remained silent. + +"You've not forgotten the advice which the wise man gave in the last +chapter of Ecclesiastes, I hope?" said the minister. + +"What advice?" asked Paul. + +"'Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth,'" replied the +minister. "I hope you have not forgotten that." + +"Where is He--what is He?" asked Paul. "Who can tell?" + +"Why," asked the minister, "do you not believe that there is a God in +the heavens--a God Who is at once our Father and our Judge?" + +"I see little signs of either," he replied. "It is easier to believe +in the Devil than to believe in God! All we know is that we are here, +and we have to fight our battles and do our work." + +"But do you mean to say," asked the minister, "that you feel no +responsibility towards God?" + +"Look here, sir," replied Paul, "this world in which we live is not a +very big affair, and it's one of millions upon millions of other +worlds. Now I put it to you: What do you think the God Who made all +this--if there is a God at all--Who made all these millions of worlds +swirling through space, cares about little insects like you and me, who +just crawl upon the face of this tiny globe. Still, as I said, we have +our life to live and our work to do, and we must act according to the +instincts of our being." + +"But if the instincts of your being lead you to do something wrong?" +said the minister. + +"What is right, and what is wrong?" asked Paul. "All I know is that I +have my own plans of life. I have my programme marked out, and I mean +to carry the programme through." + +The minister did not quite understand what he meant. "But what about +your relations with your fellow-men, my young friend?" he asked. + +"What of them?" asked Paul. "I was reading the other day the life of +Napoleon, who said that if a million men stood between him and the +objects he desired to obtain he would sacrifice those million men." + +The minister, a simple-minded man, who thought but little outside the +narrow groove in which he worked, was somewhat aghast at this statement. + +"And do you mean to say that is your sentiment?" he said. + +For the moment the spirit of mischief entered Paul's heart. It seemed +pleasant to him to shock this godly man and to make him feel that he +had no sympathy with the conventional morality he preached. + +"It seems to me," said Paul, "that, if there is a God, He helps those +who help themselves. The battle is to the strong, and the race to the +swift. If you do not win, somebody else does. Well, I don't mean to +be beaten in the battle, and if there is someone who stands in my way +of getting to the goal I desire to reach, that someone has got to be +swept out of the way." + +One event we must mention which was destined to have a marked influence +on Paul's life. It need not be described at length, but it is +necessary that it be referred to briefly. A certain manufacturer had a +son some few years older than Paul. This manufacturer was named +Wilson. He was one of the largest employers in the town, and his son +Ned was looked upon as one who would one day be one of the most +important men in Brunford. He was a fellow of some intelligence, and, +while essentially of the manufacturing class, he had, perhaps owing to +his education, ambitions to be associated with the older families of +the county. He was strongly opposed to the democratic feeling which +prevailed among the working classes, and, on more than one occasion +strongly resented the expression of certain opinions by his father's +employees. When Paul was about twenty years of age a quarrel sprang up +between him and young Ned Wilson. Paul, burning with enthusiasm for +the class whose fortunes he had espoused, spoke at a public gathering, +and exposed the ill-treatment of one of Wilson's employees. Wilson +appeared at the gathering and denied the statement which Paul made, and +hurled many offensive epithets at him. It was a sordid affair +altogether, and the matter would not have been mentioned but for its +influence on Paul's after-life. The result of the quarrel was that +Paul was discharged from the position he had held ever since he came to +Brunford, and was, as a consequence, for some time out of work. +Moreover, lying stories were set afloat, which, while they did not harm +him greatly, caused him to feel bitterly towards the man who had +maligned him. + +When Paul had been in Brunford about five years a strike took place +which convulsed the whole town. Like many another of these +manufacturing disturbances, the cause seemed trivial in the extreme. +Nevertheless, it spread from mill to mill, and from trade to trade, in +such a way that practically the whole of the operatives had ceased +working. As all the world knows by this time, the unions of the North +of England are so closely connected as to form them into one +homogeneous body. In this case, two people, a man and his wife, became +at cross purposes with what was called the tackler. This tackler, or +foreman, had insisted upon something which to the man and his wife was +utterly unfair. Eventually they were discharged, and on their appeal +to the secretary of the union to which they belonged, the whole case +was taken up seriously and discussed with a great deal of warmth. The +employer in question supported his foreman and refused to take the +couple back. Thereupon the union threatened to call out all their +members if they were not reinstated. This led to a pitched battle +between the operatives and the employers. The masters naturally +supported their own class, while the operatives, feeling that their +position was endangered, stood to their guns. As a consequence, +therefore, the trade of the whole town was in a state of stagnation. +The employers declared that they refused to be dictated to by the +people to whom they paid wages; and the operatives, feeling that their +liberties and rights were in danger, would concede nothing to them. As +is ordinary in such cases, a great deal of unruly behaviour was +witnessed, the public-houses reaped a rich harvest, and acts of +violence became general. In this case, a number of youths, utterly +foolish and irresponsible, conceived a plot to "pay out," as they call +it, the employers, and, in order to carry it out, held secret meetings, +the purport of which, unknown to them, gradually leaked out. Into this +plot Paul found himself drawn, but instead of encouraging the youths in +their design, he did his best to dissuade them. This, as may be +imagined, did not please them. To those who have studied the history +of strikes in the northern manufacturing towns, it is well known that +nothing appeals to a certain element of the population more strongly +than acts of violence, and Paul found that his well-meant efforts met +with great disfavour. Still, a kind of loyalty held him to them, even +while he refused to participate in what they proposed to do. One night +a number of these lads found their way to a certain mill, with the +intention of destroying some new machinery that Mr. Wilson, who has +already been mentioned, had lately bought at great cost. When Paul +heard of it he also hastened thither, in order to do his best to put an +end to the mischief. As I have said, the designs of these lads had +leaked out, and, as a consequence, the owner of the mill was prepared. +A number of policemen had ambushed themselves, together with some of +the foremen. The result was that when the lads were making their way +towards this machinery they were stopped, and an endeavour was made to +make them prisoners. This led to a pitched battle between the youths +on one side and the representatives of the employers on the other, and +Paul, in spite of himself, was found on the side of the youths. In the +struggle which followed two policemen and one of the foremen were badly +injured, while several of the lads bore marks which they would carry to +their graves. + +That same night Paul found himself, with nearly all the others, in +Brunford police-station, in order to await his trial. The case was +regarded so seriously that bail was not allowed; and therefore Paul, +with the others, had to remain in durance vile until the case could be +publicly tried. + +During the time he lay in prison he felt himself deeply humiliated and +vastly ashamed. He called himself a fool for having been led into such +a false position. While sympathising with the attitude which the +operatives, as a whole, had taken, he utterly disapproved of the +foolish plot into which he had been drawn, and yet here he was, not +only regarded as equally culpable with the rest, but as a kind of +leader; he, who had always prided himself upon his respectability, and +upon appealing to the intelligence of the people instead of to brute +force, was guilty of mixing himself up in this vulgar squabble which +had led to such an ignominious end. The disgrace of it, too, was hard +to bear; keenly sensitive as he was, and with an abhorrence of anything +like brawls of any sort, he felt as though he was dragged through mire. +Of course the unions took up their case and promised to defend them. +They had a large amount of money at their disposal in the union funds, +and they promised that the best legal advice obtainable should be +employed in their behalf. As I have said, feeling ran very high in the +town, and the magistrates before whom the case was brought in the first +instance, being in the main manufacturers, and therefore strongly +prejudiced in favour of their class, were not likely to regard the +action of Paul and of others from a favourable standpoint. They +accordingly committed the accused for trial at the Quarter Sessions in +Manchester. The secretary of one of the unions visited Paul before the +trial. + +"It's a serious business, Stepaside," he said, "and I am afraid it will +go hard with you!" + +"But no one was seriously hurt," said Paul. + +"I doan't know so much about that," replied the secretary. "One of th' +bobbies has been i' bed ever since. Wilson's tackler is said to be i' +queer street. His head was bashed in, and one of his arms broken. I +tell thee, it was a bad thing for us all. You see it's turned public +opinion agin us, and we weavers are lost when that's the case. Still, +we mun fight it out." + +"I don't want to back out from anything," said Paul; "but, as a matter +of fact, I did my best to keep the chaps from going up to Wilson's +mill." + +"That may be," replied the secretary, "but the general opinion is that +thou wert the leader of th' gang, and we shall have rare hard job to +get thee off, whatever happens to the rest. Still, we think none the +worse of thee, lad, and if thou hast got to go to quod, thou shalt have +a rare big home-coming when thou comes out. We'll have bands of music +and a big feed, and all that sort of thing." + +"Who have you got to defend us?" said Paul. + +"Eh, well, we have got Sutcliffe, our own lawyer, and he's briefed +Robson, the barrister." + +"Is Robson a good man?" asked Paul. + +"Good! why he's got off more of our chaps than any other man. Still, +it looks black, because the case is clear agin us. There is no doubt +the chaps were up to mischief, they got into Wilson's mill, and +there'll be some turncoats in the town who'll say as 'ow they knaw that +they meant to break the machinery. Then there's the two bobbies and +Wilson's tackler, all of them i' bed, and the doctor'll be there to +give evidence. There's no getting out of that." + +When he had gone, Paul thought over the whole case very seriously. +What part should he play? He knew he could bring witnesses to prove +that he had done his best to dissuade the lads from their act of +violence, but, by so doing, should he be playing the game? He wanted +to be loyal to his companions, even while he was innocent of willingly +acting with them. It was rather a delicate point. If he failed to +speak he would be regarded as a kind of ringleader of the gang. If, on +the other hand, he told the truth, and brought witnesses to attest to +what he had to say, he would be looked upon as a kind of sneak. + +When the day of trial came, therefore, he was not in an enviable frame +of mind. He knew that hundreds of eyes would be upon him, and that he +would have a very undesirable publicity. Only a few weeks before the +strike he had been spoken of as a possible candidate for the town +council, and he, young as he was, had rejoiced in the thought. He had +pictured himself speaking at public meetings and receiving the votes of +the townspeople; he saw himself, too, elected at the head of the poll, +and having a seat in the council chamber among the most prominent men +in the town. But now his publicity would be of an entirely different +nature. He was spoken of as the leader of a gang of roughs who +attempted to break up machinery, and who had half-killed three men who +represented peace and order. Still, he set his teeth together and +thought of his plan of action. + +"I suppose Wilson will be well represented," he said to the secretary +of the union, to whom he had spoken before. + +"Ay, he's got Bolitho for th' senior and Jordan for th' junior." + +"Bolitho!" said Paul, "I never heard of him." + +"Where have you lived?" asked the secretary. "'E's the smartest chap +in the Northern Circuit, and there's many as ses he's makin' several +thousand a year. I have 'eard as 'ow Wilson 'ad a 'ard job to get him, +'e's that thronged with work, and when they 'ad got him, he said as 'ow +it meant six months more to every one of you." + +"What sort of a chap is he?" asked Paul. + +"Eh, one of those smooth-spoken fellows. You think when he's +cross-examining you 'e's on your side, and all the time 'e's worming +out the most damning things against you. He's a kind of oily voice, +too, and he makes people believe in him, whether they will or no. You +must be careful about that, for directly he comes to address the jury +he takes the meanest advantages of what he has dragged out of the +witnesses." + +Presently Paul found himself and the others in the same room wherein he +had watched the trial of some months before. He thought of the G. D. +Graham about whom he had such strange fancies, and remembered the shock +he had received when he discovered that he was altogether mistaken. He +little thought then that he would be here to-day as a dangerous +character, and as one who had committed a grave offence against the +public weal. Presently he was able to take note of his surroundings. +The lofty chamber; the solemn-looking magistrates; the barristers at +their benches; the jury in their box; the prisoners standing sullen and +defiant, yet wondering how they would acquit themselves in the trial; +and as many of the public as could gain admission into the room, eager, +and wondering what the upshot would be. + +Evidently the case was going to be a long one. The counsel for the +prosecution opened it with a long and vigorous speech. He described +the history of the strike, told of the excitable condition of the +people, and related how difficult it had been for the police to keep +order in the town. After this he went on, with more or less accuracy, +to tell of the plot of the prisoners who had been brought there that +day, and of the charges that were brought against them. + +"Is that Mr. Bolitho?" asked Paul of the secretary of the union, who +was allowed to stand near him. + +"Nay," was the reply, "yon's Jordan, the junior. Bolitho's not here +yet. I wish summat would happen to him on the way. I tell yo' I'm +feared of him. This chap is but a beginner, so to speak--a sort of +John the Baptist, that prepares the way for t'other; but Bolitho's a +fair terror and no mistake." + +Somehow the name had a familiar sound with it. + +"Bolitho, Bolitho, why it's a Cornish name!" said Paul. "I've heard it +many a time down in St. Mabyn. Perhaps when he knows I am a +Cornishman--that is, if he is Cornish, too--he may not be so hard on +me." + +Still, this was only a passing thought, and he steeled his heart +against the worst. When the case had dragged on for some time, Paul +noticed that there was a flutter in the court. A man he had not +hitherto seen came in and took his place beside the junior counsel for +the prosecution. He heard a whisper go round the court, "There's +Bolitho." And Paul's eyes were drawn to him as if by magic. There was +something in the face that held his attention, fascinated him. He +found his heart beating faster than was its wont and his muscles +contracting as if he were about to meet an enemy. For the moment he +forgot the reason why he was brought there, so keenly intent was he on +examining the face of the barrister who had just come in. And yet it +was not a face to be feared. It was somewhat florid, and certainly +pleasant to look upon. His eyes were blue and had a somewhat dreamy +expression in them, while the features suggested gentleness rather than +harshness. A handsome man was this Mr. Bolitho, a man who looked as +though he might have many friends. The counsel all round smiled at +him, while the magistrate nodded benignly. He seemed to create an air +of pleasantness. He relieved the somewhat sordid atmosphere which +pervaded the chamber. How much time he had given to the case it was +impossible to say, but, certainly, when he rose to cross-examine, he +seemed to know every detail of it. + +Presently the examination came to an end, and Mr. Bolitho rose to +address the jury for the prosecution. In a way which Paul could not +quite comprehend, and yet which seemed perfectly reasonable as he did +it, he laid the whole blame for the trouble at Paul's door. It was his +that had been the master mind. It was he who was guilty of inciting +these ignorant, thoughtless youths to the act which had ended almost +fatally for three men. He dragged in the quarrel which Paul had had +with the son of Mr. Wilson, the owner of the mill, and insinuated that +it was a matter of personal revenge which had inspired him to commit +this outrage. In a few minutes it seemed to Paul that there was no +blacker criminal in England than himself. This man Bolitho had created +a new atmosphere in the court; his suave, almost smiling, features had +changed. When he was examining he pretended to be kind and assumed a +confidential and almost friendly manner. In this way he had wormed +statements out of men which Paul knew to be diametrically opposed to +the truth--he had even obtained the admission, from some of the youths +whom he had tried to dissuade from their deed of violence, that he, +Paul, had incited them rather than otherwise. + +And now, in addressing the jury, this Mr. Bolitho had laid special +emphasis upon it. Paul was perfectly sure that the man did not believe +all he said, but he wanted to make a case, and he had fastened upon +himself as the chief culprit. + +"Gentlemen," said Mr. Bolitho, "I wish you to pay special attention to +this man, young in years, apparently respectable, well educated, +especially for his class, and intelligent beyond the ordinary; but I +want to point out to you that he is of that class of which agitators +are made, and, as such, he is a danger to the community. In the eyes +of the law all these men are equally guilty, all of them were engaged +in this wild, lawless deed, which has ended almost fatally for three +men, two of them trustworthy officers of the law, and one a respected +townsman of Brunford, and a man holding a position of trust under his +employer. But think, gentlemen--these other youths were simply led by +this stronger personality of Paul Stepaside. He, inspired by personal +enmity towards Mr. Wilson, determined to be revenged on him for some +fancied wrong done to him years before, has taken the opportunity to +perpetrate this awful outrage. It is true he has not definitely said +so, but he has insinuated that he tried to dissuade the others from +taking part in this crime. But can such a thing be believed? The +others were never capable of this plot, and, without a leader, would +never have thought of participating in it. On several occasions, too, +since he has been in Brunford he has made public speeches. Extracts +from those speeches I will now read to you." + +On this, Mr. Bolitho read certain statements which Paul was reported to +have made--statements from which it would appear that he hated the +class of employers who were prosecuting him that day. + +"I am urging these things, gentlemen," continued Mr. Bolitho, "because +I wish the guilt to be fastened where it ought to be fastened. It has +been clearly proved that all these men were guilty of the charges of +which they are accused, but surely it should be borne in mind that more +guilt should be attached to the leader and the inspirer of these +outrageous deeds than to those thoughtless and almost irresponsible +fellows who were led like sheep to the slaughter." + +Paul listened like one bewildered, and presently his heart became +filled with black rage. He realised now the meaning of what the +secretary of the union had said to him. He could not understand why it +was that this clever counsel had tried to make him a scapegoat for all +the rest; but now he saw it was really so. The others, who were really +guilty of a thing which he himself condemned, were made to appear as +almost innocent, while he, who had done his best to dissuade them from +their mad act, was condemned as one who had acted like a devil. Once, +during Mr. Bolitho's speech, Paul lost control over himself. "Liar!" +he exclaimed. And his voice rang out above that of the counsel. A +wave of excitement swept over the crowd. The judge looked at him with +stern eyes, but before he had time to speak Paul persisted, "I say he +is a liar, my lord. He has said things that are not true. He has +twisted things out of their true meaning. He has made inferences +appear like facts!" + +He was unable to proceed further after this, owing to the action of the +presiding magistrate--indeed it was a wonder that he had been allowed +to say so much--but the intensity of his voice for the moment startled +this grave man, and this caused him to allow what under ordinary +circumstances would never have been possible. + +As may be imagined, Mr. Bolitho made the most of this interruption. +For some reason or other, he seemed to have taken a personal dislike to +the young man before him, and now he used the interruption to emphasise +what he had hitherto said. + +"I ask you, gentlemen," he insisted, "to consider the evidence of these +men"--and from the way he spoke it might seem as though he were acting +as counsel for the others--"and then think of who is likely to be +really guilty. These youths are just ordinary, ignorant, irresponsible +fellows, waiting to be led, but incapable of leading--without +education, and with no more than ordinary intelligence. But here is +this Stepaside, regarded as a leader among a certain class in the town, +an agitator, a dangerous man." + +And so on, until at length his speech came to a close, and all felt +that, whatever might happen to the others, the jury would regard Paul +as the one who was responsible for what had taken place, and who, if +either of the three injured men should die, would be regarded as guilty +of not only outrage, but perhaps of manslaughter. Presently the judge +summed up the case, and then waited while the jury left their box to +consider their verdict. + +By this time Paul was almost careless as to results. He felt perfectly +sure that the punishment meted out to him would not be a light one; but +he did not care. He was past that. His mind and heart were filled +with rage against the man who had blackened his name. He fell to +studying him while he waited, and again he was fascinated. While he +had addressed the jury his eyes had shone with apparently righteous +indignation; he was eager, almost passionate, in his denunciation of +crime. But now it might seem as though his interest in the matter had +gone. He chatted and laughed with the other barristers, and accepted +their congratulations upon his speech. As Paul listened, too, he heard +him accept an invitation to go with one of them to dinner that night, +and afterwards accompany them to a place of amusement. And this was +the man who had so ruthlessly, so cruelly, and so untruthfully defamed +his own character. + +Presently the jurymen returned, and the court awaited their verdict. A +little later Paul knew that the others were committed to one month's +imprisonment, while he himself was condemned to six months' hard +labour. The young man's face never moved a muscle. He stood perfectly +rigid, perfectly silent, as the judge pronounced the sentence, and +then, when all was over, he turned towards the barristers' table, and +his eyes met those of the man who, he knew, was practically responsible +for the extreme punishment meted out to him. Mr. Bolitho smiled, and +then, turning, left the court, while a policeman laid hold of Paul's +arm and led him away to his cell. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PAUL MEETS MARY BOLITHO + +There is no need to describe at length Paul's experiences during the +time he was imprisoned in Strangeways Gaol. The moral effect of prison +life is rather harmful than good. In Paul Stepaside's case, at all +events, it was so. He knew his punishment was unjust, he knew he was +guiltless of the crime which had been attributed to him; knew, too, +that for some purpose which he could not understand a case was made out +against him which had no foundation in fact. These things alone would +have had a tendency to embitter his heart and to make him rail at the +so-called justice of the land. But when we add to this the fact that +he was of a proud, sensitive nature, that he shrank from the unenviable +notoriety to which he had been exposed, and that he writhed under the +things that had been said about him, it can be easily seen that his +whole nature rose up in revolt. Everything in the gaol aroused his +antagonism, and made him bitter and revengeful. The daily routine, the +constant surveillance of the warders, the thousand indignities to which +he was subjected, made him, even while he said nothing, grind his teeth +with passion and swear to be revenged in his own time. + +One thing, however, interested him during his stay there: it was his +study of the Book of Job, and he read through this old Eastern poem +which fascinated him. At first he was prejudiced against it because it +was in the Bible, but the majesty of the poem charmed him, overwhelmed +him. He had read the plays of Shakespeare; he had closely studied what +many consider to be the great dramatist's masterpiece, but "Macbeth" +seemed to him poor and small compared with the Book of Job. The +picture of Satan going to and fro on the earth, the story of Job's +calamities, of his sorrows, and of the dire extremity in which he found +himself, appealed to him and fascinated him. Yes, it was fine. The +old Eastern poet had seen into the very heart of life. He had enabled +Job to answer tellingly, brilliantly, these three wise fools who poured +out their platitudes. In spite of himself, too, he was influenced by +the conclusion of the poem. It was not only poetically just, but there +was something in it that comforted him, that gave him hope in spite of +himself, Was there, after all, he wondered, a God Who spoke out of the +whirlwind, Who laughed at men's little theories, and worked His own +will? It would be splendid if it were so. The idea possessed him; God +behind all, in all, through all, the God Who made and controlled all +the swirling worlds, and yet, in His infinite compassion, cared for +every living creature that moved. Yes, it was stupendous; and if it +were true, then---- But, again, he brooded over his wrongs, and his +heart became closed and bitter. + +And so the days passed by and lengthened into weeks, and the weeks into +months, and at last Paul found himself free again. It was ten o'clock +in the morning when he was set at liberty, and he realised that during +the time he had been in prison the winter had passed away. It was +early in November when he had been committed, and now it was the +beginning of May. And so Lancashire was looking at its best. The sun, +even through the smoke-begrimed atmosphere, was shining almost +brightly, and the twitter of birds welcomed him as he left the prison a +free man. To his surprise, he found outside the prison gates a number +of men awaiting him, who, on his appearance, raised a shout of welcome. +Paul had hoped to have escaped without notice. As we have said, he was +keenly sensitive to the disgrace which he had suffered, and hated the +thought that questioning eyes would be upon him. Therefore, when he +saw that the crowd of men who had come from Brunford to give him a +welcome had also attracted a number of people in the district, he was +almost angry at their coming, and yet he could not help feeling +grateful. After all, it showed a kind spirit, and he appreciated their +presence accordingly. + +"Come on, lad," said one of the men. "We'll just have a drink and then +we'll catch the train for Brunford. We've ordered a rare dinner for +thee at 'The Black Cow,' and to-night there's goin' to be a meeting in +the Primitive Methodist schoolroom in honour of thy return." + +"Is the strike all over?" asked Paul. + +"Ay, the strike's all over. The matter's been patched up, and we are +making fair brass i' Brunford now." + +"And what has become of the other chaps?" asked Paul. + +"You mean the chaps as wur tried with thee? Two on 'em are still i' +Brunford; the rest have gone to Canada. We've summat to tell thee +about that." + +"What?" asked Paul. + +"Weel, you see, they confessed as 'ow 'twere not thee who set 'em on to +smashing Wilson's machinery, but that thou didst thy best to stop them, +so, I tell thee this, thou art a sort of hero i' Brunford now. It's +all over th' place that thou art a sort of martyr, and that thou +suffered in their stead, instead of letting on and proving, as thou +couldst easily prove, that thou wert agin their plan. Thou just kept +quiet, so that they might get off easy, even though thou wert kept +longer in quod thysen. The papers have had articles about it, too, and +the affair has been called 'A Miscarriage of Justice.'" + +"The people think I'm not disgraced, then?" said Paul, and there was a +flash of eagerness in his eyes. + +"Disgraced! Nay, it's all t'other way, and I can tell thee this, that +many think that Wilson and his son Ned are disgraced for setting on +Bolitho to make it hard for thee." + +"Did they do this?" asked Paul. + +"Ay, they did an' all. From what we can hear, Bolitho had special +instructions to let t'other chaps down easy. It was not hard to do +this, because thou art a chap with eddication and brains, and art a bit +of a leader, while t'others were nowt but ninnies. Anyhow, the truth's +out at last, and nobody i' Brunford will look upon thee as disgraced." + +In spite of himself Paul could not help being pleased, and he no longer +resented the presence of the people who had gathered round the prison +gates and who had listened eagerly to what had been said. Rather there +was a feeling of triumph in his heart as cheer after cheer was raised. +He was thought of as one who fought the battles of the working people, +and he had suffered as a consequence No one looked on him as one +disgraced, but rather as one who had suffered for their cause. + +Nevertheless the marks of the prison were still upon his heart. No man +could spend six months in Strangeways Gaol as he had spent them, and +suffer as he had suffered, without being influenced thereby. The iron +had entered his soul, and even kindly words and hearty cheers could not +remove from him the fact that he had been treated unjustly, and that +his character had been blackened. + +When the train arrived in Brunford, another crowd, far larger than that +which met him at Manchester, had gathered at the station, and there was +quite a triumphal march down the Liverpool Road towards the town hall. +Arrived there, Paul could not help noticing a number of the councillors +leaving the steps of this great civic building, and among others he +noticed both Mr. Wilson and his son, who were responsible for his +imprisonment. + +"Sitha, Ned Wilson," shouted one of the men. "This is the chap that +thou set on Bolitho to persecute, and this is the chap that thou told +lees about." + +The two men laughed uneasily and passed up the road without comment. +Evidently the tables were turned on them. As for the others, they +spoke to Paul kindly. There was no ill-will remaining because of the +strike, the relations between master and men in these manufacturing +districts being sometimes almost confidential. In many cases they +belong to the same social order, even although the one is rich and the +other comparatively poor. Many of the manufacturers, who were now +employers of labour, were themselves operatives twenty or thirty years +before, and had worked side by side with those whom they now employed. +As a consequence, it was the order of the day for a weaver to call his +employer by his Christian name; indeed, many would think it beneath +their dignity to call an employer "Mister." On one occasion the son of +a large employer of labour in Brunford was sitting in his father's +office when one of the operatives entered. He wanted to find his +employer's groom, so he said to his young master, "Arthur, canst thou +tell me where Mester Smith is?" + +Paul quickly found that he lost no prestige whatever on account of his +incarceration in Strangeways Gaol. On every hand he was met with +kindness, and to his delight he found the place where he had been +working still kept open for him. The day passed away amidst +expressions of goodwill on every hand, and Paul, wellnigh worn out with +the excitement of the last few hours, was about to return to his +lodgings, when an event happened which altered the course of his life. + +He was walking down the main street of the town, when, remembering that +he needed to do some shopping, he dropped in at a hosier's place of +business, the owner of which met him with great heartiness. + +"Ay, Paul, lad," he said, "I'm delighted to see you. Mr. Whitman and I +were just talking about you." And he turned, as he spoke, to an old, +pale-faced, kindly man who stood by his side. Old William Whitman was +the town missionary for Brunford, and was beloved by everybody. + +"Ay," assented the old man, "and we've been praying for thee too, lad. +I'm afraid your cross has been hard to bear, but, never mind, the sun +will shine again now." + +"It will, too," assented the hosier. "We think none the worse of thee, +lad, for what thou hast undergone, and 'appen thou wilt find that this +strange working of Providence 'll be oal for thy good." + +"I don't see much of Providence in it," said Paul, "except that it +makes me realise how kind the people here are. There seems a great +deal more of the Devil than of God." + +At that moment the shopkeeper's attention was drawn away from him by +the coming of another customer, leaving him and the town missionary +together. + +"Nay, but you mustn't say that, Paul lad," said the missionary. +"Happen in a few months you will get over all these things." + +"I shall never get over it," said Paul. "For six months I have been +wearing prison clothes; I have been sleeping in a cold, dark cell; my +name has been taken away from me, and I have simply been known by a +number, and I have been looked upon not as a man, but as a beast. +There's not much to make one think of God in all that, Mr. Whitman!" + +"Ay, it's been hard on thee," replied the old man, "and there's many a +one in Brunford who thinks something should have been done for thee. I +suppose Ned Wilson felt very bitter towards you, and when he was +instructing the counsel, he made him believe that you were the +ringleader. There's more than one who have said that Bolitho was very +unfair. However, the Lord will make everything right." + +"I shall never believe that the Lord has made everything right until +Bolitho and Wilson have suffered as I have suffered," replied Paul +bitterly. "If I could see Bolitho in prison clothes; if he were known +by a number; if he had to tramp the prison yard among the scum of the +earth, as I have; if he had to lie in a cold cell with the darkness of +hell in his heart, as I have, then I could believe in Providence +perhaps. But when I remember that I was regarded as a beast and not as +a man, while he was drinking wine and faring sumptuously, there did not +seem much justice in the world." + +Hearing a rustle by his side as he spoke, Paul turned and saw that the +customer who had been talking with the shopkeeper was looking straight +at him, and his heart beat violently as the eyes of the two met. It +was a young girl he saw, not more than twenty years of age, and, as far +as he knew, she was a stranger to the town. He had never seen her +before, and she appeared different from the young women with whom he +had happened to meet. He noticed, too, as their eyes met, that hers +were full of horror. She seemed to regard him as she might regard a +snarling dog. He saw her lips quiver, and he thought for a moment that +she was about to speak to him. The intensity of her gaze made him +almost beside himself, and then, acting on the impulse of the moment, +and speaking with the freedom so common to the Lancashire operative +class, he went on: "Yes, miss, and I mean it too. You, by the look of +you, belong to that class, but, remember, the time will come when men +like Bolitho will be paid for what they have done. But, there!" And +he laughed. "I suppose he had to speak to his brief, and, justice or +no justice, he had to do what his employer told him to do. 'Ten pounds +more for every extra month you get him,' would be Wilson's cry, and +Bolitho would be anxious to get the ten pounds." + +The girl's eyes shone with a fierce anger, and then, without a word, +walked away. + +"I say, Paul," said the shopkeeper, "that's not the way to treat my +customers!" + +Paul looked ashamed of himself. "I know, I know, Mr. Sutcliffe, it was +mean of me," he said, "and I know I ought to apologise to her. But if +you had seen the look on her face, and had suffered what I have +suffered, you'd have spoken too. Why, she might think I was an adder. +But there, I dare say she knew who I was, and that I had just come out +of prison." + +"As you know, I'm all on your side, Paul," said the shopkeeper, "but I +cannot afford to have my customers driven away." + +"Nay, I know," said Paul; "and if she doesn't come back and pay for the +things that are on the counter there, I'll take them myself and pay for +them. But there, I must be going." And, having got the things he came +to buy, he left the shop, little realising the influence the interview +would have upon his future. + +He had barely gained the street when a man, whom he had known almost +ever since he had come to Brunford, met him. "Ay, Paul," he said. "I +have just been to your lodgings, and I want to see you particular." + +Paul's heart was still embittered with the scene through which he had +passed, and he met the man rather coldly. "Is it anything particular?" +he said. + +"Yes, I think so," replied the man. + +"Because if it isn't," said Paul, "I don't want to talk about it. I've +had a hard day, and I'm pretty well worn out." + +"That's so," replied the other, "and we'll say nothing more about it if +you don't feel like talking, but I thought as 'ow you might look upon +it as good news." + +"Forgive me, Preston," he said, recognising the man's kindly tone. "I +know I spoke like a brute, but my nerves are all on edge, and while +everybody is very kind to me, I'm easily upset. What is it, old man?" + +"I can't tell you here," replied Preston. "It'll take me an hour, +anyhow." + +"Is it so important as that?" said Paul, with a questioning look in his +eyes. + +"Ay, I think so," replied the other. + +George Preston was a teacher in the Hanover Sunday-school, and was some +two years older than Paul. He had more than average intelligence, and +had been known for years as a hard-working, saving fellow. They had +met at the Mechanics' Institute, where they had gone for classes, and, +while they had gone their different ways, mutual respect existed +between them. + +"I expect Mrs. Dixon will have got my little room all ready," said +Paul, "so we shall be able to have a chat without interruption." And +the two threaded their way along the busy street towards Paul's +lodgings. Never did Paul realise how much he was liked until that +evening. It happened to be market day, and the streets were crowded +with people. Not only had the townspeople gathered together in the +centre of Brunford, but many had come in from a distance, and thus to a +casual visitor it might seem as though a fair were being held. Every +minute or so he was stopped by someone who came up to congratulate him +on his return, and to bid him welcome. + +"Never fear, Paul lad," it was said to him again and again. "You shall +noan suffer for this, and 'appen Wilson and that lot will noan be the +happier for what they have done to thee. Art short of money, lad? If +a sovereign 'll be of any use to thee, thou can have it." + +And from the ring of sincerity in their voices Paul knew that every +word was meant. For I should like to say here that, although the +Lancashire operative is rough, and sometimes a little coarse, there are +no kinder people on earth than those who live in the great +manufacturing centres of the North. In the main they are loyal to a +man, and as true as steel. Brunford is by no means an ideal place to +live in; indeed, from November to April its atmospheric conditions are +horrible beyond words. It rains nearly all the time, and, the air +being smoke-begrimed, the streets are covered with black, slimy mud, +offensive both to sight and to smell. The very conditions, too, under +which the people live must have a tendency to coarsen and to destroy +artistic feelings. The artisans know practically nothing about the +gardens common to the South-country peasant. Houses are often built +back to back, or only divided by a small paved yard, the front door is +nearly always right on to the street, and, even in cases where some +strip of garden is obtained, the flowers, which are the pride of the +South-country people, simply come up hideous and black with grime. + +The writer of these lines once lived in a manufacturing town in the +North, and, there being a strip of garden to his house, he asked the +gardener to plant for him some white hyacinth bulbs, hyacinths being +one of his favourite flowers. When the spring came, the hyacinths +appeared, but alas! they were not white, but as black as the soot which +is belched forth from a hundred chimneys. + +So moved was Paul by the kindness which was manifested, that a great +sob came into his throat, and his heart became full of love towards the +people. He longed, as he had never longed before, to work for them, to +live for them; and before his mind came a vision of what the future +might have in store. He knew what their life was, understood +thoroughly the hard conditions under which they laboured. Yes, he +would make some return for all this goodwill, and for the love which +they evidently bore to him. He would live for them! He would work +night and day for the betterment of their conditions! He would make +Brunford a town to rejoice in! He would remove the wrongs under which +the people suffered, and bring music and gladness into their lives! +How he was to do this he did not know; indeed, it seemed impossible for +him to commence as yet, but the time would come, and when that time +came he would not spare himself. He did not forget what he had +regarded as the chief purpose of his existence--that, at all costs, +must be performed--but he must not live wholly for that; he must live +for the people who loved him, and whom, in spite of everything, he +loved. + +"Well, Preston," he said, "what is it?" when at length they reached his +lodgings, and were sitting alone in the little room which the old +couple had allotted to him. + +"I was thinking," said Preston, "of what you mean to do in the future." + +"I don't think I shall go to work to-morrow," said Paul. "I shall need +one day's holiday to get things straightened out a bit, but, as you +know, my place is kept open for me." + +"Have you any brass?" asked Preston abruptly. + +"Not much," said Paul; "but I've saved a few pounds." And then, with a +laugh, "It's cost me nothing to live during the winter, you know. All +the same, I've had to work hard for the black bread and skilly." + +"Come, now," said Preston, "let's say no more about that. I know you +had a bad time, but you know by this time that no one in Brunford +thinks the worse of you because of it, and no one thinks the better of +Wilson. And it's not Christian to cherish black thoughts about them, +or about Bolitho either. As you say, he was paid for his job, and he +did it. How much money have you saved?" + +"Two hundred pounds," said Paul. + +"So much?" said the other in a tone of surprise. "Ay, I did not think +you had done as well as that!" + +"Well, you see," replied Paul, "I have had good wages and I've lived +hard. I have spent nothing on luxuries. I have had no holidays." + +"It must have cost you something for these," said Preston, looking at +the well-filled bookcases on the wall. + +"Oh, I forgot them," said Paul. "Yes. But, then, you see, I needed +most of them, and books are my one extravagance. But why did you ask?" + +"I want to propose a partnership," said Preston. + +"Yes," said Paul. "In what?" + +"In a weaving shed." + +"A weaving shed? That's not my trade!" + +"No, I know; but what you don't know about weaving isn't worth knowing. +Although you started in Brunford as a loom-maker, you've picked up all +there is to know about manufacturing. And you're a bit of a scientist, +too. Well, I don't know so much about that part of it, but I do know +about the buying and selling. I've not been a salesman with Robinson's +for nothing, and I worked in the mills as a boy. You've got two +hundred pounds, you say; so have I, and a bit more. It's enough for us +to start on, lad. We can hire a shed, and we can hire power, and we +can hire looms, and we can buy cotton." + +Paul looked at him in astonishment. "But, man alive, Preston, four +hundred pounds is not enough." + +"Four hundred pounds is enough," replied the other. "And we can make +the thing go; we will make it go, too. And I want to tell you this, +too: I've a promise of a good backer." + +"Who?" asked Paul. + +"Well, to-day, as you know, your home-coming has been the talk of the +town, and Ben Bierly was talking with me about you. As you know, he's +a teacher at Hanover Sunday-school, and a few years agone he was a poor +man himself, while now he's one of the biggest manufacturers in +Brunford. Well, Paul, he sympathised with you, and he admires you too, +and he told me that if you were willing to go into partnership with me +he'd back us. He believes in you, and he believes in me, and if we +want a thousand pounds, we can have it." + +"You're surely not serious, Preston?" + +"Ay, but I am. I mean every word of it, and I know this, too: cotton +can be bought at great advantage just now, and trade's good. What do +you think of it?" + +"I have had no time to think yet," said Paul. "Give me till to-morrow +night and let me look round a bit. But tell me this, what shed can we +hire?" + +"There's a shed at the back of St. James's Street," replied Preston. +"I was looking at it only to-day. It'll suit us down to the ground, +and we can get it cheap." + +For an hour or more they talked, Paul asking keen, searching questions, +which could only have been thought of by one who had thoroughly +mastered the mysteries of cotton-weaving. Afterwards he went to bed, +and thought long on the experiences of the day. + +The next morning the town presented a new aspect. It no longer looked +_en fete_, as on the previous evening. On every hand halt-consumed +coals and strange smelling steams were being emitted from a hundred +factories. The streets were empty save for heavy lorries and tramcars. +Presently, at twelve o'clock, the mills would belch forth thousands of +pale-faced operatives, who for long hours had been standing at the +looms, but who, at present, were immured in those great noisome, +prison-like buildings which form the main features of the town. + +Paul made several visits that morning, and presently found his way to +the empty weaving shed of which Preston had spoken the previous +evening. After some difficulty he had an interview with its owner. +Preston had told him that Fletcher was anxious to let this shed. It +had been on his hands for several months, and no one seemed to want it. +To his surprise, therefore, Fletcher met him coolly. "Well, they've +let you out?" he said to Paul. + +"Evidently, or I should not be here," laughed Paul. + +"Well, be careful not to get up to your larks again!" said the other, +and his tones were almost surly. + +Paul took notice of this gibe, but as soon as he thought wise brought +the conversation round to the object of his visit. + +"I don't know that it's to let," replied Fletcher. + +"No?" queried Paul. "Then I must have been misinformed." + +"It wur to let," said Fletcher, "and I don't say it isn't now, but I'm +noan sure." + +"Why, George Preston told me yesterday that you had practically given +him the refusal of it." + +"Ay, practically, but that noan settles the business. I've had another +offer since then." + +"May I ask who has made the offer?" asked Paul. + +"Thou may ask, but I don't say I shall tell. However, 'appen ow of the +biggest manufacturers in the town 'll have it." + +"A big manufacturer wouldn't look at it," said Paul. "It's only fit +for a man in a small way of business." + +Fletcher looked at him and laughed. "Good-morning," he said. "'Appen +I can go into it further to-morrow, but not now." And then he turned +on his heel and left Paul thinking. + +Before the day was out Paul heard that young Edward Wilson, the son of +the man who had prosecuted him, had hired the shed for a warehouse, +although there seemed no reason at all why he should do so. + +"This settles me," said Paul to Preston that night. "It's evident that +Wilson has got his knife into me, and he, hearing what you had in your +mind, determined to make it impossible. But, never mind," and Paul's +somewhat prominent jaws became rigid and stern. "I don't know that I +was so keen about manufacturing before, but I'd like to fight Wilson, +and he shall see that I'm not easily beaten. But we must go quiet, +Preston, and we'll have to be careful. There's not the slightest doubt +about it that Wilson thinks he owes me a grudge for what happened +nearly three years ago. But for that I shouldn't have had six months +at Strangeways. Still, I'm not a chicken, neither are you." + +And then the two young men talked long and seriously concerning other +alternatives. + +A week later the final step was taken, and Paul and Preston had signed +a contract to hire a larger weaving shed than they had intended, and +arrangements were pushed forward to start work immediately. Indeed, +Paul's mind was so filled with the project he had in hand that almost +everything else was forgotten. Two matters, however, must be +mentioned. The one was a letter from his mother, to whom he had +written, giving an account not only of his experiences in prison and of +his home-coming, but also of the venture that he was making. "If I +succeed, mother," he said, "you must come to Brunford to live. And I +mean to succeed. In twelve months from now I am going to be a +well-to-do man. I've learnt pretty much all there is to know about +manufacturing, and I've a good partner. And I mean to get on. But +don't think I've forgotten the real purpose for which I came to the +North. I have not found out much about my father yet, although I've +tried, tried hard. I can't understand it either. I've got hold of law +books containing lists of the names of the barristers in England, and +while there are a good many Grahams, none of them seem to tally with +the descriptions you gave me. However, once let me get on with +manufacturing and I shall have more time. I mean to go up to your +father's farm and ask questions there, and you need not fear. I've got +the name in Brunford for carrying out the thing I start upon, and I've +promised you. But, as I said, as soon as I get on, you must come to +Brunford to live with me, and then we can work together." + +To this his mother had replied that she could never be a burden to him. +"You don't want a woman worrying you, Paul," she had said. "I'm well +enough off down here. You want to be free and unfettered. At the +proper time I'll come to you, but not yet, and don't trouble about me." + +Paul brooded long over this letter. He pictured her hard, lonely life +away down in Cornwall, a few miles from Launceston, where she earned +her living as a servant. On several occasions he had sent her money, +but each time she had returned it, and it made him sad to think of what +she must be suffering. He remembered his promise to her, and his +resolution, dark and grim as it was, remained one of the most powerful +factors in his life. "I wish she would come and live with me," he +reflected. "I think I could bring some brightness into her life, and +yet, perhaps, it's just as well she is not here with me. She would +have broken her heart during the trial; but I'll not forget--no, I'll +not forget." + +A fortnight after his return from Manchester he was walking with +Preston to a village some distance from; Brunford, where they had +arranged to inspect some machinery. By this time he had practically +forgotten the meeting with the girl to whom he had spoken so rudely in +John Sutcliffe's shop. But this afternoon, even while his mind ought +to have been filled with the work he had in hand, his mind turned to +her. He remembered the look of anger in her eyes, and the scorn which +shone from them as she gazed on him. He wondered who she was, and why +she should seem so deeply moved by what he had said. + +In order to reach the village of Northcroft, the place towards which +they wended, they had to cross some fields, and George Preston and he +had scarcely climbed the stile when, coming towards them, they saw two +girls. Evidently they were coming from a large house in the near +distance, and were walking towards Brunford. Paul saw in a moment that +they were not of the operative class. They were well-dressed, and it +was plainly to be seen that they were strongly differentiated from +those women whom it was his lot to meet. He had barely gone half-way +across the field, when he stood still and gazed at one of them like a +man spell-bound. He recognised her as the girl whom he had met in +Sutcliffe's shop. Scarcely knowing what he did, he stood still in the +path, thus making it impossible for them to pass him. Preston, +evidently deep in his calculations about the looms he proposed to buy, +had for the moment forgotten Paul's presence and had left him behind. + +"Will you kindly stand aside?" + +Paul recognised the speaker. It was the daughter of Edward Wilson, but +he paid no heed to her, he was gazing intently at the other, and he saw +the colour mount to her cheeks as their eyes met. He had taken but +little notice of her when he had first seen her. He recognised that +she belonged to a class entirely different from his own, but he +remembered little else beyond the anger which she evidently felt +towards him. That she had resented his words was evident, but to that +he had attached but little importance; now, however, all was different. +He could not understand how or why--she had not only crossed the +pathway of his life, but she had entered his life. She seemed to +arouse within him all sorts of unthought-of possibilities. His ideas +of the world became different. She made him think of the poetry and of +the romance of life, even although she still looked upon him with +scorn, if not with anger. The morning had been rainy, and the long +grass on either side of the pathway was as wet as a pond, but he did +not move aside that she might pass by, in spite of what her companion +had said. Neither did he speak, but stood looking at her. She was +utterly different from Emily Wilson, whom he had often seen; indeed, +the poles seemed to lie between them. Miss Wilson was tall and largely +made, and, in spite of the fact that her dressmaker was an artist, +seemed to look poor and shabby beside the stranger. This girl was +almost diminutive, and yet she carried herself like a queen. He could +not have described a single feature, and yet he knew he would never +forget her face. It made him think of the fields around St. Mabyn. It +caused him to remember the love song of the birds, the music of a +streamlet, as it murmured its way down a valley near his old home. It +suggested the countryside, far removed from the smoke and grime of that +northern town, a countryside that was peaceful, sweet and beautiful. + +"Will you kindly move aside?" + +This time he realised what he was doing, and he stepped into the wet +grass. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, and then unconsciously he lifted his hat. +He knew that the girl was thinking of their former meeting, thinking of +his own rudeness, thinking, too perhaps, of the circumstances under +which he had come back to Brunford. He walked on like a man in a +dream. "I had just come out of prison," he said, "and I spoke to her +like a clown. What must she think of me?" And then a feeling of +bitterness came over his heart. "She's with that Wilson girl," he +said, "and I know what they'll say." + +But why should he care? What had he in common with this young girl, +whose thoughts and feelings must be far removed from his own? + +The Lancashire operatives pay little attention to caste or class +distinction. With them one man is as good as another, even although +they are greatly influenced by the fact of success and the amassing of +money. But the inwardness of the word Aristocracy has little or no +meaning to them; it is too elusive, too intangible. But at that moment +Paul realised something of what it meant. This girl belonged to a +class of which he knew nothing. She created an atmosphere utterly +different from that breathed in a Lancashire manufacturing town. He +could not put it into words, but he knew it was there, a refinement, a +suggestion of thoughts to which he was a stranger. What was she doing +there? She had nothing in common with that Wilson girl, even although +the Wilsons were the wealthiest people in Brunford. And then there was +something more, he knew not what, only somehow it made life different. +It made him feel how small his world had been, what a little thing +money-making was. It suggested a larger world, a higher life of which +hitherto he had been ignorant. + +When he reached the next stile he found George Preston waiting for him. +"Been talking with Wilson's lass?" asked he with a laugh. + +Paul shook his head. "Who's the other one?" he asked. "Is she not a +stranger in these parts?" + +"Don't you know?" asked Preston. + +"No, I don't know." + +"Why, she's Miss Bolitho. She's the daughter of the man who had so +much to do in sending you to quod." + +It seemed as though someone had struck him a blow. Unconsciously he +had been weaving fancies around her, unconsciously, too, something had +come into his life to which hitherto he had been a stranger. And now +to hear that she was the daughter of the man whom he could not think of +save as his enemy, almost made him reel! For a few minutes he walked +on by Preston's side without speaking, while his companion, almost +unconsciously realising that he was in no humour for speech, was +likewise silent. + +"I suppose," said Preston presently, "that Bolitho and Wilson got +friendly through thy trial. Of course, Bolitho's a big man, and knows +a lot of the big people in London, still, he's allowed his daughter to +come visiting here, and I hear, too, that young Ned Wilson is sweet on +her." + +Paul did not speak. His mind was dazed, but he felt sure that, for +weal or for woe, he and this girl would be associated in the future. + +"Are you sure she's Bolitho's daughter?" he said to Preston a little +later. + +"Oh, yes, I'm quite sure. Bolitho was staying at Wilson's house while +you were in prison. And it is said that the two families went away to +Switzerland together just after Christmas. Besides, Ned Wilson won't +be a bad catch. It is said that the firm is making fifty thousand a +year, and Ned is the only son. But there, Paul, that's not for us to +talk about. They're not in our world at all. We're just beginning, +and we shall have hard work to get on. And we must be careful of Ned +Wilson, too. But for him, as you know, we should have had Fletcher's +weaving shed, and that would have saved us twenty pounds a year in +rent." + +"Yes," said Paul, and his lips were compressed as he spoke. "I fancy +the time will come when Ned Wilson and I will have a lot of old scores +to pay off, and I tell you what, Preston, when the time comes I'll not +have the worst of it." + +A year from that date two events took place which need recording. +Preston and Paul had been going carefully through their books, and had +been engaged in what might be termed a kind of stocktaking. + +"We have had a great year, Paul," said Preston. + +"Yes, I suppose so," replied Paul. + +"And I doubt if any two chaps, beginning as we did, have had such +success as we have had." + +"Perhaps not," said Paul, "but we've not had enough yet. I've got a +scheme in my mind which I want to talk with you about, Preston." + +"You're always full of schemes," replied the other. + +"Yes but have they not turned out well?" was the answer. + +"Ay, I know," was the reply. "But sometimes I've felt as though we +have been walking on eggs. I never thought, twelve months ago, that I +should have dared to launch out so! Why, man, think of our +liabilities!" + +"Yes," replied Paul, "but think of our success, too; think of our +assets! As you say, we've had a big year, but we must have a bigger +next year, and big years are not got by nibbling at things. We've got +this place for three months longer. At the end of that time we must +clear out." + +"Clear out!" + +"Ay, clear out. A hundred looms are no use to us now. We must +multiply them by eight." + +"Why, Paul, you must be mad!" + +"No, I've gone into it all. Mind you, this is no speculation which I +have in my mind. It may seem like it, but I have calculated everything +to a nicety. I've made inquiries at the bank, and I know to a penny +how we stand, and what the bank will back us for. And I've been making +inquiries about Thorncliffe Mill." + +Preston looked at Paul as though he had doubts about his sanity. +"Thorncliffe Mill," he replied. "Why, it's one of the biggest places +in Brunford!" + +"I mean not only to have one of the biggest places, but the biggest +place," said Paul. And although he did not mention the fact to +Preston, he knew that his new-found ambition was associated with the +meeting of Mr. Bolitho's daughter a year before. + +The other event, which happened that day, was entirely different. He +had moved into larger rooms, and his surroundings were now more +congenial to his taste. It was evident, too, that Paul knew the value +of a good tailor, so much so that more than one young manufacturer +declared that he was the best-dressed man in Brunford. When Paul +returned to his lodgings that night he found four men awaiting him. +Wondering as to what their visit meant, he asked them to sit down, and +then waited for them to state their business. One of these men was the +secretary of the Weavers' Union, whom we have mentioned earlier in +these pages, another was the chairman of the Working Men's League, a +powerful political body in the town. + +"Well, what is it?" asked Paul, noticing that they hesitated. + +"You know, I suppose, that Mr. Carcliffe is resigning? He was returned +to Parliament four years ago, but he's had enough of it, it seems." + +"Yes, I heard about it," said Paul. + +"Well, now's our chance," continued one of the men. + +"You mean that you're going to return a working-man?" said Paul. + +"Well, I don't know so much about that," was the reply. "But we want +to return a man who understands us, who can voice our needs and who has +sympathies with our struggles." + +"And have you thought of anyone?" + +"Ay," replied the other, "we have." + +"Who?" + +"His name is Paul Stepaside," was the reply. "We've had him in our +minds for months. In fact, we've thought of him ever since he went to +gaol, in Manchester, a year ago." + +To say that Paul was surprised at this proposal is but to suggest the +state of his feelings. For years he had had all sorts of romantic +ideas as to what the future of his life was to be, and thoughts +concerning a parliamentary career were not strange to him. Now, +however, that an actual proposal had been made, he could scarcely +believe his own ears. Ever since he had come to Brunford he had been +interested in political questions, and had been a popular speaker, +young as he was, on many political platforms. He remembered the vision +he had on the day he came out of prison. He had determined to work and +live for these people of Brunford, to ameliorate their woes, and to +bring more sunshine into their lives. But to go into Parliament, to +take his part in the legislation of the country; to stand face to face +with men whose names he held almost in awe, was too wonderful to be +true. Still, there were the facts: these men had come to him, telling +him that Mr. Carcliffe, the present Member, had either resigned or was +going to resign, and suggested to him that when an election came he +should fight their battle. + +Well, why should he not do it? He was no longer a poor man. It is +true his position in the financial world was far from being a safe one, +but he had calculated concerning the future with great care, and he +believed that in a few years' time his position would be secured. He +believed in the cause these men stood for, too, and he could fight +their battles wholeheartedly. Above and beyond all this, moreover, was +something else which he scarcely dared to put into words. He had not +seen the young girl who had so strangely affected him since their +meeting in the fields, more than a year before, but the memory of that +meeting remained with him. At the back of all his plans for the future +was the thought of her, and although he did not know it, he had made up +his mind to win her as his wife. The difficulties seemed almost +insurmountable. She belonged to a class far removed from his own, and +he knew by the look on her face that she regarded him with anger, if +not with contempt. To her he was an agitator of the worst kind, one +who had broken the laws of his country, and had outraged the feelings +of her class. Through her own father's influence he had been sent to +gaol as a criminal, and she would naturally stand by her father's +position. Even without this stain upon his life, his case seemed +hopeless: he was only a working-man who had "got on," while she was the +daughter of a man who stood high in one of the most influential +professions. He knew that the doors of the best houses in the land +were open to prominent King's Counsels like Mr. Bolitho, while he was a +nobody. And yet, with that dogged determination by which he had become +known in Brunford, he had determined to overcome all difficulties, and +to make her love him. He did not see how he was to do it, he did not +know her address in London, he did not know how he could see her again; +nevertheless, he held by his resolution. There was only one woman in +the world to him, and that was one who despised him. Indeed, Paul +Stepaside was not sure that he loved her at all. Sometimes he thought +he hated her; nevertheless, she dominated his being, she was the goal +of his hopes, and in everything he undertook her influence was felt. + +Perhaps this was partly the reason why the proposal made to him had +such a strong attraction. As a struggling cotton manufacturer he was a +nobody, but as a young Member of Parliament he would have a position. +The difficulties in the way of his advancement did not daunt him, and +he felt sure he could make his name prominent among the legislators of +the land. + +"Did you say that Mr. Carcliffe had definitely resigned?" he asked. + +"Well, he's told the committee that he wants to resign; we know that," +was the reply. "And there's bound to be a general election in a few +months, and he has declared definitely that he'll not stand again." + +"Who is the man that the other party are going to nominate in his +place?" he asked. + +"We don't know yet," was the answer. "But we hear that a meeting is +going to be held at Edward Wilson's in a few days. But never mind the +other side, Paul; if you'll stand we'll send you to Parliament. We're +not going to allow these fine-fingered gentry to have it all their own +way. You're our man, and we'll stand by you, as you have stood by us." + +Paul did not give them a definite answer that night. He wanted to +think about it, he said. All the same, when he bade them "Good-night" +his mind was practically made up, although he did not know it. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +PAUL'S MADNESS + +Howden Clough was a big house standing in its own grounds, some two +miles from the town of Brunford. Considering the vicinity, it was a +very handsome place of residence. The house itself was of grey stone, +and occupied a commanding position. Having been built some two hundred +years before, by an old county magnate, the grounds were well matured. +Indeed, Mr. Edward Wilson was envied by his fellow manufacturers for +having obtained so desirable a place of residence. The very fact that +he lived in a house which had been owned by the Greystones gave him a +kind of position, and this, added to his being a rich man, and +abundantly able to keep up the place he occupied, gave him a feeling of +superiority. + +Edward Wilson and his son were sitting together in the room which they +called the library, although there were but few evidences of the name +being deserved. + +"Mr. Bolitho will be here in half an hour," said the father. + +"Do you know if he is bringing Mary with him?" asked Ned. + +"I am not sure," replied the father. "I have done my best for you, my +lad." + +"I mean to have her," said the young man. "I never really cared for a +girl before, and I shall never care for another. Besides, why is the +case hopeless?" + +"I mean you shall have her," replied the father. "But you must +remember, my lad, that these Bolithos belong to a very old family, and +they don't look upon money as everything. We're not county people, and +they are, although they visit us as friends. Still, I can buy up half +the county people, and I've done my best to persuade him to bring Mary +with him. When I was at Mr. Bolitho's house last, I inquired if she +had any matrimonial engagement, but as far as I could gather she's +still fancy free, so let's hope for the best, Ned." + +"What time does the meeting commence?" asked the son. + +"Not until nine o'clock," was the reply. "We shall have plenty of time +for a smoke and a chat after dinner before those fellows come." + +A little later there was a sound of wheels upon the drive. Both father +and son rushed to the door, and to their delight they found not only +Mr. Bolitho but his daughter as well. + +"This is splendid!" cried Mr. Wilson senior. "I was afraid Miss +Bolitho would not be able to come. Ah, Emily, here's your friend. We +are glad to see you. I am afraid you'll think that Lancashire people +are a little rough, but we yield to none in the warmth of our welcome." + +Although this speech seemed correct enough, young Edward Wilson felt +rather uneasy. He wondered whether those of Mr. Bolitho's class would +have met him in a similar way. In spite of the fact that he declared +himself deeply in love with the young lady who had now gone upstairs +with his sister, he did not feel comfortable in her presence. There +seemed to be always an invisible barrier between them. Still, she was +there, and he meant to make the most of his opportunities; and if the +plans which had been made bore fruit, he trusted that he would see a +great deal of her in the future. + +The party that sat round the dinner table was gay, but no reference was +made to the ostensible object of Mr. Bolitho's visit. When nine +o'clock came, however, it was evident that there were several +new-comers, and presently the two Wilsons led the way to the library, +while Mr. Bolitho followed with a half-interested, half-bored look on +his face. He shook hands with a number of men who had gathered in the +room. Evidently they were nearly all opulent, keen-minded, successful +men, but he could not help feeling pleased at the deference which each +of them paid to him. Even as they did, he realised that he was not of +their class. After all, a wealthy cotton manufacturer occupies a +different position from that of an eminent barrister who belongs to an +old county family. + +They quickly made known their business. "The truth of it is, Mr. +Bolitho," said the leading spokesman, "Mr. Carcliffe is resigning, and +we want someone to fight our battles. The socialistic and labour +element has become very strong, and unless we are strongly led, our +side will be beaten. And so we have come to the conclusion that if you +will say 'Yes,' you are our best man." + +It was a roughly spoken speech, but Mr. Bolitho understood perfectly, +and the proposal appealed to him strongly. He had long encouraged +political aspirations, and here was his opportunity. To be the Member +of the important borough of Brunford, which lay at the heart of the +manufacturing district, promised all sorts of scope for his ambition. +Owing to his success at the Bar he had a large income, and more than +one had suggested to him that if he entered Parliament he would be a +most eligible candidate for the post of either Solicitor- or +Attorney-General, while even higher things might be within his grasp in +the future. As it was, he discussed the various pros and cons with +considerable eagerness and cordiality. As far as he could see, there +was every probability of success. The present Member had been elected +by a clear thousand majority, and he had sufficient faith in himself to +believe that he could not only maintain that majority but increase it. + +"By the way," he said at length, "have the other side selected their +man?" + +"Well, yes and no," was the reply. "From what we hear they have not +fastened upon a party man, but they have approached young Paul +Stepaside." + +Mr. Bolitho gave a look of astonishment. "What!" he cried. +"Stepaside! the fellow who a year or two ago----" And then he stopped. + +"Yes," was the reply. + +"But he hasn't been long out of prison." + +"No," was the rejoinder. "But he's a remarkable chap, is Stepaside, +and there have been all sorts of foolish notions in the town so that +he's become very popular." + +"I suppose these working-men's unions will pay his expenses, then?" +said Mr. Bolitho. + +"I am not so sure of that," replied the chairman of the association. +"You see, Stepaside started manufacturing a little more than a year +ago, and he's been phenomenally successful. His partner is a very able +chap, too, and they know their business. So that I fancy Stepaside +will be able to pay his own expenses." + +"And has he the confidence of the people?" + +"He's the confidence of a certain class," was the reply, "and he would +be a strong candidate." + +Mr. Bolitho looked thoughtful. "This is very awkward!" he said. + +"You don't mean to say," said the chairman, "that this fact will alter +your decision?" + +"No," he replied slowly. "I don't quite say that, but it puts a new +face on the question. You see, it will be awkward for me to oppose a +man in politics whom, less than two years ago, I practically sent to +gaol. Still, it gives a certain piquancy to the situation. Does he +know much about politics, by the way?" + +"No, I don't think he does," replied the chairman of the association. +"And that's where our strength will lie. He's just an agitator, just a +clever speaker who can appeal to men's passions, but when he's faced +with facts he will be nowhere." + +There was a short silence after this. It was evident that some present +did not agree with what had been said, but no one spoke a word. All +seemed to be afraid lest Mr. Bolitho would fail them at this juncture, +and they looked upon him as the man most likely to lead them to victory. + +After they were gone Mr. Bolitho talked long and gravely with Mr. +Wilson. + +"I tell you," said the manufacturer, "if you fail us now, Mr. Bolitho, +your conduct will be misinterpreted." + +Mr. Bolitho looked at the other questioningly. + +"The truth of it is," went on Mr. Wilson, "a great many foolish things +have gone abroad since Stepaside's trial, and the belief is that he +wasn't treated fairly. The chaps who got off easily confessed, after +their imprisonment, that Stepaside had tried to dissuade them from +doing what they did, and so he has been looked upon as a kind of +martyr. Many have blamed us for this, and now if you refuse to fight +him--well, they'll say you are afraid." + +"Afraid!" + +"Yes, afraid. They'll say you're afraid to face a public audience, to +stand up in a public fight." + +Mr. Bolitho gazed steadily on the carpet for a few seconds, and then +relit his cigar, which had gone out. + +"That settles it, Wilson," he said. "That settles it. I will quickly +let the people of Brunford know whether I am afraid or not. You can +tell your chairman that I accept." + +The manufacturer caught the other man's hand with delight. "By goom," +he said, lapsing into the Lancashire dialect, "that's the ticket." + +"You can tell him, too," went on the barrister, and his eyes flashed as +he spoke, "that I'll fight this for all I'm worth. We'll leave no +stone unturned, Wilson, and I'm inclined to think at the end of this +election that your man Stepaside will be no longer regarded as a hero." + +The following Saturday _The Brunford Times_ announced the fact that Mr. +Bolitho, K.C., had accepted a hearty invitation to stand as their +candidate for the next election, and a leading article was devoted to +him, declaring that, if they had sought all over England, a worthier +candidate could not have been found. + +Paul had no knowledge of the true facts of the case until he saw _The +Brunford Times_ on the Saturday morning. He was returning from his +mill when he heard a boy shouting in the street, "Bolitho accepted for +Brunford," and, buying the paper, he read the news eagerly. + +"Thou looks as though thou had lost a thousand pounds, Paul," said a +voice. + +"Nay," replied Paul. "I've not lost a thousand pounds." And he +noticed that the man to whom he spoke was the chairman of the league +who had visited him some time before. + +"Well, what's the matter that you look so glum?" said the other. + +"I've come to a serious conclusion," replied the young man between his +set teeth. + +"And what's your conclusion?" + +"I'm going to be Member for Brunford," he replied, and walked on +without another word. + +"Ay, and he will, too," said the other, as he watched Paul's retreating +figure. "The chap as licks Paul Stepaside will have to be a bigger man +than any lawyer that ever lived!" + +The consequence of this meeting in the street was that, before the day +was over, all the town knew that Paul Stepaside, who had been doubtful +so long as to whether he would fight the people's battle, had now made +up his mind, and that he would oppose the man who had been instrumental +in sending him to prison nearly two years before! + +"You remember him, Mary," said Emily Wilson. "You remember the man who +stopped us in the path last summer?" + +"Yes, I remember him," said the girl quietly. "He struck me as a +dangerous kind of man." + +"He's thought to be very good-looking," said the other. "He came to +Brunford a few years ago, a nobody, and now there's no man so much +talked about." + +"But do you think he'll succeed?" asked the girl. + +"There's no telling," replied Miss Wilson. "You see, here in Brunford +the working people form the great bulk of the population, and they are +very determined; when they have set their minds on a thing they stop at +nothing in order to obtain it. Besides, among a certain class, your +father is not very much liked." + +"No, I understand that," replied the other quietly. "But, of course, +they must understand that, as a barrister, my father was obliged to do +what he did." + +"Well, you know, these working people have all sorts of foolish +notions." + +"I should like to hear him speak," said Mary Bolitho. "I wonder if I +should be noticed if I went to one of his meetings." + +"I expect not," replied the other. "But still, no meetings will be +held for a little time yet. When the election comes we shall have great +doings here." + +At that minute they were joined by young Edward Wilson. + +"We were just talking about Paul Stepaside," said his sister. "And I +was saying that the people are very strongly attached to him." + +"Oh, I don't fear," replied Wilson. + +"Why, you said only yesterday that you greatly doubted what the result +would be," replied his sister. + +"Yes, but I've been thinking it all over since then," replied Wilson, +"and I can see how we can beat him." + +"How?" asked the two girls eagerly. + +"Well, there are two things," he replied. "One of them depends upon +you, Miss Bolitho." + +"Upon me!" replied the girl. "How? What do you mean?" + +"You really wish your father to beat this fellow?" + +"Of course I do!" replied the girl. "I should be horribly ashamed if +my father did not get in by a big majority." + +"Well, then," said Wilson, "it can be done. You see, Stepaside's +chances all depend upon the working people. Of course, we have a good +many of them on our side, but he has more on his. Now I know what +these factory hands are, and although they profess to be very +democratic, there's no Englishman that ever lived but who is a snob at +heart. If you, Miss Bolitho, will make a house-to-house visitation, +you can win enough votes to put your father in, whatever the other side +does." + +"But that would mean my staying in the town for months!" said the girl. + +"It would mean your spending a great deal of time here," said Wilson, +who thought he was very clever, "but what of that? We shall always be +delighted to see you at Howden Clough, and I am sure Emily, here, would +be only too glad to help you." + +"Why, indeed I would, Mary," replied the girl, "and, after all, it +would be great fun!" + +Mary Bolitho looked across at the great town which lay in the valley +beneath her. She saw the hundreds of chimneys belching out black, +half-consumed coals, she saw the long lines of uninteresting cottages, +in which these toilers of the North lived, and she thought of the work +that Wilson's suggestion would entail. She did not know why, but she +had taken a strong dislike to Paul Stepaside. Perhaps it was because +she remembered his words in the shop in Brunford. Perhaps because he +had roused some personal antipathy. Anyhow, in her heart of hearts was +the longing to see him beaten. And yet she was afraid. She did not +like the idea of spending so much time at Howden Clough. She was too +clear-sighted to be blind to Wilson's intentions, and she felt sure as +to what his hopes were. + +"What's the other thing you have in your mind, Mr. Wilson?" she said +presently. + +"The other thing is personal," was the reply. "After all, who is Paul +Stepaside? Who is his father? Who is his mother? Who are his people? +We Lancashire people may profess to be very democratic, but we've got a +lot of pride in us. I have heard--well, I won't tell you what I've +heard, but I'll manage that!" + +A few weeks later the contest between Paul Stepaside and Mr. Bolitho +commenced in the Brunford district. There were no immediate signs that +an election would take place, but each knew that they must be ready +when the time came. Mr. Bolitho held crowded meetings in various parts +of the constituency, and, according to newspaper reports, was +enthusiastically received. This, however, was to be expected. There +were fifteen thousand voters on the lists, and Mr. Carcliffe, whom Mr. +Bolitho sought to succeed, had at the last election obtained over a +thousand majority. Paul also addressed several meetings, which were +largely attended, and his supporters spoke to him very confidently +about the result. But Paul was not satisfied; he could not help +noticing that a subtle change was coming over the town. His +experiences of a year ago, and the tremendous enthusiasm which they had +raised on his behalf were practically forgotten. His imprisonment was +a thing of the past, and the share which Mr. Bolitho had taken in it +was no longer very seriously considered. Paul was not long in +attributing this change to its real cause. For one thing, he was being +constantly met with rumours about his birth. He knew that the artisans +of the North, while professing advanced democratic views, were +nevertheless influenced by such things. More than once he had been +asked what his father did, where he lived, where his mother and father +were married, and where he had been born? And presently, when it was +rumoured that he had been born in a workhouse, Paul could not help +feeling that a subtle force was at work. In addition to this, too, he +heard that Mr. Bolitho's daughter had been visiting among the poorer +streets in the town, and that on every hand she had been winning golden +opinions. It seemed to him from what he had heard that there was a +kind of witchcraft in her presence, and that many who had been among +his great admirers, and promised supporters, now seemed to think that +the other side had a great deal to say. Paul quickly discovered, too, +that this girl was no ordinary canvasser. She had been able to meet +the working-class politician on his own grounds, and to answer him very +effectively. Everyone who has taken part in a political contest knows +the influence which a young, educated, intelligent and beautiful girl +can wield, and she had gone into the people's cottages and talked, not +only with the women, but with the men. She had caught, too, the rough +humour of the district, and had acquainted herself with the peculiar +needs and desires of the people who worked in the North. More +quick-witted and better informed than they, she had apparently been +able to answer Paul's arguments, and had, therefore, left them in doubt. + +This, too, seemed apparent to Paul. The questions asked concerning his +parentage and birthplace synchronised with the advent of this girl. +Never once had he met her, and yet he was constantly hearing of the +converts that she was making. As may be imagined, his heart grew +bitter at the thought of it, even while he grimly determined that he +would win this battle. It is true that the election seemed months +away, but the ground seemed slipping from under his feet, and his +chances, in spite of what his supporters told him, appeared to grow +less each day. + +Paul called to mind the time he had met her, in the field close by +Howden Clough. He remembered, too, the wild vow he made. This girl, +the daughter of the author of his disgrace, one who evidently regarded +him with contempt and anger, nevertheless filled his horizon. He knew +that the feelings he bore towards her, feelings which no one but +himself ever dreamed of, seemed to be madness, while the election that +loomed ahead, and on which he had built such great hopes, seemed to +divide them rather than to bring them together. If he were beaten in +the fight, she would look upon him with more contempt than ever. + +This feeling caused his speeches to be somewhat bitter in their tones, +and, as a consequence, did not advance his interests--indeed, he felt +as though his own supporters were growing half-hearted, if not +indifferent, and he attributed it all to the persistent work of Mary +Bolitho. Moreover, there were constant rumours about her being engaged +to young Ned Wilson--and Ned Wilson, as he knew, was his enemy. + +One evening, it was toward the end of September, Paul was walking in +some fields beyond Howden Clough. He had been reflecting that he had +as yet done nothing towards carrying out the purpose for which he had +come North. He remembered that the work his mother had given him to do +remained undone. + +"I promised her I would go to Scotland," he reflected, "and I've not +done it. I've become so wrapped up in this business that I've almost +forgotten mother. She still has that cloud of disgrace hanging over +her head, while I've been thinking of my own advancement and my own +desires. Besides, even if I were to win, I should never be able to +speak to her until this matter is cleared up. Of course, she has heard +everything, and she will look upon me as----" And then Paul set his +teeth together and his eyes flashed with anger. + +These thoughts had scarcely passed through his mind when his heart gave +a sudden leap. Coming towards him was the girl of whom he had been +thinking, and she was alone! Evidently she was on another visit to the +Wilsons'; no doubt, too, she was carrying out her purpose of winning +voters from him. Almost without thinking he determined to speak to her. + +There was no definite thought in his mind, but it seemed to him as +though he must speak to her and set himself right with her. He felt it +was his right to do so, and that it was her duty to hear. + +He lifted his hat on her approach. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bolitho," +he said, "but may I presume on your kindness a little?" + +The girl looked at him in astonishment. Perhaps she was a little angry +too, for the footpath on which he met her was in a somewhat lonely +district. + +"I know I'm very rude in stopping you in this way," went on Paul, as +though he divined her feelings, "and I would not have done so had not +the reason seemed to me sufficient. Besides"--and there was a touch of +anger in his voice--"it seems to me that it would not only be generous +on your part if you would, but just." + +As he spoke she could not help reflecting on the change that had come +over him since he first spoke to her on the night following his release +from prison. Then he was rude, almost truculent; now, even while he +seemed angry, his demeanour suggested a refinement of feeling which did +not manifest itself then. + +"Of course, you know who I am," he went on. "I am Paul Stepaside, and +I am your father's opponent in this political contest." + +"Is it about the election that you wish to speak to me?" she asked. + +"Yes, and no," replied Paul. "Perhaps the contest may be called the +occasion of my asking you to speak with me, but the reason lies deeper. +I am sure you do not wish to be unjust?" + +"I think," she replied, "if you wish to say anything about the +election, that you had better seek an interview with my father. He +will be in Brunford to-morrow." + +"It's not to your father that I wish to speak," he replied. + +"I am altogether at a loss," said Mary Bolitho, "to know what there can +be that you wish to discuss with me." + +He could not mistake the tones in which she spoke. He knew, +instinctively, that she did not regard him as belonging to her own +class. Her every word suggested to him that he was to her an outsider, +one to whom she could speak only as an inferior. A thousand things +which he thought he wanted to say to her had altogether escaped him, +and for a few seconds he stood dumb and confused. + +"Of course, it is about this election, in a way," he stammered +presently. "I--I--you see, it means a great deal to me----" And then +he ceased speaking again. Somehow the words would not come. + +He saw the smile of contempt which passed over her face, and he thought +he understood the meaning of it. Perhaps it was the best thing that +could have happened to him, for now his anger was aroused, and he saw +his way clearly. + +"No, no, Miss Bolitho. Do not think that I have come to whine to you, +or to make complaints in any way--that is about the things you are +thinking of. It's not that. I am prepared to fight my battle without +seeking quarter in any direction--that is, any direction that is fair. +I have never had a public-school education, but I think I know the +meaning of the term, 'Playing the game.'" + +She looked puzzled for a minute, and then he saw a flush mount her face. + +"I am afraid I do not understand you!" + +"The circumstances of my life have not made me an adept in talking with +young ladies," said Paul. "Doubtless you think me rude and clownish, +and perhaps you are right, but I hope I have nothing but true feelings +at heart. You are fighting for your father in this election, Miss +Bolitho, and I do not complain in the least. You hope he will win, and +you are using every legitimate means to obtain votes for him--that is +right, that is fair; but, Miss Bolitho, there is something which I +regard very sacred: perhaps the most sacred thing in the world to me is +the love of my mother, and the thought of her good name. I will not +tell you how she has suffered for me, and how she loves me, but I hope +you will believe me when I say that I regard anything which will +blacken her name as the greatest insult that can be offered to myself. +Have I made myself understood?" + +The flush on the girl's face deepened; she knew what he meant. + +"I do not mind what people say about me so much," said Paul. "I am +able to defend myself, at least when I have fair play. There have been +times when I have not been able to do so successfully, still time has +been on my side, and justice has been done to me. But can you +understand, Miss Bolitho, what a man feels, when, in order to win an +election, his opponents have not been ashamed to heap shame upon one of +the purest women and the best mothers that ever lived?" + +"I am at a loss to know why you say this to me," retorted the girl. + +"I do not complain," said Paul, "at least at this juncture, that your +father was my enemy years ago. Although he had no foundation for it, +he pleaded that I was a dangerous man, an agitator and a leader of a +gang of knaves. Through him I spent six months in gaol among felons; I +wore prison clothes; I was treated like a dog; I lay there one long, +cold winter, night after night, in a damp cellar. This was through +your father--not because he believed I was guilty, but because he +wanted to make a case against me. I say I have never complained of +this, never mentioned it once in this contest. I have tried to fight +fairly, on broad general principles, but, Miss Bolitho, my mother's +good name is sacred to me. Can you, as a woman, understand this?" + +"I do not know why I should answer you," she said, and there was +hauteur in her voice. "I cannot help understanding your accusation, +and although I am utterly ignorant concerning it, I will say this: +never, since I have taken any interest in this contest, have I +mentioned your mother's name. Perhaps you do not believe me, and +perhaps the reason is that you cannot understand?" + +She spoke quietly and naturally, and yet her words stung Paul like +whip-cord. Although she did not say so in so many words, he felt that +she despised him, and again his anger was aroused. + +"You deny, then, that you have----" + +"There are certain things, Mr. Stepaside, that one cannot deny, not +that they are true, but because it is impossible for one to take notice +of them!" + +"Forgive me," he said, almost humbly, "if I have believed what I have +so often been told, but if there is one person about whom I am +sensitive, it is my mother. I will not detain you any longer, Miss +Bolitho. Perhaps it would have been better if I had not spoken to you +at all. Do not think that I complain because you are fighting against +me. You can do no other--besides, I am sure"--and here he spoke +bitterly--"that your father and the Wilsons will have poisoned your +mind against me!" + +He saw an angry flash from her eyes. + +"I am afraid you are wrong there, Mr. Stepaside, as far as I know there +have been no reasons why I should think of you at all; as for enmity, +such a thing would be impossible!" + +His heart seemed like a great hot fire as he left her. He knew he had +broken all conventions, and acted like a madman; he knew that whatever +she had felt towards him before, her feelings towards him now must be +of utter scorn and derision, and yet he would not recall one word he +had spoken, even if he could. He was glad that he had said these wild, +incoherent things to her. He had spoken to her, she had spoken to him. +In the future she would think of him, not as a nonentity, not as +someone who could be easily passed by, but as one whose life meant +something. She would never be able to forget him. He knew it and +rejoiced in it! She would be reminded of him by a thousand things in +the days to come. She would never be indifferent about him again, and +throughout the whole of the contest that was coming on she would regard +him differently from the way in which she had thought of him before. +Somehow, too, he felt less jealous of Ned Wilson. He had not spoken of +this man, who was said to be his rival, but he was in the background of +his thoughts all the time. For weeks the stories which the gossips had +bandied had wounded him, but now he felt different. After their talk +this girl would never think of Ned Wilson; she could not. He did not +belong to her order of beings. He breathed a different atmosphere, he +spoke a different language, lived in a different world. + +The next day Paul started for Scotland, to try and discover the truth +concerning which his mother had told him. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +PAUL GOES TO SCOTLAND + +When Mary Bolitho returned to Howden Clough that evening she went +straight to her own room. She wanted to be alone. Under ordinary +circumstances she would have, girl-like, sought out her friend, Emily +Wilson, and given her a full report of what had taken place, but her +desire was for silence rather than for speech. In spite of her anger she +felt that there was something sacred in what this young man had said to +her. There could be no doubt that he felt strongly, and she knew, by the +tones of his voice and the look in his eyes, that he was greatly moved. +Of course, she felt indignant that he should dare to speak to her at all, +and she wondered why she had resolved to say nothing to her father about +their meeting. When all allowances had been made, he had been rude in +the extreme. He had stopped her in a lonely part of the countryside, and +had roughly commanded her to listen to him! And Mary Bolitho was a proud +girl, and was not accustomed to being dictated to. All the same, she +felt much interested in what he had said, and she found herself thinking +of him again and again. There was something romantic, too, in his story +which, in spite of its improbability, she could not help believing, and +although she felt very angry with him, she sympathised with the feelings +he had expressed. Months before she had been annoyed at the thought that +her father should have been opposed by one who was little removed from +the working classes. She remembered him as she had first seen him, at +the shop in Market Street, pale, angry, and, as it seemed to her, coarse. +He spoke as one of his own class, too, and he was rough and rude. But +that view had become somewhat corrected, and she had to admit to herself +that Paul Stepaside was no awkward, ignorant, ill-dressed clown. Indeed, +for that matter, he had the advantage of most young men of her +acquaintance. His coal-black eyes and hair, his pale face and stalwart +figure, would be noticed anywhere. Besides, he was well-dressed, and +although he knew but little of the ways of her world, she knew that he +would never be passed without notice. Besides all this, there was a +suggestion of strength in nearly every word he said, in every tone of his +voice, and Mary Bolitho had a great admiration for strong men. Young +Edward Wilson, whose pointed attentions she could not mistake, seemed but +as a pigmy compared with him. Still, she felt angry, and she rejoiced in +the thought that, on his own admission, she was helping towards his +defeat. + +Later in the evening, Paul Stepaside became the subject of a conversation +at Howden Clough, but Mary said no word as to their meeting. Indeed, she +was silent whenever his name was mentioned. On the following day, young +Ned Wilson was much chagrined when she declared her intention of +returning home. "Why, Miss Bolitho," he said, "you told me you had +arranged to canvass Long Street this week, and that will take you at +least three days. Yesterday I heard that you had converted at least a +dozen people, and we cannot afford to lose you now. It is all over the +town, too, that Stepaside is awfully mad at your success. I think he +hates you nearly as much as he hates your father." + +"I don't feel like canvassing now," she replied. "And I'm anxious to get +back home." + +"But you will come again soon?" he urged. "The house seems like a tomb +without you, and I don't know what I shall do if you go away!" + +She was angered by his tones of proprietorship, and almost instinctively +she compared him with the young fellow who had spoken so rudely to her +the night before. Wilson was commonplace, unlettered; he had only the +tastes of the ordinary common, money-making manufacturer, and for the +first time a feeling amounting to revulsion came into her heart as she +thought of the hopes which she knew he entertained. + +That afternoon she left Brunford, in spite of the protests that were +made, and found her way to London. + +"Returned so soon, Mary?" said her father when she arrived. "I quite +expected you to stay another week. I have heard about the success of +your work in Brunford, and I imagined that you were going to win me a +great many more votes before you returned. I had no idea that you would +be such a valuable asset when I started this fight, and although I am +awfully glad to have you back, we shall have to strain every nerve if we +are to beat that fellow." + +"Do you think you will beat him, father?" she asked. + +"If we go on as we are doing, we shall," he replied. "I know he has a +tremendous hold upon the town, and I know that a great deal of prejudice +has been roused against me, but we must beat him, Mary; we must." + +"Why, is there any special reason for this?" she asked, noting the tone +of her father's voice. + +"Of course, I want to win," was his reply. "I never like to engage in a +fight without winning. I think that my success at the Bar has been +mainly owing to the fact that I've always set out to win. Besides all +that, I don't know how it is, but I've taken a personal dislike to that +fellow. By the way, have you ever met him?" + +"Yes," replied the girl. + +"Of course, you've never spoken to him?" + +To this she made no reply. She did not know why it was, but she felt she +could not tell her father of their meeting in the fields behind Howden +Clough. + +"Well, I shall have to go up to Brunford myself in two or three weeks," +continued Mr. Bolitho, "and, if you can, I hope you will go with me." + +"Can we not stay at an hotel when we go again, father?" she asked. + +"Why?" asked Mr. Bolitho, turning upon her quickly. "Have not the +Wilsons always been kind to you? And do you not feel comfortable there? +Besides, there is no hotel in Brunford that I care to stay at, and +there's a sort of general understanding between Wilson and myself that we +shall be his guests." + +The girl was silent, and looked steadily on the floor. + +"What is it, Mary? There's something wrong." + +"Of course, I cannot be blind to young Wilson's attentions," she said, +and her voice was hard as she spoke. + +"Well, he's a decent fellow, and, on the whole, I like these Lancashire +people. They may be a trifle rough, and, of course, the Wilsons belong +to _nouveaux riches_ class, but young Ned cannot help that; besides, say +what we will, any girl might do worse than take Ned Wilson. I know, as a +fact, that his father is making an enormous income, and Ned, being the +only son, will be one of the richest men in Lancashire." + +"He has the mind of a navvy and the tastes of a bookmaker." And her +voice was almost bitter as she spoke. + +Her father laughed uneasily. "That's all nonsense, Mary!" he said. +"But, tell me really, what do you think my chances are? You know the +town now better than I do. Do you think I shall beat Stepaside?" + +"He's not a man to be easily beaten," was her reply. "I believe that, +unless----" + +"Yes, unless what?" + +"Unless extreme means are used, he will win." + +"I will not be beaten!" said Mr. Bolitho, and his eyes flashed as he +spoke. "That fellow insulted me in the Manchester Law Courts, and I was +glad when he got six months. Fellows of his order need to be taught a +lesson, and he shall be taught, too." + +"I don't think you understand him, father," she said. "He's one of those +men who will never be beaten. He'll rise above every difficulty, and +move every obstacle out of his way. I don't know why it is, but I don't +feel comfortable about this contest, and I feel afraid of him." + +"Afraid, Mary!" + +"Yes," replied the girl. "I am afraid. I know I've no reason to be, but +whenever I think of him I become angry, and yet I don't know why I should +be angry. In a sense, he makes me admire him. He came to Brunford a few +years ago utterly poor and unknown, and now he's become quite a +personality. He's just one of those strong men that always wins his way. +And he hates you, too, father." + +And then, without any apparent reason, the girl left the room. + +Meanwhile, Paul Stepaside was in a train that carried him northward. He +was doing now what he had meant to have done long months before. He had +constantly been making endeavours to discover the truth about the Douglas +Graham of whom his mother had spoken, but he had done so without a plan, +and in a kind of haphazard way, and this was not like Paul. He felt, +too, as though he had a new motive in his life. Mary Bolitho had said +nothing that seemingly accounted for this, and yet he knew that her words +had determined his action. A feeling of pride which he had never known +before possessed him. He wanted to go to this girl with a name as good +as her own. Money, he knew he could get, yes, and position, too. During +the last few months he had listened to several fairly prominent Members +of Parliament. He had analysed their speeches and estimated their +powers, and he was not afraid of them. He was as big a man as any of +them; yes, bigger, stronger, and with more will power. No, he was not +afraid that he could not win position, but with this black cloud hanging +over him he felt as though he were paralysed. And so, when a local train +left Carlisle towards the station nearest to his mother's old home, it +was with a fixed determination that he would not leave Scotland until he +had discovered all that could be known. Perhaps it might end in nothing, +but he must find out. + +It was with a curious feeling in his heart that he presently arrived at +the little farmhouse where his mother was born and reared. In spite of +the fact that he was a country lad, he had never realised the meaning of +loneliness as he realised it now. No other house was near; the little +farmhouse was the only building in sight. As far as the eye could reach, +beyond the few acres of land which had been reclaimed from the moors, +there seemed to him nothing but wild desolation. Hill rose upon hill, +and while the scene was almost majestic, it made him understand how +lonely his mother's life must have been. He stood for several minutes +looking at the house before entering. He did not know whether his +grandfather was living or not, and for the first time it struck him that +he might have relatives living there, to whose existence he had +previously been indifferent. The day was as still as death, and it +seemed to him as though the place were uninhabited. Presently, however, +he heard the sound of a human voice, and, turning, he saw a rough-looking +lad driving some cattle before him. The lad eyed him strangely as he +came up to the little farm buildings, and seemed to wonder why he should +be there. The time was evening, an evening of late summer, and Paul +remembered that it was in the late summer-time when Douglas Graham, his +father, had first come into the district. He called to mind, too, that +he had seen his mother as she was driving home the cattle from the moors. +He watched the lad almost furtively, and he wondered why it was that he +was afraid to speak. It seemed to him as though some mysterious power +were brooding over this lonely dwelling and forbidding him to learn the +secrets that lay within. + +"Does Donald Lindsay live here?" he asked presently. + +The lad looked at him for a few seconds before replying, and then, in his +strong Scotch accent, replied, "Nay. He's dead." + +"And Mrs. Lindsay, is she alive?" + +"Ay," replied the lad. "She'll be inside. She's my mother." + +Paul remembered his own mother's story about this hard Scotswoman's +unkindness, and felt little disposed to go into the house; yet, for the +sake of learning what he had come to learn, he determined to enter. The +cottage, for it was little more than a cottage, was clean, but +comfortless and bare of any adornment whatever. It might seem as though +no woman entered this building, for there were no marks of a woman's +handicraft, none of those little suggestions of the feminine presence. + +"Mother!" shouted the youth. "There's someone wants you." + +A minute later Paul heard a heavy step on the uncarpeted stairway, and a +tall, angular, hard-featured woman, with cold blue eyes and scanty light +hair, entered the room. She looked at him steadily, as if there was +something in his face that she recognised. + +"And what might ye be wantin'?" she asked presently. "Ye'll not be from +these parts, I fancy." + +"No," said Paul. "I came from England. I was born and reared in +Cornwall. Years ago, a man named Donald Lindsay came there and married +into my family. I was wanting to find out something about him." + +He knew it was a clumsy explanation of his appearance there, but it was +the best he could think of for the moment. + +"What'll you be to Donald Lindsay?" asked the woman, as she scanned him +closely. "He died two years since, and it's getting on for forty years +ago since he was down South. He's told me about it many a time. You're +in no way related to him, are you?" + +And then, giving him a second glance, she went on: + +"No, no, you're no Lindsay. Donald was blue-eyed and fair-haired, and +you are black-eyed and black-haired." + +"But did not Donald have a daughter?" asked Paul. "You see, I've heard +he married a Cornish girl, and that they had a daughter. Did you know +her? Did she ever live here?" + +"What's that to you?" asked the woman. "You don't mean to say that +there's any siller coming to her?" + +"I don't say but what there is," replied Paul, seeing that this might be +the key which might help to unlock the mystery of his mother's life. + +"And are you a lawyer chap?" + +"Do I look like a lawyer?" he asked with a laugh. He was wanting to get +the woman into a communicative mood. + +"You might be," she replied. "You're just one of those keen-eyed men of +the lawyer class, but I ken nothing about her, except that she's dead." + +"Who's dead?" asked Paul. + +"Donald's lass, Jean," was the reply. "She that was born to his first +wife. And a good thing, too!" she added vindictively. + +"Why a good thing?" asked the young man. + +"Better dead than disgraced," replied the woman in her hard Scotch +fashion. And Paul understood the fear that his mother must have had of +this woman whom her father had placed in authority over her. A pain shot +through his heart, and he felt like answering the woman angrily. Ever +since their meeting on the Altarnun Moors Paul had been keenly sensitive +about his mother's good name, and resented any approach to light words +concerning her. + +"I am trying to find out all about her," he said presently. "And I would +be very glad if you could give me any information concerning her +childhood and girlhood up here." + +"Why should I?" asked the woman. "It'll not be to my advantage." + +"Please don't be so sure of that," replied Paul. He knew instinctively +that she was avaricious by nature, and would be likely to do anything for +gain. + +"You wouldn't thank me for telling," she replied. + +"If you promise to tell me all you know," said Paul, "I am empowered to +give you five guineas." + +"And it'll get me into no trouble?" she asked, with that suggestion of +Scotch caution of which Paul had so often heard. + +"No," replied he, "your name need never be mentioned; but I'm anxious to +find out all I can concerning the childhood and girlhood of Jean Lindsay +up to the time of her marriage." + +"Her marriage!" said the woman scornfully. "Weel, it may be she was +married, after all, and it may be I was hard on her, and it may be, too, +it was because I thought Donald cared more for her than for my children. +Anyhow, she never liked me, and I don't say that I liked her. She was a +good lass as lasses go, although never tractable--always stubborn. An +unnatural way she had with her, too: she always wanted to be out on the +moors alone, and I used to tell Donald it would never come to any good. +She might have married well. Willie Fearn, who owns a farm over the +moors here, would have had her, and he's worth thousands of pounds now, +is Willie. But she would have nothing to say to him. One day I saw a +stranger coming up the path with her, one of these handsome Southerners, +and they used to meet in secret, and I suppose he courted her. Anyhow, +she ran away with him, or said she did, and then came back the next day +telling us that she was married." + +"Yes?" said Paul eagerly. He knew all this before, but it seemed to him +as though he was getting nearer the truth that he longed to learn. "And +did she stay with you long?" + +"Not long," replied the woman. "You see----" And a look almost of shame +came into her eyes. "Well, she stayed as long as she dared." + +"And have you heard what has become of her since?" he asked. + +"We've heard that she died. We've no proof of it, but we saw in the +papers a few weeks afterwards that a girl was found dead, and from the +description given of her we concluded that it was Jean." + +"But did you not try and find out?" he asked. "Surely your husband would +not be so callous towards his daughter?" + +"My husband did what I told him," she said. "Besides, the girl had +disgraced herself, and we did not want to be dragged into it. Mind, I'm +not sure, after all, but what she was properly married, and it may be I +did wrong. But there it is--she's dead." + +"And did you hear anything more--have you ever heard anything more about +this young Southerner?" + +"Well, we are not so sure about that," replied the woman. "You see, I +never saw him but once before the time Jean said he married her, and so I +cannot swear to him anywhere. But some time after Jean left a man came +here, and, in a roundabout way, he found out what we knew about her." + +"And did you tell him she was dead?" + +"I told him just what I've told you," replied the woman. + +"And how did he take the news?" asked Paul. + +"Oh, nothing particular," replied the woman. "He just went on talking +about something else, but I believe that was a bit of make-up." + +"Wasn't he a friend of the Grahams at a house called 'Highlands'?" asked +Paul presently. + +"I believe there were some people called Graham at the time. It is said +that they came there for their summer holidays, but they left before we +had guessed about Jean's trouble, and so we could never find out anything +about them." + +"What kind of a man was he--I mean the one who came asking questions?" + +"Oh, a middle-aged man, perhaps forty or fifty. He had iron-grey +whiskers, and he was bald, I remember." + +"And he was the only one who ever came making inquiries?" asked Paul. + +"Yes, the only one." + +Paul's hopes were dashed to the ground again. Still, the man must have +had some reason for coming North; no one would come all the way from +England to make inquiries unless something of importance lay at the back +of it. + +"What kind of questions did he ask?" continued the young man. + +"It is a good many years since," replied the woman, "and I am afraid I +did not encourage him much. But as far as I can call to mind now, he +asked how long since she had left, and whether anything had happened to +her." + +"And did you tell him"--and Paul's voice was almost hoarse as he +spoke--"did you tell him of--of what you call her disgrace?" + +"No," replied the woman harshly. "I am not one of that kind. Donald +Lindsay's name is a good one, and I'm proud of it myself. Besides, I +thought she was dead, and so--well, I said nothing." + +"And that is all you can tell me?" + +"That is all." + +From the little farmstead Paul went to "Highlands," but his visit seemed +in vain. The people who occupied the house had lived there for some +twelve years, and they had bought it from an agent as a summer residence. +They had heard that the previous owner lived in Edinburgh, but they were +not sure. They only knew he was in the habit of letting the house during +the summer months. + +"Did you know the Grahams?" Paul asked. + +"No. I've heard they lived in England, in London, in fact, but we knew +nothing about them. I have been told that they were a large family, and +came here during the three summer months, but that's twenty years ago +now, and so nothing is known." + +"And they have not been here during your time?" asked Paul. + +"No," was the reply. + +And this was all he learnt. He asked many questions, but the answers +were all vague and tentative. + +From "Highlands" he went to Willie Fearn's farm. He thought perhaps his +mother's one-time admirer might be able to give him some information, but +Willie Fearn was a dour Scotsman, who said he knew nothing. When Paul +approached the subject of Willie's former relation to Jean Lindsay and +his hopes of making her his wife, the Scotsman set his lips firmly +together and refused to speak. He admitted presently how he had heard +"that the lass had gut into sore trouble, and then went away and died. +But there's nae proof," he said, "there's nae proof. And it's a warning +to Scotch lasses to have nothing to say to Southern strangers. And Jean +was a good lass," he added confidentially, "and would have made a good +saving wife for a sober man with a little siller. She had a grip of +doctrine, too. She was well versed in the fundamentals and would have +made a good elder's wife. But, ay, man, the tempter comes in many a +form, and it behoves us all to be very careful." + +So far, Paul's visit to his mother's old home had been entirely without +result. As far as he could see, he could make not one step forward. +Moreover, in spite of the looseness of thought concerning Scotch +marriage, he saw that there was a doubt as to whether the wedding was +legal or not. But he had not finished yet. He had from time to time +read such books as came in his way bearing upon Scotch law, and in one of +these was a definite statement that if a man and woman were known to take +each other as husband and wife, this was proof that their marriage was +legal. So, remembering his mother's words, he made his way towards the +little inn where they had stayed on the night of their marriage. He took +the road which she had told him of, and presently came to the spot where +she and Douglas Graham had taken each other as man and wife. The woman +must have described the scene with great accuracy, for he recognised it +the moment he came to it. The patch of lonely pine trees, the little +lake by which the road ran, the burn coming down the rocky valley, and +the great wild moorlands stretching away northward. And they had stood +within the shade of the pine trees while the setting sun sent its rays of +light through the branches. He believed he recognised the spot on which +they knelt when Douglas Graham prayed that their union might be blessed. +A shiver passed through him as he stood there, and he called to mind the +words they had spoken: "I, Douglas Graham, take thee, Jean Lindsay, to be +my wife, and I promise to be faithful to thee as long as I live." In +spite of sad memories, it seemed like holy ground, and however the +marriage had appeared to the bridegroom, to him it was real and sacred. + +It was late that night when he came to the inn near the Scottish border, +but the innkeeper welcomed him eagerly. It had been a wet summer, and +they had had but few visitors. Both the innkeeper and his wife, +therefore, were glad to see Paul, and were hoping he would spend some +days with them. Both of them were Scotch people, although they had lived +for many years on the English side of the border. + +"Have you kept this inn long?" asked Paul after supper. + +"For more than thirty years," replied the man. "When we came here first +it was very lonely, and there were few people who came. Just a stopping +place it was for wagoners and that sort of people. But now, both English +and Scotch people are realising that there's no lovelier part in the +whole of the British Isles. That's why they come. You see, there's many +associations around this neighbourhood too. Tammy Carlisle was born and +reared not many miles from here. And then, as you know, Gretna Green is +not very far away." + +"But the days of Gretna Green are over?" suggested Paul. + +"Ay," he replied. "But not altogether. We've had many a couple come to +us directly after their marriage, and I believe that lots of them have +just gone over the border for a Scotch marriage." + +"By the way," asked Paul, "do you remember twenty-five years ago this +very month that a young man brought his wife here? It was on the +twenty-ninth of August. Think, now; do you remember it?" + +"Ay, I think I do, but my wife has a better memory than I. Meg! Will +you come here?" + +The old lady was keenly interested in Paul's questions. "Why, of course, +Angus. I've thought about them many a time since. He was fair and she +was dark." + +"That's it," said Paul eagerly. "That's it." + +"She had black een, I remember," said the woman. "Een as black as sloes, +and her hair was like the sheen of a raven's wing. And they did love +each other, too, I could see that." + +"And did they sign any register or anything of that sort?" said Paul. +"Do you keep a register of your visitors?" + +"Nay," said the woman. "We kept no register then, but we do now. People +came and went then, and we thought not so much of it. All the same, they +did write something." + +"Both of them?" asked Paul. + +"Ay, both of them. You see, I wasna so sure about them, and I wondered +whether it was a runaway match. The lad introduced the lass as his wife, +but they seemed mighty nervous, and the lad had been here a few weeks +previously with some others, and I am sure he had nae thought of marrying +then." + +"Did you say he wrote his name and she wrote hers?" asked Paul eagerly. + +"You seem mighty interested," said the woman. "One might think---- Ay, +now I look at your face again, ye remind of the lass. Your eyes and hair +are as black as hers, and ye have the same kind of face, too. It might +be that she was your mother." + +"Think for a moment that she is my mother," said Paul. "Let me see the +writing in the book." + +The woman went to the bookcase by her side and took down an +encyclopaedia, and there, on the flyleaf, he saw the names, "Douglas +Graham, Jean Graham, August 29th, 18--." + +"And they left the next day, didn't they?" asked Paul. + +"Ay, they left the next day, and they looked as though they were going to +a funeral, both of them. I wondered if they had quarrelled or something, +but they seemed so loving that that seemed impossible. But I've thought +of them many a time since." + +"Let me see," said Paul. "This is on the English side of the border, +isn't it?" + +"Ay," replied the woman. "It is the English side." + +On leaving the next day Paul made his way to the nearest town of +importance on the Scotch side, and was soon closeted with a lawyer. + +"I am come to ask for information," said Paul. + +The Scotsman looked at him keenly, and wondered how much he could charge +him. + +"Maybe you are in trouble?" he said. + +"No," replied Paul; "I'm not in trouble. I only want information +concerning a matter of Scotch law." + +"And there's no man north of the Tweed that knows more about Scotch law." +And the old lawyer stroked his chin thoughtfully. "But what phase of +Scotch law are ye interested in?" + +"Scotch marriage." + +"Maybe you're thinking of getting wed? If ye are, take the advice of a +man who has had to do with hundreds of weddings, and don't! If there's +one thing for which I'm thankful to Providence, it is that I've always +been strong enough to resist the lasses. Trouble came with the coming of +a woman into the world, and they have been at the heart of nine-tenths of +it ever since." + +"No doubt your advice may be very wise," said Paul, "but it's not of that +I'm thinking now. The question with me is what makes a Scotch marriage?" + +"Nay, nay, man, don't try and sail as near to the rocks as ye can. If ye +are going to wed, have the matter done publicly and openly." + +"I'm not going to wed," said Paul. "But this is what I want to know: +what is a Scotch marriage?" + +"For the life of me, I can't tell you," he replied. "But ye have some +case in your mind, I see. Tell it." + +"Well, supposing a man and woman took each other as husband and wife +according to the old ideas?" + +"Ay, I follow," said the Scotsman. "No kirk, no minister, no witnesses, +no anything?" + +"Yes," said Paul. "Would they be married?" + +"Ay, they would. But if one of them tried to back out, ye see, +difficulties come in. In that case they would have to declare themselves +before someone that they were married." + +"Well, then," continued Paul, "suppose they went to an inn that night and +the man called the woman his wife before the innkeeper and his wife?" + +"Ah, then you have got something to go on," said the lawyer. "That +certainly would clinch the nail. Ye're thinking of property, I expect?" + +"There's another question I want to ask," said Paul, not noticing the +query which the old Scotsman had interposed. "Supposing that directly +they were married in Scotland they went to England, and the inn wherein +the man called the woman his wife was in England. Would that make any +difference?" + +The old Scotsman scratched his head. "Ay, man," he said, "it might. But +I'm no sure." + +"Not even if both the man and the woman signed their names in a book that +they were married?" + +"I'm no sure," repeated the lawyer. "But I could find out for you, say, +for a matter of five pounds, and I would let you know. But I would have +to write to Edinburgh and, it may be, have to consult many documents." + +Paul could not get beyond this, and when, at the end of three days, he +returned to England, he felt that, although his visit to his mother's +home and the scenes associated with their marriage were extremely +interesting, he had made no real forward step. One statement of the old +lawyer, however, remained in his memory, and he brooded over it during +his journey back to Brunford: "If ye could find the man," said the old +lawyer, "who took the lass to the inn on the English side of the border +and declared her to be his wife and signed his name in the book, I think +you would have such a hold on him, if ye faced him with these things, +that he couldna get out of it. But beyond this I daurna go." + +And so Paul felt he had moved forward in spite of himself. Somehow the +marriage seemed more real, and he felt that he was nearer the day when +the shame which had so long rested upon his mother's life would be lifted. + +No sooner had he reached Brunford, however, than these thoughts were +driven from his mind. Rumours were in the air that the Government was +about to resign and that an election was imminent. + +"Bolitho is coming to-morrow," said old Ezra Bradfield, the chairman of +the Workmen's League. "And I hear he means to move heaven and earth to +keep you out of Parliament." + +"And I mean to get in," said Paul grimly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE FIGHT AND THE RESULT + +A little later Brunford was wild with excitement. It is true the +Government had not yet resigned, and as a consequence the General +Election was not yet upon them, but all felt that there was a crisis in +the political situation, and that the battle would be a very keen one +indeed. Mr. Bolitho was spending all the time he possibly could in +Brunford, while Mary Bolitho had resumed her work of canvassing the +poorer streets. More than once Paul, in going round the town, had seen +her, but she never looked toward him, and seemed to be utterly +regardless of his presence. All the same, Paul felt sure she had seen +him, and her presence, even although she had become the fixed star of +his life, strengthened his determination to get the better of her +father in this fight. So entirely did he devote himself to his +political work that, in the main, he left business matters to his +partner. + +"Things are safe in your hands, Preston," he said, "and everything is +going smoothly. Now I'm on this job I mean to win." + +"I'd rather you'd stick to business, Paul," said Preston. "We're +walking on slippery ground just now. You know we've made our money by +a speciality, and it needs a lot of watching." + +"Yes," said Paul. "It was because we decided to specialise that we've +been so successful. We discovered our secret and we've made the most +of it." + +"Yes," urged the other, "but we've a lot of stuff in our warehouse just +now; as you know, we've kept it because we believed that prices would +go up. If the prices were to go down now, we should be ruined." + +"But they won't go down," said Paul; "they can't. We've the monopoly +of it. And when winter comes everybody will be buying it." + +"I should feel safer," said Preston, "if you'd give more of your time +to it. But there, I'll do my best, although I don't like the look on +Ned Wilson's face." + +"Ned Wilson's face!" said Paul. "What do you mean, lad?" + +"I mean that yesterday he met me in the reading-room of the Mechanics' +Institute and he just laughed. 'How goes the speciality, Preston?' he +said. 'Is it a speciality? Are you the only people who manufacture +it?' And I didn't know what to say, Paul, for I know he hates us like +poison, while I believe he has a special grudge against you. We can't +afford to play pranks, while Ned Wilson can." + +But Paul paid little attention to this. He had now fully embarked on +this political fight. The town had to be canvassed. Meetings had to +be addressed. Committees had to be formed. In fact, he had to devote +the whole of his time to the fight which had engrossed him completely. + +The whole country was at that time agog with the expectation that the +Government would resign and that an election would be immediately upon +them, and Paul, being fully aware of this, had determined to leave +nothing to chance. He had complete confidence in Preston's business +capacity, and felt that everything was safe. Thus, when one day the +news flashed along a thousand wires that the Government had resigned +and that a General Election was upon them, he was glad he had given +himself heart and soul to this political struggle. He did not know why +it was, but it seemed to him that upon it depended everything. If he +could win in this fight, he was sure, although it would alienate Mary +Bolitho from him, it would also open up the way to their future +meetings. It would enhance her respect for him. He believed he read +her like a book. She was ambitious even as he was, and she would scorn +the man who was easily beaten. He felt his chances had improved; at +each meeting he addressed he became more confident and spoke with more +effect. The inwardness of politics, too, possessed him more fully. +During his spare hours he had been reading the lives of eminent +politicians. He called to mind those words of Disraeli: "Read no +history, nothing but biography, for that is life without theory." He +had followed this advice, and in reading the life of great politicians +had laid hold of the history of the century. Everything had been made +vivid to him, especially the struggles of the working classes. +Moreover, in studying the lives of great men, he had grasped the +principles on which they worked, and politics had become to him not a +mere abstraction, not a matter of expediency, but something concrete, a +great working philosophy. This fact had enriched his speeches, and +thus it came about that when Mr. Bolitho read them, he discovered that +he was fighting not with an ignoramus, but with a man with a powerful +mind, a man who, given reasonable circumstances, would be bound to make +himself felt. + +Mr. Bolitho, too, realised the force of what his daughter had said to +him; Paul was not a man to be easily beaten, and that, unless some +extraordinary events took place, he, Mr. Bolitho, would not be able to +gain the victory. He discussed this matter long and seriously with Mr. +Wilson and his son Ned, and presently, when they were within a +fortnight of the polling day, he began to look serious indeed. It is +true Mary Bolitho had won many votes and had removed much of the +personal prejudice that had been created against him; nevertheless, he +saw that Paul had gripped the town in a way which he was unable to do, +and because the young man had entered into the life and thoughts of the +people, he was able to express their feelings in a way not possible to +him. + +"It would be the bitterest blow of my life if I failed," he said to +young Ned Wilson and his father one night, on their return from one of +their meetings. "I should never dare to put my foot in Brunford again, +neither would Mary, if this young upstart got the better of us." + +"Never fear!" said young Ned. "I'll promise you he shall not win this +election, Mr. Bolitho." + +A little later Mr. Wilson was called away to see someone, and Ned and +Mr. Bolitho were left together. + +"You speak with great certainty, Ned," said Mr. Bolitho, who had come +to address the young manufacturer with great freedom. + +"I do," replied Ned. "Mr. Bolitho, I'm a plain man, may I say +something to you now?" + +"Say what you will, my lad!" + +"Well, then, I love your daughter, and I want to make her my wife. +Will you let me have her?" + +"I don't know Mary's feelings about the matter," said Mr. Bolitho. + +"But supposing you win this election, will you do your best for me?" +There was a kind of challenge in Ned's voice as he spoke. + +"I'll promise not to oppose you, anyhow." + +"No, that will not do," said Ned, and his voice became tremulous. +"Look here, this is a tremendous business to me. I want you to +understand that life, happiness, everything depends upon my being able +to win Mary. With her I feel I could do great things. I could go into +Parliament myself, ay, and make a name too. I'm not a fool, Mr. +Bolitho. There are but few men who know more about Lancashire life +than I do, I am intimately acquainted with every detail of Lancashire +business, and although I ought not to say it, since I've been made a +partner in our firm, I have more than doubled our income. I have a +great deal of power, Mr. Bolitho, too, more than you think; I could +cause you to lose this election, and I can make you win it." + +"How?" asked the other. His voice was keen and sharp. + +"I will not tell you how," replied Ned. "But I can make you win it. +Perhaps there's not another man but myself that can. And you shall, +too, if you'll promise to do your best for me with Mary. Is it a +bargain?" + +Mr. Bolitho did not speak. For the moment he was under great +excitement. The fear that he would lose the seat had entered his +heart, and, as he had more than once said, the desire to win in +everything he undertook was a kind of passion with him. He would do a +great deal, and give a great deal, to win this election, not because he +thought it would add much either to his fame or to his position, but +because the eagerness to be conqueror was almost like a disease. + +"Come, now," repeated Ned. "Is it a bargain? If I win you this +election, will you do your best for me with Mary. Of course, I don't +ask you to force her--she's not a girl to be forced--but will you do +your best? Mind you, I love her like my own life, and I'll devote +every power I have to make her happy!" + +"I'll say this," said Mr. Bolitho, still labouring under great +excitement, "I'll not oppose you, and if I can make the way easy for +you, I will--there!" + +"Very well," cried Ned, with flashing eyes. "That's a bargain, then. +You may regard the seat as safe!" + +Within a week from that time there were strange rumours in Brunford. +It was said that the financial position of Stepaside and Preston was +not safe. They were only rumours at first, and people paid little +attention to them, but they grew in volume, grew in directness of +statement. Five days before the election Preston came to Paul with a +white face. He looked as though he had spent a sleepless night. "Look +here, Paul," he said. "You must give up this political business!" + +"Give it up!" said Paul. "I cannot. We are only five days from +polling, and I cannot spare a minute for anything else." + +"I tell you you must give it up!" cried Preston. "And even now you +must come and give me two hours right away!" + +Paul shook his head. "I've got to meet my committees, my canvassers. +I wouldn't lose this fight now for a thousand pounds." + +"It means more than the loss of a thousand pounds, it means the loss of +everything!" + +"Everything!" + +"Yes, everything. Look here, Paul, you know we've kept ourselves hard, +and we've overdrawn at the bank, because we felt sure our stuff was +going up. Well, it hasn't gone up. There's been a sudden drop in it! +Look here." And he showed him that morning's newspaper. Paul looked +at his watch. "I must go to these committee meetings," he said. + +"But you can't," urged Preston. "I am not strong enough to deal with +these things. Only you can get us out of this hole, and I doubt +whether it's not too late even now! There's something at the bottom of +this, Paul, and you must go into it. There's an enemy in the camp +somewhere. There's no reason why our stuff should go down, the demand +for it is greater than ever, but somebody's underselling us. Why, it +can't be manufactured at the price mentioned there." And he pointed to +the paper. + +"Very well," said Paul, "you go round to the committee-rooms and tell +them I can't be there to-day." + +He went towards his office with a great fear in his heart. Before the +day was out he realised the truth of Preston's words. He found that, +unknown to them, someone else had gained the secret of the special +stuff that they had been manufacturing. That, unknown to them, a large +amount of it had been placed upon the market, and placed upon it at +such a price that even if they sold every piece they manufactured they +would have to do so at a very great loss. Indeed, it seemed to him as +though ruin stared him in the face! He hurried from Brunford to +Manchester, then back again--he went from mill to mill, and had various +interviews with the most important people in the town, and everywhere +he was met with the same difficulty. + +Still, he would not give up the political fight. More than +money--honour, life were at stake, and he must carry the thing through. + +Three days before the election every voter in the town received, not +merely their usual election literature, but an anonymous circular. It +made no statements, but asked a series of questions concerning the +financial obligations of Messrs. Stepaside and Preston. It showed the +most minute knowledge of all Paul's liabilities, of the work he had +undertaken, of the position in which he stood. Before the day was out +there was not a voter in Brunford but who had read and discussed the +circular which had been sent. No libellous statement had been made, +and yet a hundred things had been suggested--inability, carelessness, +ignorance, fraud, chicanery had all been hinted at, and hinted at +cleverly. And yet no word of libel had been used, only the sting of +the circular lay in the tail, and it was contained in these words: +"Stepaside is the man that controls Stepaside and Preston. Is he the +man whom we can trust to represent Brunford?" + +A meeting of the general committee was called next night. If anything +could be done, it must be done quickly. No one knew who had issued +this circular--the name of the printer was not there. It had come by +post from London. Who had sent it no one could tell. But here was the +fact--its contents were of the most damning nature. It hinted that +Paul was on the verge of bankruptcy, and that he owed his position to +wild speculation, if not to fraudulent dealings. Paul's face was pale +when he met the committee. "I want to face this matter fairly, +gentlemen," he said. "You know that it was under pressure that I +consented to fight for the seat, and to represent your interests. I +did so in good faith. I believed my business was on a sound basis; +nevertheless, many things in the circular are true." He then went on +to tell how he stood commercially. He described his position in terms +with which his hearers were familiar, but which I need not try and +reproduce here. Indeed, it will be well that I should not, because the +matter is still discussed in the town of Brunford. But he had no +difficulty in convincing all present that he had acted honourably, and +that an enemy had been at work. Still, what was he to do? He could +not deny the statements made, and it was, doubtless, a fact that he +stood on the verge of ruin. His supporters, moreover, were mainly of +the working class, and the rich men, the employers, were supporters of +Mr. Bolitho. Besides, as was natural, the bank which had backed him +was anxious concerning the whole matter. + +"The question is," said Paul, "what do you wish me to do? Shall I +resign, now at the eleventh hour? If I do, it will be a sign of +weakness. It will be a confession that every word in this circular is +true. It will proclaim the fact that I am afraid to face the future." + +"Can'st a face the future, Paul?" asked one. + +"I believe I can," he said, "and yet it is so uncertain that I feel I +must place myself in your hands." + +"And let t'other side beat us?" cried an old weaver. "Nay, nay, Paul. +We mun fight to the end!" + +This was unanimously agreed upon, but Paul knew that a deadly blow had +been struck, struck by an unseen hand, and in such a way that he had no +means of parrying it. He knew, too, that nothing was so fickle as +popular favour. A fortnight before, a week before, he felt sure of a +clear thousand majority, but he knew that there were thousands in +Brunford who would be influenced by what they had been discussing, and +would as likely as not turn against him. Still, now that his committee +had resolved to fight to the end, he determined he would not fail them, +and during the next few days he threw himself into the fray with +renewed ardour. He seemed to do ten men's work, and although the +clouds hung heavily over his head, he roused his meetings to tremendous +enthusiasm. At factory gates, at crossroads, in the market square and +in the public halls, he proclaimed his views, and did his best to +answer the thousand insulting queries which were constantly flung at +him. But he fought as one who despaired. He knew he was fighting a +losing battle, and even although there was ever a ring of defiance in +his voice, there was never a note of victory. + +At length the polling-day came, and he watched the course of events +eagerly. Up to now he had never once come into personal contact with +Mr. Bolitho. Perhaps he had studiously avoided meeting his opponent, +and certainly Mr. Bolitho had not been anxious to meet him. They had +passed each other in the streets, but neither had taken notice of the +other, and Paul had never once made reference to the treatment he had +received at the barrister's hands years before. Let this be said, too, +as far as Mr. Bolitho was concerned, he had never, at any of his +meetings, referred to the circular which had created such commotion. +Whether he had kept silent as a matter of policy, or because he felt it +would have been striking below the belt to do so, I cannot say, but +certain it is that neither in public nor in private had he ever been +known to pass any opinion on the crisis through which Paul was passing. + +The polling booths closed at eight o'clock on the fourteenth of +December, and then crowds moved towards the town hall, where the voting +papers were to be counted. It had been announced that the figures +would be known soon after eleven o'clock, and thousands of people +waited outside the huge building, wondering as to the result of the +day's voting. Of course, Paul and some of his supporters were in the +counting chamber, and Paul noticed that Mr. Bolitho passed from table +to table, talking eagerly with his friends. Evidently the voting was +very close. The little heaps of voting papers were placed along the +table, and it seemed as though neither had the advantage. More than +once Paul was within a foot of his opponent, but neither spoke a word. +It seemed as though something sealed their lips. There was something +more than parties that divided them--something deeper, something +personal, something that went down to the roots of life. + +At length a hush came over the counting chamber. The last of the +voting papers had been taken from the boxes, and the little piles of +fifty were duly placed and counted. The mayor of the town was at his +post, looking very pale and important. A half-sheet of paper was in +his hand. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am now prepared to make known the +results of the day's voting. It's been a very close fight, and there +are less than two hundred votes in it." He did not know whether he was +using the correct words or not. In fact he did not care. He was, +perhaps, the most excited man in the room, not even excepting the two +candidates. "It is as follows," he went on. "Bolitho----" He went no +farther, for there was a great shout throughout the chamber. The +employers looked at each other with gladness and satisfaction--their +side had won! The working-men element looked grim and defiant. + +"Silence!" proceeded the mayor. "Bolitho, 7,213; Stepaside, 7,080. It +is my duty to declare that Mr. Bolitho is elected." + +For the first time Mr. Bolitho turned towards Paul, and the young man +noticed the look of triumph in his face. "You see, we've won!" he +said. "In spite of everything, we've won!" + +It was not the words so much, but the tone of his voice that maddened +Paul. Throughout the day he had been in a state of intense excitement. +It seemed to him as though his nerves were raw, and he knew that he was +on the point of a breakdown. Bolitho's tones, therefore, maddened him, +and he was almost beside himself. "Yes, you have won," he said. "But +how?" + +"How?" laughed the other, and he was ashamed of himself for speaking +the words, but he, too, was strangely wrought upon. "How? By honour +and fair play!" + +"Gentlemen," said the mayor, "I must announce the numbers to the crowd +outside. There are thousands of people who have been waiting for hours +to know the results, and they will not go away until they hear them. +Of course, too, they will expect a few words from Mr. Bolitho and Mr. +Stepaside." + +It took some minute or two to make the arrangements for this, and Paul, +smarting under the sting of what his opponent had said, burst forth, +"Honour and fair play! Was it honour and fair play to besmear my +mother's name, to throw reflections upon my birth? Was it honour and +fair play to speak of me as an atheist? Was it honour and fair play to +send out a circular, unsigned and untraceable, which threw out +innuendoes about my financial position? And, more than all, was it +honour and fair play to seek to ruin me?" + +"I never once referred to the circular!" replied Mr. Bolitho. + +"You never condemned it!" cried the young man. "You allowed the poison +to work, and took advantage of it! And more than that, you know as +well as I that the whole thing was arranged for. In order to win this +election, you stopped at nothing, even my ruin!" + +Paul had barely ceased speaking when he saw that Mary Bolitho stood +immediately behind her father and had heard all he said. He saw, too, +that Mr. Bolitho's face had become pale as ashes, and he felt sure that +his words had wounded him. + +"I did nothing to ruin you," he said at length. + +"But were glad when you heard of it!" replied the young man. "And you +did not hesitate to drag in the religious business. That, at all +events, you cannot deny!" + +At this the older man's face cleared, except that the mocking smile +remained on his lips. + +"That, of course, was inevitable," he replied. "We had to deal with +the question of education, of religious education. How could I keep, +then, from dealing with personal matters? You believe in a mere +secular education, and proclaim your views with no uncertain voice. I, +who am convinced that a mere secular education would ruin the country, +had to oppose you, and had to deal with your personal attitude to the +whole matter. You cannot deny that! Have the courage of your +convictions, man, and stand by them!" And Paul noted the taunt in his +voice. + +"I have!" he replied. "I deny nothing of what I have said, and your +attitude has made me believe less in your religion than ever. +Why"--and his voice became tense and bitter--"I'm willing to allow my +religion to be tested by this election. I have not uttered one wrong +word about you. I have done nothing to defame your character, in spite +of what has passed. And yet you have sneered at my 'ignorant atheism +and blatant unbelief.' Is that religion? Is that playing the game? +You, who profess to be a gentleman! You, who have had all the +advantages of education! You, who boast of playing the game, and not +fouling the pitch! Even if you have not openly said these things, you +have allowed your supporters to blacken my mother's name. You have +used foul gossip as a weapon with which to fight. You have allowed a +devilish circular to be sent out, and never condemned it. And you have +been willing to benefit by the attempts to ruin me!" + +Paul watched Mary Bolitho's face as he spoke, and he noted the +vindictive anger in her eyes, he knew that he was alienating himself +more completely from her by the words he used. But he did not care; he +was past caring! The election was lost. He had failed in the fight. +The woman he loved and hated at the same time scorned him more than +ever--and ruin stared him in the face! + +Mr. Bolitho shrugged his shoulders. He had been too long before the +public to heed attacks of this sort. He had been hardened by many a +fight in the law courts, and he knew how little such words might mean. +Besides, he was naturally in a good humour. He had won the fight. He +was Member for Brunford. + +"Do not let us dwell on personalities, Mr. Stepaside!" he said. "After +all, it's the principles of our party which have won. You have fought +a good fight"--and his voice became very condescending as he +spoke--"but truth and right were too strong for you, and the country is +turning against you." + +"Come, gentlemen," said the mayor. "We are all ready." And with that +he stepped through the window on to the balcony above the entrance to +the town hall, while the opponents and their supporters followed. The +whole of the street outside the town hall was brilliantly lit by +torches, and by the street lamps, so that the eager, upturned faces of +the thousands who surged between the steps of Hanover Chapel and those +of the town hall could be plainly seen. Directly they saw the mayor +the people gave a great shout, and then a silence followed like the +silence of death. + +"Gentlemen," said the mayor, "I am here to announce the results of the +election. They are as follows: Bolitho-----" At that word a roar from +the people seemed to rend the heavens. With some it was a shout of +victory, with others it was a cry of defeat and anger. It was easy to +see the excitement on their faces. One could even tell what they were +saying, so vivid was the light which fell upon them. "Bolitho's in, +good!" "Stepaside is out, it's a shame!" "It's noan been a fair +fight!" "We mun 'a' a petition!" "Nay, nay, it's no use now!" And so +on. Only those close to the balcony heard the figures. The noise of +the crowd made it impossible for the people standing near Hanover +Chapel gates to bear a word which the chief magistrate had uttered. + +Presently, however, a great hush came over the crowd again. The people +saw Mr. Bolitho step forward, but only one sentence was heard, +"Gentlemen," he said, "we have fought a good fight, and we have won +it!" Of course, his supporters shouted wildly, but the cries of +antagonism were stronger. Voices became more and more angry. It might +seem as though a riot were possible. + +Mr. Bolitho, however, continued his speech, which, although the people +in the street could not hear, was plain to those who stood on the +balcony. He thanked the people for supporting him. He remarked that +he had come there a stranger, and was now their friend. He declared +that his duty was no longer to a part but the whole of the voters, that +he should recognise no difference between one section of the people and +another. It was for him to represent the town as a whole, which he +intended to do faithfully and loyally. He desired, also, to compliment +his opponent on the spirit in which he had conducted his part of the +battle, and for the straight fight which had been the consequence. He +referred to a few of his most prominent supporters, and then, raising +his voice so loudly that it reached to the extreme limits of the crowd, +he said: "It may seem bad taste on my part to refer to one without whom +I should never have won this election." At this even the most +turbulent became silent again, they wanted to hear what he had to say. +"I owe my victory," he said, "and you owe your victory, to my daughter, +Mary." And placing his hand upon her shoulder, he drew her forward. +"Here!" he cried, "is your real victor in the battle!" + +There was great cheering at this, and even his bitterest opponents did +not resent it. The light fell strongly upon the girl's face, and even +Paul could not help reflecting how beautiful she looked. Her eyes were +flashing with excitement, her lips wreathed with smiles. No wonder she +had fascinated him, no wonder, in spite of the fact that he hated her +father, he almost worshipped her, even while he hated her. + +"Speech, speech!" yelled the crowd. "Speech from Miss Mary Bolitho!" + +She looked at her father, who nodded, and then the girl stepped +forward, while every ear was strained so as not to miss a word she +should say. It was a picture long to be remembered. Even to this day +it is talked about in Brunford. She only spoke a few words, but her +voice rang out clearly in the still air. + +"I am glad I ever came to Brunford," she said. "I have learnt to love +the people, and--thank you!" + +That was all, but the laugh on her face, the laugh in her voice, her +girlish presence, her winsome manner had done a great deal to soften +the hardest heart. Indeed, many believed that she had kept thousands +from angry words, and perhaps from angry deeds, by her presence. + +"Ay, but oo is bonnie!" "No wonder her feyther is proud on her!" "A +gradely lass and a'!" was heard everywhere. And then a silence fell +upon the crowd again, which was followed by another mighty shout, +louder than any which had yet been heard. + +Paul Stepaside came forward, his face pale to the lips, his eyes +burning like coals of fire. Black rage was in his heart, for he felt +himself to be ignominiously beaten, and yet, with that stubborn +persistency which characterised him, and a pride which rose above +everything, he would not show it. "My good friends and comrades," he +said, "we've been beaten this time, but we'll win yet. If you will +have me, I mean to be Member for Brunford, in spite of everything. Mr. +Bolitho has won this time, but it will not be for long. He and I will +meet again, for I'm not one who gives up. For the moment I'm under a +cloud, but only for a moment. The stars in their courses are on the +side of those who are on the side of right. And we are on the right, +and I've fought a straight battle. Yes, Mr. Bolitho and I will meet +again--it may be under circumstances different from these, but we shall +surely meet, and always to fight! He must not think, because he has +gained this victory, that he will always be victorious. If I'm not +your Member to-day, I will be to-morrow. And the time will come when +he will not rejoice in the victory to-day as he has rejoiced in it +to-night!" + +Afterwards Paul was angry with himself that he had said this. He had +meant to utter no vindictive word, and yet he knew that every sentence +he uttered contained a threat, a threat which at that time seemed to +him to have no meaning. He felt ashamed of himself, too, and it seemed +to him on reflection that he had been churlish even almost to +childishness. And yet the words came to him in spite of himself, and +he had flung them out eagerly, almost triumphantly. Even Mr. Bolitho +felt a shiver pass through his body as Paul spoke. His speech seemed +to contain a kind of prophecy. There was something ominous about it. +It seemed to tell of dark days to come, of tragedy--why, he could not +understand, but so it was. + +It was all over at length. The crowd broke up and wended their way +towards their various homes. Mr. Bolitho went to the club, supported +by his followers, while Paul also resorted to the gathering-place most +frequently used by the class whose cause he had hoped to represent. +For hours there was speechifying and loud talking. For hours words +were bandied, explanations offered, and threats made. At length, +however, silence reigned in the town; and Paul was about to find his +way back to his lodgings, when his partner, George Preston, came to +him, accompanied by a man whom they had employed to try and find out +the secret cause of the ruin which stared them in the face. + +"Paul," said Preston, "you've finished now. Can I go with you to your +lodgings?" + +"Yes," replied Paul. "What is it?" + +"Something that will keep till we are alone," replied the young man +laconically. "On the whole, I'm glad we didn't know two days ago what +I know now. It's best as it is, Paul. I can see you are terribly +disappointed at not getting in, but, for my part, I'm glad. After all, +business, with me, is more than politics. You should have waited, lad, +waited till our position was safe, before you started this fight. +Still, you couldn't help it. It was not your fault that the election +came on this year instead of next, and the chaps meant to have you." + +"But tell me, what is it?" asked Paul. His mind had become so confused +by the scenes of excitement through which he had passed that he could +not realise the drift of his partner's words. + +"No," replied the other sternly; "let's wait until we get to your +lodgings. We must be alone. I tell you, if you knew what you'll know +now, when you were speaking from the balcony, there would have been a +row. But, never mind, it's best as it is." + +They walked on through the narrow, comparatively deserted streets, +until presently they arrived at a comfortable-looking house in the +Liverpool Road, where Paul's rooms were now situated. + +"Now, then, tell me," said the young man, when they were seated. + +"Is everybody here gone to bed?" asked Standring, the man who had +accompanied them, but who had not yet spoken. + +"Hours since," replied Paul. "No election ever fought would keep them +out of bed after eleven o'clock." + +"That's well." And he took out a bundle of papers from his pocket and +laid them on the table. + +"You don't expect me to read them to-night?" said Paul. "I tell you, I +couldn't. My brain's too fagged." + +"No," replied Standring, "they need not be read tonight, but I put them +there in case you should want to refer to them. They are proofs of +what I'm going to tell you." Paul noted that this young fellow's voice +was set and stern; he realised that the matter he wished to discuss was +serious. He was a pale-faced, quiet-looking young fellow, this Enoch +Standring, not given to talking much, or to assert himself to any great +degree. Up to a year before he had been a book-keeper in one of the +mills, and Paul, recognising in him what others had failed to see, had +given him a position of trust in his own employ. Directly the circular +to which I have referred was sent out to the voters of Brunford, Paul +had instructed him to discover what it meant and who was the man who +was responsible for it. Enoch Standring had something of the +sleuthhound in his nature. For three days and nights he had worked. +Almost without sleep, and with but little food, he had laboured +quietly, unobtrusively, never arousing suspicions, but always +effectively. And now he was prepared to give the result of that work. + +"You must cast your mind back a bit, Mr. Stepaside," he said, "and then +ask yourself one thing. Is there anyone in Brunford who has a grudge +against you?" + +"Yes," said Paul. "It's known, is that grudge. It is well known that +several years ago Ned Wilson and I had a quarrel which neither of us +have forgotten." + +"Yes," said Enoch, "and remember what's happened since. There was a +riot, and you were dragged into it in spite of yourself." + +"I know," said Paul. "But surely you don't mean----" + +"I mean nothing," replied Standring. "I only ask you to bear it in +mind. You were dragged into it in spite of yourself. Although you +tried to dissuade the chaps who were engaged in it from doing anything +rash, it seemed as though you were the ringleader. For that you were +sent to Strangeways Gaol for six months. Who employed Bolitho for the +prosecution? I needn't go into particulars about it; but that's one +fact. Then there's something else. When you came out, you decided to +start manufacturing, and you got the promise of a factory, with some +looms and power, cheap. Then, without any reason, you were told you +couldn't have it. Somebody else got it. Who got it? We know. I make +no comment, but there it is. Presently the election came on, and nasty +stories got to be afloat about your birth and parentage. It was +whispered about that you were a come-by-chance child, and your mother +was a bad woman. Who was responsible for that? We don't know, or, at +least, we can't prove; but, put two and two together. In spite of +everything you began to gain ground. People began to support you, and +it looked very bad for the other side. You know that; everyone knows +it. And then came this other affair. You didn't know that anyone else +was manufacturing what you manufactured. You thought it was your +secret; but the secret leaked out. I don't say who betrayed you, but +there it is. But this I've found out: an old, disused mill was taken +the other side of Manchester. Who took it? The name of the owner was +kept quiet. It was said to be run by a little private company. That +was some time ago now, and ever since that mill was taken there's been +a kind of secret as to who owned it. But I've discovered this: they +manufactured the same stuff that you manufacture. But they did not try +to sell it. They kept piling it up in their warehouses. Can you see +the meaning of this? It was kept quiet, mind; as quiet as death. +Nobody seemed to know the stuff they were turning out. Then suddenly +that stuff was pushed on the market at a price which left no margin for +profits; nay, they offered it at a price less, far less, than you can +manufacture it for. For months they had been piling it up in the +warehouses, and they were able to flood the market. Now you know why +the prices went down, and why you could not sell your stuff except at a +ruinous loss!" + +Paul listened to the young man with pale face and set features. He +spoke no word, but it was easy to see that he grasped every detail +which the young man mentioned. He saw the purport of his words too. + +"I see," he said quietly. "And have you found out who the owner of +that factory is?" + +"Yes," replied Enoch Standring, "I have found out." + +"Ned Wilson, of course," said Paul. + +"Ay," replied the other laconically. + +"And you have proofs?" + +"Yes, I have proofs. They are all here docketed and numbered. I will +go into them whenever you're ready. They are all there." + +For a few seconds a silence fell upon them, and both Enoch Standring +and George Preston watched Paul's face eagerly. They were wondering +what he was thinking. Standring felt sure that he was planning some +scheme of revenge. + +"I'll be even with him for this!" said Paul presently. + +Neither of them answered. They felt it was no use talking. + +"But," continued Paul, "I can hardly see through it. Ned Wilson is a +man capable of the riots trick. That's just the kind of thing he would +do, but is he the man to lose money in order to satisfy his hatred?" + +"Yes," said Standring, "the kind of hatred he has towards you. You +see, he's a deeper chap than you think, is Ned Wilson. I've known him +from a boy. He would carry a grudge for years. But he's been a chap +who's always been noted for paying off old scores, and he's paid you +off." + +"You've not told me all yet, Standring," said Paul. "Ned Wilson had +other motives than that of paying off an old score. I see--I see!" +And he clenched his fists angrily. "Why didn't I see it before? Yes, +that's it." + +"What's it?" asked Preston. + +"Never mind what it is; but I see it plainly. Yes, I understand, and +he shall rue it." + +For an hour they discussed the matter, and then, when presently the +others had left him, Paul sat alone thinking. It seemed to him as +though the day marked an epoch in his history. It was an end and it +was a beginning. For hours he lay in his bed, sleepless. He was +thinking of his plans for the future, thinking of the work he had to do. + +The next morning he was up betimes. His mind was made up, for he saw +his way clearly now. Knowing the enemy he had to fight, he selected +the weapons that he must use, and he was no longer afraid. He went +quietly to his mill, and for hours studied his position. After that he +went to the bank and had a long talk with the manager. Then he paid a +visit to an old manufacturer who had retired, and who had shown great +friendliness towards him. After that his face cleared somewhat. The +crisis was over, at least for a time. He would have six weeks in which +to move, and in six weeks he believed that the complexion of everything +would be changed. + +"No," he said to himself, "it will not be ruin. I know my man. If I +make no sign Ned Wilson is not the man who will continue to lose money +for me. He thinks I'm ruined, and so he will take this opportunity of +making his pile. He thinks he has a corner in this particular stuff. +Well, he hasn't, and this will be my opportunity." + +He was some little distance from Brunford as these thoughts passed +through his mind. Old Abel Bowyer to whom he had gone, lived some +three miles from the town and he was returning from his house now. +Indeed he was entering the footpath where he had met Mary Bolitho long +months before, and he had only gone a short distance when he saw her +coming towards him. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE COMING OF PAUL'S MOTHER + +Mary Bolitho had returned to Howden Clough on the night of the +election, her heart filled with conflicting emotions. Naturally, she +had rejoiced in her father's election. No one had worked harder than +she, and she felt that her father had not spoken untruthfully when he +said that she had been largely responsible for his election. She had +thrown herself eagerly into the work of gaining voters, and she knew +she had been supremely successful. During the last three weeks a list +of names had been given to her almost daily of those who seemed +doubtful and undecided, and she had gone to them, and where others had +failed she had secured their promises. She was naturally, therefore, +elated at the result. The margin was so narrow that, but for her, both +she and her father would have left the town feeling that the enemy had +triumphed. + +But she was not altogether satisfied. For one thing, she felt +uncomfortable at the long stay she had been making at Howden Clough. +Again and again she had spoken to her father, asking him to take rooms +at an hotel, but Mr. Bolitho had persisted that it would offend the +Wilsons deeply, and that he knew of no sufficient reason for acting +upon her suggestion. + +"What excuse can I give, Mary?" he said. "It was understood from the +beginning that I was to make Howden Clough my home during our visits +here. They have become personal friends of ours, and not only should +we wound them by going to an hotel, but at this stage of the business +we should cause a great deal of gossip." + +Though yielding to her father's wishes, however, she was far from +satisfied. It seemed to her that Ned Wilson looked on her with an air +of proprietorship. He did not say this in so many words, but she +couldn't help seeing what his thoughts and determinations were. Not +that she disliked Ned--indeed, she had become more and more favourably +impressed by him. He had more brains than she imagined, too, and had +given evidence that, from the standpoint of business, he was thoroughly +versed in the questions at issue. He had thrown himself with +tremendous ardour into the fight, and had spared himself in no way in +order to win the election, and yet she was not satisfied. There seemed +something at the back of everything which she could not understand. +She had seen the circular referred to in the last chapter, and, in +spite of the explanations which had been made, could not help feeling +that the sending out of this same circular was unfair and even base. +Everyone at Howden Clough professed ignorance concerning it, and there +were many surmises as to who was responsible for it. The printer's +name did not appear, and it was sent from London. That of itself +looked to her very suspicious. But more than this, she could not +understand Ned Wilson's behaviour. She had discussed with him who had +been guilty of it, and while he, like the rest, professed to know +nothing, he did not appear to be at all at ease. + +"But is Mr. Stepaside on the brink of ruin, as is suggested here? And +will he not be able to pay his debts?" she asked. + +"Oh, I daresay it's true," cried Ned. "You see, the fellow is a +bounder. He started manufacturing on practically nothing, not knowing +very much about it. That's why he's got into this hole. You see, he's +no conscience, and his ambition oversteps everything. You should have +heard him last Sunday morning haranguing his followers, as I was coming +home from church. You would realise, then, what kind of a fellow he +is--just a blank, blatant atheist, and, as your father has always +maintained, a man who has given up faith in religion is very doubtful +as to his morals." + +"Then, you mean he'll become a bankrupt?" + +"Most likely," replied Ned. "And serve him right, too. He's only +himself to blame. But what worries me is not that he will most likely +be a bankrupt, but the sufferings of the people to whom he owes money." + +Mary was naturally impressed by this conversation. While she regarded +Paul Stepaside with a certain amount of admiration because of his +strong personality and the position he had, in spite of difficulties, +obtained in Brunford, she had a certain horror of his irreligion and +his apparent vindictiveness. She recalled the words he had spoken to +her on the two occasions on which they had met, words which revealed +the passionate nature of the man. She was sorry she had spoken to him +at all. She ought to have treated him with the scorn and contempt he +deserved. After all, what had she to do with a Lancashire operative +who, because he was possessed of a kind of vulgar aggressiveness, had +become an employer of labour? + +The scene in the chamber where the votes were counted, however, +strengthened the uncomfortable feelings which had hitherto possessed +her. He had openly accused her father of encouraging means which he +regarded as disgraceful. He had declared that Mr. Bolitho had used +these methods by which to destroy him. Of course, she could not help +being offended, if not angry, at Paul Stepaside's demeanour and at his +almost savage attack. She reflected that he was guilty of the conduct +of a clown, and attributed it not only to his own savagery, but to the +instincts of his class. And yet she was impressed by his strength. +She almost admired him, as he savagely proclaimed the fact that he +would yet be Member for Brunford. She felt his strength, too, and saw +how he moved the multitude. Yes, in spite of everything, he was a +strong man, and she loved strength. He had the instincts of a leader, +and she admired men who could lead. And he was right, too--he was not +crushed, although he was beaten, and he would fight again. + +She was very silent at Howden Clough when they all returned from the +gathering at the club. Everyone was jubilant except her, and although +she was interested in all that was said, there was a strange feeling at +her heart which she could not understand. She had a kind of fear, too, +that Ned Wilson was on the point of making an avowal of his love, and +for that reason she had determined that nothing should keep her from +leaving Brunford on the morrow. Her father, however, had arranged to +stay in the town until late in the afternoon, and she must perforce +stay with him. But she determined to be alone, and that was why she +found herself out in the fields at the back of Howden Clough when Paul +was returning from his visit to old Abel Bowyer. She did not mean to +speak to him, and yet she instinctively walked more slowly as he +approached. In spite of herself, too, she found herself admiring him. +He gave no suggestion of a beaten man. His step was firm and quick, +and he walked almost like a victor. + +Paul, scarcely knowing what he was doing, lifted his hat as he came +close to her. "Miss Bolitho," he said, "will you convey a message to +your father from me?" + +She had meant to pass by without speaking, but the manner in which he +addressed her made this impossible. + +"If you wish to send a message to my father," she answered, "would it +not be well for you to write to him? Good afternoon." And she moved +as if to pass on. + +"No," replied Paul quietly. "I want you to take a message direct from +me, and doubtless he will tell Wilson. Please inform him that I have +discovered the author of the circular which was sent broadcast during +the election, and that I have proofs of the plot to ruin me. Doubtless +he will be interested." + +Without another word he passed on. A little later, Mary Bolitho left +Brunford with her father. A fairly large crowd gathered at the +Brunford station to see them off, and there were all sorts of shouting +and congratulations; but Mary was very silent, and during the whole of +the journey to Manchester she scarcely spoke a word. She said nothing +of her meeting with Paul that day. It seemed to her that something had +closed her lips. She knew not why. One thing, however, gave her a +feeling of gratification--she had made it impossible for Wilson to make +his declaration of love. She knew she had only put it off for a time, +and she dreaded the evil day. + +Meanwhile, she was glad that he had not spoken to her, for Mary knew +that if she accepted him, she would do so largely, if not altogether, +at the wish of her father. For some reason or other Ned Wilson and he +had become exceedingly friendly, and she believed, although her father +had said nothing definite to her about it, that he favoured Ned's suit. +And she loved her father with a great love, and would not, if she could +help it, do anything to displease him. For Mary belonged to those who +were held fast by old-fashioned views concerning the obedience due from +children to their parents. In this respect she was a child of a past +generation. She had a horror of anything like the modern woman +movement, and did not claim that so-called emancipation by which they +give up their superiority to men, in order to become their equals. + +She determined, too, that she would go away on a long visit to a +friend, giving as an excuse to her father that she was overwrought by +the election and needed a rest. In this way she thought she would, for +a time at all events, postpone the day of decision in relation to the +suit which she knew Ned Wilson was longing to urge. + +In a few days the excitement of the election had calmed down at +Brunford. The jubilation of the victors spent itself, as did the +disappointment of those who were vanquished. Bolitho was elected and +Paul Stepaside didn't get in. And that, for the time being, was the +end of it. + +Meanwhile, Paul went on with his work silently, doggedly. His affairs +were in a critical condition, and he needed all his energy and all his +wits to put everything right. He no longer fought in the dark, +however. He knew who and what had brought about the crisis which had +faced him, and Paul was a man of many resources. For more than a month +he had only been able to give half his mind to his business, and George +Preston, while a trustworthy and reliable fellow, was not strong enough +to face the problems which lay before them. Freed from the demands of +the political contest, however, he threw his whole energies into the +disentanglement of his affairs, and little by little he succeeded. The +prices for the stuff which he had been manufacturing went up again, and +although they had not reached the figures of a few months before, he +was able to sell enough to help him to meet his most pressing +creditors. In three months, matters had assumed their normal +condition. Evidently Ned Wilson regarded him as no longer dangerous, +and was not prepared to lose more money to bring about his revenge. In +addition to this, Paul had worked in a way whereby Wilson had been +deceived. Mind for mind, Wilson was no match for him. He was not so +far-seeing, neither had he so broad a grasp of affairs. He had been +able to gain an immediate advantage because of his large capital, and +Paul knew that Wilson's father was too fond of money to consent to +heavy and continuous losses. At the end of six months Paul's position +was pretty well assured. In spite of everything he had overcome the +evil circumstances, and, more than that, he had even used what seemed a +disaster to the furtherance of his own ends. + +All this time he had not been unmindful of the great quest of his life. +He never forgot, even when the fight was at the highest, the loneliness +of his mother's life and the shadow that rested upon her. Indeed he +had, from the time of his returning from Scotland, made constant and +continuous efforts to discover the man who had blackened her name. All +his efforts, however, were unavailing. Every road seemed to be a +cul-de-sac. Either Douglas Graham had given his mother a false name or +else he had left the country, and thus made it impossible for him to +find him; or he might be dead--it was quite possible. During the lapse +of twenty-five years anything might happen. Still, he had a feeling +that his father was alive, and he owed it to his mother, he owed it to +himself, to penetrate the mystery. Why he should connect Mary Bolitho +with all this he did not know; nevertheless, it was a fact that her +face was never missing from the picture which he drew of the future. +Somehow she was always connected with the efforts he was making. Often +he dreamed of the time when he would be able to get her and say, "My +name is as honourable as yours, as free from stain as yours. I have +found my father." But the months went by and his search was +unavailing, and the questions he was constantly asking were never +answered. + +He had never seen his mother since the day he left her on the Altarnun +Moors. More than once he had suggested that she should come and live +with him, but she had refused. Frequently, too, when writing to her, +he had asked her whether he might come and see her, but she had +persistently opposed this. "No, Paul," she said. "Your coming would +only lead to questions. Here I am allowed to bury my secret in my own +heart, and while my life is lonely enough, I can bear it until the day +when justice is done to me." + +At length, however, Paul could bear it no longer. + + +"MOTHER (he wrote),--I am now what you would call a rich man. I have +more money than I need to spend, and I cannot bear that you should be +living away in that lonely farmhouse. You say you are treated more +like a housekeeper than a servant, more like a member of the family +than a stranger, but that's not enough for me. You are my mother, and, +although I know little of you, I love you dearly. Besides, I am very +lonely. I have but few friends, neither do I wish to make any, but I +want you to come to me, mother. If you can keep house for that farmer, +you can keep house for me. And I want to see you constantly. I want +you by my side. I want you to be here to bid me 'Good-morning' when I +go out to my work and welcome me when I come home at night. I want a +home of my own, and I want my mother to be at the head of it. You must +do this, mother. I have my eye now upon an old-fashioned house just +outside Brunford. It is hidden from the town, and was at one time, I +suppose, owned by a sort of yeoman. It has a large garden, and there +are old trees round it, and that, I can assure you, is something to be +desired here, in a town where there are few gardens and where the trees +grow with difficulty. It will give me joy to furnish this home for +you, mother, and to make your life one of ease. Besides, I want your +help. Ever since I came here, I've been trying to find the man of whom +you spoke to me; I cannot call him 'Father,' even although he is. If +you came, you could help me, and together we could think of means +whereby the truth could be brought to light. Will you, mother? I know +you say you are comfortable as you are, and that you don't wish to be a +burden to me. You would not be a burden, but you would help me to bear +mine, and so I don't ask you to come for your own sake, but for mine. +I am your son, and I am lonely, and I need my mother." + + +Three days later he received his mother's reply: + + +"MY DEAR PAUL (she wrote),--I will come to you. Great fear is in my +heart as I write this, but I can't resist you. You are my own flesh +and blood, and although I have scarcely seen you from a child, you are +the only thing I love. So, Paul, while I do not wish you to spend +money for me, and while I shall be contented with a very little house, +I will come as soon as ever you say you are ready for me." + + +A new interest came into Paul's life directly he had received this +letter, and without hesitating a second he took the house he had +mentioned. It was a wonder the place had been unoccupied for so long, +because it was one of the best specimens of architecture in the +neighbourhood. Perhaps the reason why it had not been taken was that +it did not accord with the prevailing ideas in relation to houses. Of +course, it was too large for an operative to think of taking, and as +for the ordinary prosperous business man, he loved a more showy house, +with plate-glass windows and high ceilings. This house had been built +before Brunford became a manufacturing town, and was looked upon as +utterly inconvenient and lacking in those characteristics which the +prosperous Lancashire man loves. It was low ceiled; it looked somewhat +dark. Its windows were stone-mullioned, and instead of great +plate-glass windows it had small diamond-leaded lights. And so Paul +was able to get it at a comparatively nominal rent, especially as the +place was in shocking repair. In a few weeks, however, a +transformation had been wrought. The building had been thoroughly +overhauled, and by the wise expenditure of a comparatively small amount +of money, modern conveniences had been installed. The old oak floors +had been thoroughly cleaned, the walls distempered; the roof and +windows repaired, and the sanitation made perfect. Paul took a +wondrous delight in doing this. Each evening, when the day's work was +over, he hastened to it, and rejoiced in the new beauties which the old +place was constantly revealing. All the woodwork was of oak, and the +old staircase, with its quaintly carved banisters and newels, the +oak-panelled walls, which the last tenant had allowed to become dirty +and damaged, appealed to his artistic nature. He loved the great oak +beams which stretched across the ceilings, and rejoiced in the quaint +nooks which were a characteristic of the old building. The furnishing, +too, brought him constant pleasure. There happened to be a man in the +town who dealt in antique furniture, and he also manufactured new +furniture from old models. Why, Paul did not know, but since he had +been in the habit of visiting wealthy men's residences, he had taken a +great dislike to the bright, showy and costly, though very substantial, +furniture which he saw. It had newness written everywhere, and +utilitarianism and wealth seemed to be the great things to proclaim. +But in this old dealer's warehouse he was able to resurrect things +which had been bought from old manor houses, and which the Brunford +people regarded as rubbish. These articles, when cleaned and repaired +according to their original design, rejoiced him greatly. So that +when, a few weeks after he had written to his mother, he saw them +placed in his house, he felt for the first time that he had a home. +One room especially attracted him--the room he meant to be sacred to +his mother and to himself. Two-thirds of the wall space was covered +with bookcases, while on the rest he hung some very good pictures. All +these bookcases, as well as the chairs and writing-desk, made him think +of the days of rest and comfort before Brunford became a scene of rush +and turmoil. He pictured his mother seated by the fire, while he, +after his day's work was over, would sit by her side with a pipe and a +book. If he could not find his father, he could, at least, give his +mother a home, and he vowed that he would make her happy. She was only +a young woman even yet. It is true she looked careworn and sad when he +had seen her on that day when she had told him her story, but he would +smooth the lines from her face, and by his love and devotion would +bring joy to her heart. He vowed, too, that Brunford should recall the +words which had been uttered about her, and that the best people in the +town should pay their respects to her. The time was now summer, and +although it is hard to make a garden beautiful, even while two miles +away from the grime and smoke of the town, he had done all that was +possible in that direction. + +"She will be here to-morrow night," he said to himself, as one evening +he wandered from room to room. "This is her bedroom," he thought. "I +hope she'll find everything comfortable. Yes, I believe she'll be +happy here. It will ease her aching heart as I come to kiss her +good-night, and my bedroom is close by, and she'll always know that I'm +near. And then there is the kitchen, too. I must take care that +everything is right there. I wonder whether she will like the servant +I have got for her. At any rate, she will be able to set that right +herself, if it is not right now, and I have money enough to give her +every comfort. I was lucky to get such a dear old house, and she shall +enjoy it; at least, I owe her that." And then, as her picture came +before him as he had seen her that night when she had bidden him +good-bye, the tears came into his eyes and his lips trembled. All the +next day he was strangely excited, and George Preston declared that he +had never known him so careless about business. "People are finely +talking about your taking that house!" he said. "Some are saying +you're going to get wed! Why have you been so close about it? And +what makes you spend all that brass?" + +"My mother is coming to live with me," said Paul; "coming to-day." + +"You don't mean it!" said the other. "Why, you looked as though you +might be expecting your sweetheart!" + +"I am," replied Paul with a laugh. And, indeed, he felt as though he +were; for Paul was more happy than he had ever known himself to be +before. The clouds somehow seemed to have lifted, and brightness came +into his heart in spite of himself. + +"She'll be very tired," he reflected, as that night he wended his way +to the station. "She will have been travelling all day. She left +Launceston early this morning, and it will have been a rush for her." +So he was careful to engage a cab some time before the train was due, +and then walked up and down the station with a fast-beating heart. +Yes, life was becoming new to him in, a way that he could not +understand. He felt less bitter towards the world, less bitter towards +Mr. Bolitho, less angry at what had happened to him. The six months in +Strangeways Gaol seemed but a horrible dream. The struggles of the +past were far behind. He, while yet but a youth, had succeeded beyond +all expectations, and, added to all this, his mother was coming to live +with him; and for the first time in his life he would have a home! + +No youth waiting for his sweetheart was ever more impatient than Paul. +He was angry that the train was late, and wondered why the porters +could be so indifferent about it. He had all sorts of fears, too, +concerning his mother's welfare. Had she been able to catch the +connection at Bristol and Manchester? Had some accident happened? +Presently the signal fell, and a little later the train swept into the +station. There were but few people present, because it was late, and +it happened to be a wet day. Eagerly he looked at the carriage +windows, and then suddenly he felt as though his heart were too great +for his bosom. He saw a lonely, tired-looking woman step from the +carriage and look expectantly round. "Mother!" he cried. "My dear, +dear mother!" And then the sad-eyed, weary woman laid her head on his +broad shoulder and sobbed for very joy. + +A little later Paul and his mother were riding through the now silent +streets of Brunford towards his new home. A strange feeling possessed +his heart, for while he knew that the woman who sat by his side was his +mother, she was a stranger to him. His heart had gone out to her with +a great rush of pity and love when she first stepped from the train, +but now that they were alone in the darkness it seemed as though his +lips were sealed. He had nothing to say to her, and she, wellnigh +overcome by her long, weary journey and her new experiences, seemed +almost afraid. This was no wonder, for the situation was strange. She +had left her boy at the workhouse when he was but an infant in arms. +It had almost broken her heart to do this, but she felt that for Paul's +sake it would be better for her to go away, better that he should not +know of the sadness of his mother's life. And for seventeen years she +had kept away from him. It is true she had made inquiries concerning +his life at St. Mabyn, but very little more. Paul had grown up with +the idea that he was fatherless and motherless, or even if that were +not the case he knew nothing about either of them. Then, presently, +when the time came for her to tell him the miserable story of the past, +she had written asking him to meet her on the lonely moors, and after +that she had gone away again in silence. So they were strangers to +each other, even although the ties that bound them were so strong that +only death could break them. The woman was almost startled when, +stepping from the train, she saw the tall, well-dressed fellow rushing +towards her. But her heart had claimed her son, and for the moment +that was enough. Now, however, that they were alone in the cab, +everything seemed in darkness again. She could not recall a feature of +her boy's face. He might be an absolute stranger to her. Ere long the +cab drew up to the door of a house, and when once ushered into bright +and cheerful surroundings everything became changed. For the moment +she did not pay any attention to the room, she looked only at him. She +put her hands upon his shoulders and scanned his face, feature by +feature. Her own face was a study as she did this. She seemed to be +looking for something in him. She might be trying to read his heart. +Her own eyes almost grew young again as she looked, and her lips were +tremulous with a great emotion. + +"My mother's a beautiful woman," said Paul to himself. "She looks +terribly sad under the great sorrow in her life, but when she's happy, +as I will make her happy, I shall be proud of her." + +But for a time neither of them spoke. Each seemed to be trying to +realise the situation, trying to understand that they were mother and +son. At length the woman spoke. + +"Thank God," she said. "You are nothing like him! You are my +child--black hair, black eyes, dark-skinned, strong, resolute. No, you +are nothing like him. You are my laddie, all mine! Kiss me again, my +boy!" + +Paul, nothing loth, enfolded her in his arms as a lover might his lass. +"I have tried to make things nice for you, mother. How do you like the +house?" he said at length. + +She looked round the room and her eyes were full of wonder. "Why, +Paul," she said, "this is a gentleman's house!" + +"Of course," he said. "Come, let me show you the other rooms. And +then the maid shall take you up to your own room. I am sure you must +want something to eat badly." + +He led her around the house, his heart full of pride. It was easy to +see she was pleased, easy to see that she wondered at all the luxuries +he had provided for her. + +"Are you sure you ought to have done this, Paul?" she said at length. + +"Why, mother?" + +"Why, these things must have cost you such a lot of money. I don't +need them. I have lived in poverty all my life, and you're making a +lady of me!" + +"Of course I am, mother!" And he laughed a glad laugh. "Of course I +am! Everyone in the town shall respect and love you." + +"And you've done all this for me?" + +"All because I wanted to see you with me, mother. All because I wanted +you to be happy. I've only you and you've only me. And don't fear +about the money. In spite of everything I've been very successful, and +I can afford all I've bought, aye, and more. I've only got one servant +for you, mother, but, of course, you'll want others. Only I didn't +know how to choose them, and I thought you might like to do it +yourself." + +"I want no servants, Paul!" she said. "I want to do everything for you +with my own hands. I want to cook for you, and scrub for you, and wash +for you, and live for you!" + +"Yes, mother. But I don't wish to make you a slave, and so, whatever +you say, you must have help to do all the hard work. I am going to +make you very happy here. Do you like the house?" + +"Like it!" she replied. "It's a paradise, my boy! Just a paradise!" + +He called the servant to him, and told her to take his mother to her +room, and then to have the evening meal ready. + +A little later they sat in the dining-room, and for the first time Paul +broke down. He was not an emotional man, nor one who gave way to +weakness, but when he sat there in his own house with his mother by his +side, and realised that they would be able to live together, that he +would have a companion for the lonely evenings, and that he would be +able to brighten his mother's life, the great deeps of his nature were +aroused. It seemed to him as though something, which had been long +dead in his being, had burst forth into life. + +"I'm too happy to eat!" she said at length. "I will put away these +things and then we can talk." + +"Oh, no, mother," he said. "You're tired, and the maid is here for the +purpose of doing that. Come into our little snuggery here." And he +led the way into the room on which he had bestowed so much thought. + +"Paul, my boy," she sobbed. "I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you! Aye, +even although I cursed the day that you were born, and cursed God in +the bitterness of my heart for the sorrow that came upon me, I'm proud +of you! You are my own laddie! And now tell me everything, my lad!" + +"No, mother, you're too tired and my story will take a long time!" + +"No, I'm not tired," she said. "I feel as though I should never be +tired again. It's all so wonderful--this beautiful home, given to me +by my son! Oh, my lad, my lad!" + +They sat down side by side, Paul holding his mother's hand in his. +"To-morrow," he thought, "or as soon as she is well enough, I'll take +her to Manchester, and she shall have the best clothes that money can +buy! And when she's dressed as she ought to be, she will look young +and handsome!" + +And so, as they sat alone, he told the story of the past few years. +Told of his struggles, of his fightings, and of his failures and +successes, and how, little by little, he had obtained an education. +Then he described the strike in the town, and the trial which ended in +his imprisonment, and of his homecoming and his business life, and then +of the election. + +"But you'll win yet, Paul!" And her eyes flashed eagerly as she spoke. +"My boy, you'll win yet!" + +"Yes, I believe I shall win yet," he said. "Ay, I will, I must!" + +"And what kind of a man is this Bolitho?" she asked. And Paul told +her. He described the long duel he had had, and how up to the present +Mr. Bolitho was the victor. + +"And he's the Member of Parliament now?" said his mother. + +"Yes," he replied. "He's Member of Parliament now." + +"But never mind," was her reply. "It's coming, Paul. It's coming!" +And then, looking straight into his eyes, she said, "You've not told me +all yet, my lad." + +"What can there be more to tell?" he said. + +"Ay, Paul. I'm a woman, I'm a woman, and I know how laddies feel. +There's a lass somewhere. Tell me about her. Nay, I'm not jealous. I +know it must be so, it ought to be so, because each lad must have his +lass. Only tell me about her!" + +"It's a poor story, mother," he said. "And I think I hate my lassie as +much as I love her. And I've scarcely ever spoken to her. Besides----" + +"Besides what, Paul?" + +"Well, you see," he replied, "she's the daughter of Mr. Bolitho, the +man who's worsted me in everything. It was he who sent me to +Strangeways Gaol. It was he who blackened my name. It was he who beat +me in the fight! And I love her and hate her at the same time!" + +There was a silence for some time and Paul saw that her face was dark +with anger. + +"And have you ever spoken to her?" she asked. "Does she know what you +feel? Forgive me for asking, Paul, but I've been thinking about all +these things through the years, and wondering about them down there in +the lonely farm. For I've had scarcely anyone to speak to. My one +thought and my one comfort has been you! And I've said to myself, +'He's a young man now, and, like all young men, he'll love his lass.' +I'm your mother, Paul, and I think I can see into your heart. Have you +ever spoken to her?" + +It seemed as though all the barriers of the past were broken down. He +had thought never to mention his secret to anyone, and yet he found +himself speaking freely. + +"Scarcely, mother," he said. And then he told her of the times they +had met, and of what he had said and what she had said. He told her, +too, of the rumours concerning Ned Wilson, and of his hopes to make her +his wife. + +"And he's your enemy, too?" + +Paul nodded, and his eyes became dark with anger as he thought of the +past. + +"Paul," she said at length. "I live only for you now, only for you! +Your enemies are my enemies; your friends are my friends! Those you +love, I love; and those you hate, I hate! Whether you're right or +whether you're wrong, my laddie, I love you!" + +"Who ever I love, mother," he said, "it makes no difference between me +and you, and my home must ever be yours." + +"Ay, I dinna ken about that," she replied, lapsing into the speech of +her girlhood. "But that doesna matter. Paul, I must see thy lass. +You must find out when next she comes to Brunford, and I must see her. +And you shall have her, too; whatever stands in the way must be +removed!" + +A little later he kissed her good-night at her bedroom door, and her +words seemed to him like a prophecy. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS + +For the next few weeks Paul's life was utterly changed. The coming of +his mother had wrought a transformation, and in a very real sense old +things had passed away, and all things had become new. Each morning he +went to his work with a glad heart, and when the time for returning +came he looked forward to meeting her with a joy unknown to him before. +He had insisted on taking her to Manchester, and, in spite of many +protests, had bought her what she called finery only fit for a lass. +But Paul had taken a peculiar pleasure in this. He loved to see her +eyes sparkle at some unexpected act of kindness on his part, and as day +by day passed away and he marked the improvement in her looks, saw the +lines of care wiped out and an expression of contentment come on her +face, more genial feelings filled his life. As he repeated to himself +often, "I have a home and a mother now," and the fact made even the +dirty town in which he lived seem like a paradise. He was glad, too, +to take business friends to his new home, and noticed with the keenest +pleasure that they regarded his mother with cordiality and respect. So +great was the change that came over him that for a time he grew +careless about discovering the man who had caused such a dark shadow to +fall upon her life long years before. It seemed for a time as though +the past were obliterated, and that he had begun a new chapter of his +life. His business prospered, and all anxiety in that direction seemed +to be removed far from him. + +In spite of all this, however, there was still a dull ache in his +heart, a feeling that something was wanting in his life. He had not +forgotten Mary Bolitho. He knew he never should. Never since the day +after the election had he seen her in Brunford, and he often wondered +what this might mean. Whether Ned Wilson ever saw her or not he had no +idea, but, from the fact that Ned was often away from home, he feared +that such was the case. Never, since he had discovered who was +responsible for the circular issued at the time of the election, had he +made any remarks about it. It was never referred to even between +himself and his partner. Paul remembered it, however, and there were +those in the town who, when they learnt the truth, said one to another, +"Ay, Stepaside will pay Wilson out for that! He's noan the chap to let +a thing like that bide!" + +Mr. Bolitho himself had visited the town only once since the election. +He had on this occasion accompanied a Cabinet Minister, who spoke on +the political situation, in the biggest hall in the town--but Paul had +not gone to hear him. He heard that the new Member was not accompanied +by his daughter, and then all interest in his visit had ceased. And so +the months passed away, until more than a year had elapsed since the +counting of the votes in the Town Hall. + +Meanwhile, Paul constantly appeared in the town with his mother, and to +his delight she received invitations from some of the most important +people in Brunford. Not that she accepted these invitations, but +Paul's joy was very great, nevertheless, because he saw it gave her +satisfaction, and because he felt that it eased the burden of her life. + +To Ned Wilson he never spoke. They met in various ways and at various +places, but they ignored each other completely. This was naturally +remarked upon by the people in the town, and many prophesied that the +time would come when an open rupture would take place between these two +men. + +"You see," said one old weaver, when the matter was being discussed, +"Paul's noan religious. He believes i' nowt--not but what he's a good +lad, but his heart is closed to faith. He has no anchor anywhere, and +when a man has noan of the grace of God in his heart he's hard. +Onything may happen." + +The autumn that his mother came he was invited to stand as a councillor +for one of the wards in the borough. But this he declined. He was +glad he had received this invitation, because it gave his mother joy, +but the memory of his failure during the political contest still +remained with him. He felt he could not be satisfied with the lesser +when he had been refused the greater. + +"No, mother," he said when he told her what had happened. "I'm not +going to do this. I mean to be Member for Brunford, and if I take on +this work it would stand in my way." + +"You've never forgotten that lass, Paul?" said his mother. + +"No, and I never shall!" + +"You're not much of a lover," she said, looking towards him with a +wistful smile. + +"What do you mean, mother?" + +"I mean," she said, "that if I were a lad and had made up my mind to +win a lass, I would do it. I wouldn't stay away from her! If you love +her, Paul, tell her so. She'll think none the less of you!" + +"How can I?" he asked. "I don't know where she lives." + +"And have never taken the trouble to find out!" was his mother's +retort. "I tell you, my boy, no lass that ever lived thinks more of a +lad for staying in the background. You don't know what Wilson's doing!" + +"No," replied Paul. "But I do not think she has promised him anything; +in fact, I am sure she has not. I saw him only to-day, and if she had +promised him, he would not look as he did look! All the same, I feel +as though my lips were sealed, mother! If I went to her now she would +scorn me, and I couldn't bear that. No, I must wait my time, and when +that time comes neither Wilson nor anyone else shall stand in my way!" + +"If she could see you two together," replied his mother fondly, +"there's not the slightest doubt as to which she would choose!" + +"Nonsense, mother!" said Paul with a laugh, and yet her words cheered +him in spite of himself. + +"I'm not so old, my boy, but what I know what a lass feels, and what +she likes!" + +"I'm nobody yet," said Paul. "I'm only just a beginner, and Wilson is +one of the richest men in Brunford." + +"If she is worth having, Paul, she won't think so much about that! I +went to the kirk last Sunday where Wilson goes, and I saw him. I tell +you he is not one that a lass would take to if she knew you cared for +her. But if you don't speak, well, there----" + +"I hear she's coming to Brunford soon," said Paul presently. + +His mother looked up eagerly. "Coming to Brunford?" she asked. + +"Yes," replied Paul. "She's coming on a visit to the Wilsons'. My +partner, George Preston, told me. It seems that his mother's servant +is friendly with one of the maids up at Howden Clough. That's how he +got to know." + +The mother looked at her son for a few seconds with a strange +expression in her eyes. It was easy to see how she loved him, and how +her heart went out in strong desire to bring him happiness. She did +not seem at all jealous that he should love anyone beside her, her one +thought seemed to be how to bring him joy. + +"You must meet her, Paul!" she said. "You must meet her!" + +"Ay, that's very likely," he laughed bitterly. "But what's the good? +She would never think of me, I am nameless!" + +He was sorry the moment he had spoken, for he knew he had not only +wounded his mother, he had aroused in her heart feelings which he had +hoped were dying out. + +"You have heard nothing more?" she said, and her voice was hard and +almost hoarse. + +"No, mother," he replied. "I seem to be met by a blank wall +everywhere. I have made every inquiry in my power, and, as I told you, +I went to Scotland in the hope that I should be able to get at the +truth, but I learnt nothing--nothing! If he's alive he's somewhere in +hiding; he's afraid of what will take place--because the marriage is +clear enough, at least, in my mind." + +"But in the eyes of the law, Paul?" she asked eagerly. + +"Ay, even in the eyes of the law," he replied. "If I could find him, I +could face him with what you both wrote in that book in the old inn. +Both the man and the woman are still alive, and they had no doubt about +it. But I cannot find him. I've tried, and, as these Lancashire +people say, 'better tried.' I sometimes think we'll have to give it +up!" + +The woman rose to her feet and came towards him like one in anger. +"Paul," she said, "never hint at such a thing again. For myself it +doesn't matter. Everyone here calls me Mrs. Stepaside, and there are +but few who ask questions about my marriage, although I know it's been +talked about. But there is you to consider. Stepaside is not your +real name. It is the name of a hamlet, the place where I fell down, +thinking and hoping and almost praying that I should die. It's a name +of disgrace. It was given to you because the workhouse master could +think of nothing else. And I should never rest in my grave thinking +that you did not possess your rights! We must find him, Paul. We must +make him do you justice, ay, and make him suffer, too, as I have +suffered!" + +"Have you not forgotten or forgiven yet?" he asked, almost startled by +the look on his mother's face. + +"Forgotten, forgiven!" And it did not seem to be like her voice at +all. "Never, while I have a brain to think or a heart to feel! +Forgiven! As I said, for myself it does not matter, although for many +a month I was in hell! But I can never forget the injury he has done +to you--you who were branded in the village where you were reared as a +come-by-chance child, a workhouse brat, reared, upon the rates, a +burden to the parish! Can I forgive that, while perhaps he--he may +have married again." + +"Perhaps he did not," said Paul. "Perhaps he sent that man to your old +home to inquire because, after all, he was caring for you!" + +"What's that?" cried the woman angrily. "To send to inquire! Did he +follow the steps I took? If he cared for me, if he were faithful to +his promise, he would have traced me to Cornwall. He would never give +up seeking for me until he had found me or discovered the truth about +me. No, Paul, we must make him pay for it, we must! And don't ever +hint about giving it up again. I've had a feeling lately that I'm +going to find him, and when I do--when I do----" + +And Paul saw that his mother's eyes burned red. She seemed to have +lost control over herself entirely. "I have plans even now," she went +on presently. + +"What plans?" he asked. + +"I am not going to tell you," she replied. "But I've not been thinking +all these years for nothing! Directly you wrote me the account of +your visit to Scotland it all came back to me again. I've been +thinking it over week after week and month after month. And I have a +feeling that I shall find him. I must, for your sake, Paul! You love +that lass, and you must marry her. I know that you are dreaming of her +night and day. I know that you'll never be happy without her!" + +He opened his mouth as if to contradict her, but could not. The woman +had spoken the truth. Proud and self-contained as he was, he knew that +nothing would ever satisfy him until he had won her love. And yet how +could he? What chance was there? + +"If she comes to Brunford, as you say, Paul, I am going to see her!" +went on his mother. "I shall know if she's worthy of you, and if she +is, you needn't fear, Paul--trust a woman! I'll bring you together +somehow!" + +"I have been thinking it over," he replied. "Months agone I made a vow +that I would compel her to love me. People in Brunford say that I'm +the kind of man who gets his way, and I vowed that by sheer strength I +would conquer her, but I know it won't do now! I remember the look in +her eyes when last we met. She's not the kind of woman whose love can +be forced!" + +"No woman's love can be forced," replied his mother. "It must always +be won! Still, a lass loves a strong man and despises a weakling. +Trust to me, Paul, trust to me!" + +"I'll trust to myself, too," he said grimly. "But you're right, +mother. I want a name to offer her, not only the name I've made, but +the name I've inherited--or ought to inherit--and when I've got that, +neither Ned Wilson nor any other man shall stand in my way!" + +A few days later Paul entered the Mechanics' Institute, and, standing +in the entrance hall, he saw a number of men he knew. One of them was +young Wilson. Paul was about to pass into the reading-room, without +speaking, when one of them called to him. "Ay, Stepaside," he said, +"hast a' heard the news?" + +"What news?" + +"It seems that we may have another election on us," replied the man. + +"Another election! What kind of an election?" + +"Why, Parliamentary, of course. There are rumours that they are going +to make a judge of Bolitho, and if they do, he'll have to resign his +seat. A judge, you know, is supposed to be non-political. So it seems +as though there'll be another fight. What do you feel about it?" + +"I must know if the gossip is true first," replied Paul. + +"There's not so much doubt about it," replied the other. "Ned Wilson +here is bound to be in the know. Perhaps," added the man with a laugh, +"Ned'll sign your nomination papers!" + +"Or send out a circular without signing it!" said Paul. And everyone +laughed as he spoke, because it was fully known what he meant. + +"My dear fellow," retorted Wilson, "what you and your party do is +nothing to me! If there is another election I shall have nothing to do +with it. I am as fond of a fight as any man, and under certain +circumstances I would even fight a man of your calibre, but there is no +necessity for it now!" + +Paul's face was pale to the lips. He hated a scene, hated the thought +that his private affairs were being discussed in such a place. He +could not help feeling that there was something vulgar about it all, +and he in a moment of forgetfulness had yielded to what, had he been +calmer, he would have resisted to the utmost. Still, his anger was +aroused, and he saw that those who stood around were enjoying the +situation. + +"That's a matter of opinion," he replied. "At any rate, my name has +never been associated with sending out a lying circular. And I have +never been ashamed to put my name to any document I wrote! I never +hired a barrister to tell lies about anyone, and I never stabbed a man +in the back!" + +"What do you mean?" asked Wilson. "Why should I stab a man in the +back?" + +"Because you're afraid to meet him face to face!" + +"By God! you shall pay for that," said Wilson, and his voice quivered +with rage. + +It was the first time Paul had spoken to Wilson for many a long day. +As we have said, he had, ever since the election especially, refrained +from having any intercourse with him, and he would have given anything +to have recalled the words he had uttered. He had fought with the +weapons of a clown. He had bandied words with a man who was openly his +enemy, and he felt ashamed of himself. Still, nothing could be done +now, and, on the whole, he did not think he had had the worst of the +encounter. All the same, he knew that if Wilson had hated him before, +he hated him more now. And he was sure that if he were able to harm +him in any way, he would stop at nothing to carry out his purposes. As +to Paul's financial position, he did not so much fear. He was on safer +ground now, and was able to meet any ordinary difficulty; but there +were other things. He wondered whether Wilson ever guessed the secret +of his heart, wondered whether he knew that he was a would-be rival. +That Wilson was enamoured of Mary Bolitho was universally believed, but +whether she in any way returned his affection no one was able to guess. + +A fortnight later that which had been rumoured concerning Mr. Bolitho's +resignation actually took place. He had been made a judge, and, as a +consequence, could no longer remain Member for Brunford. The result of +it was that the deputation who had come to Paul before, again made +their appeal to him. + +"Paul," said old Abel Bowyer, "now is thy chance. Thou'lt be Member +for Brunford after all. Thou art noan a Lancashire lad, but we're +proud on thee all the same. Thou hast made thy money in Brunford, and +all thy interests are here, and while I don't agree with you in all +your views, you're our lad! Thou mun go to Parliament. Wilt a' fight?" + +"Yes," said Paul, "I will. But who have I got to fight against?" + +"I don't know yet, but that'll noan matter. If you had been treated +fairly last time you'd have got in, and this time there'll be no doubt +about it. I'm not sure but what it'll be the better for thee, too. +Thou'lt be the talk of the country. At a General Election individuals +are noan taken notice of. It's just a fight for the party, and when +every borough has its election, particular cases are taken no notice +of. But at by-elections the chap that gets in makes a bit of a stir. +Anyhow, we can set to work." + +"Yes," said Paul. "We must set to work, and we must arrange our +committees right away." + +"I hear," went on old Abel, "that Bolitho's coming here to say +'Good-bye' to us. You see, he's noan taken on the job of judge yet, +and until he does he'll be free to speak for his party. So I'm told +that he's just coming to pay us a last visit, in order to advise the +people to accept a sort of nominee of his as his successor. 'Appen +thou'lt see him then." + +During the last few weeks Paul had been expecting to hear that Mary +Bolitho had come to pay her promised visit to Howden Clough, but no +news of her had arrived. Presently, however, gossip had it that both +the new-made judge and his daughter were to be guests at Howden Clough +when his opponent made his first appearance. A few days later huge +placards were posted over the town to the effect that the Honourable +Stephen Boston would speak in the Industrial Hall, and that the chair +would be taken by Mr. Bolitho. + +"Would you like to go and hear him?" asked Paul of his mother. + +"Hear who?" she asked. + +"Why, the man who beat me at the last election," said Paul. "You see, +he's coming to take the chair for the new candidate." + +"No," she replied. "I've no interest in him. I should like to see +her, though." + +"I am afraid there's no chance of that," said Paul. "Unless you happen +to be in town when she's driving round." + +"I'll see her somehow. And, my boy, I'll bring you both together!" +And there was a far-away look in her eyes. + +On the afternoon of the meeting Paul was at the railway station when +the train from Manchester came in, and as he watched the passengers +alight his heart throbbed violently, for, descending from the train, he +saw not only Mr. Bolitho, but Mary, accompanied by a young fellow who, +he judged, would be the Honourable Stephen Boston. + +"Oh, Stepaside," said Mr. Bolitho, going up to him with outstretched +hand, as though nothing but pleasantries had ever passed between them, +"I'm glad to see you. Of course, you know what's happened?" + +"Yes," said Paul. "I suppose I ought to congratulate you!" The words +were curtly spoken, and Bolitho was not slow to recognise his tone's, +but he decided to take no notice of it. + +"I hear you're to be the candidate on the other side again," he went +on. "Allow me to introduce to you your opponent. I am sure you'll +have a good, honest, straight fight!" + +"I hope so," said Paul quietly, at the same time holding out his hand +to Mr. Boston. + +"We shall not fight on equal terms, I am afraid," said the young man +with a laugh; "that is"--and he corrected himself--"I shall be +altogether at a disadvantage. You know these people, and I don't. I +am afraid, too, that many of them regard the land-owning class with +disfavour; still I'll put up the best fight I'm able, and I am sure we +shall have a jolly good time! I am glad to meet you, Mr. Stepaside, +and I hope, whatever the result of the election is, we shall part good +friends." + +"It shall not be my fault if we do not," said Paul heartily. "But I +warn you that I'm going to beat you!" And he laughed almost merrily. + +"Well, you know what Randolph Churchill used to say about an Englishman +who could not stand a licking!" laughed the other. "And if I'm licked +I hope I shall take it in good part. But I don't mean to be. I am +trying to persuade Miss Bolitho here to canvass for me as she did for +her father!" + +"And will you?" asked Paul, turning towards her. + +"Would you be very angry with me if I did?" she asked laughingly. + +"No," said Paul. "But I'd give a great deal to have you on my side!" + +"If you had," said Boston pleasantly, "I should stand no chance at all. +But if she works for me she will more than counterbalance the fact that +I am a stranger to the town. Well, we must be going, Bolitho. Of +course, Wilson is not expecting us by this train, or no doubt he would +have been here to meet us. But as I have to get back to Manchester +to-night, we must say what we have to say to him at once. Good +afternoon, Mr. Stepaside. I have no doubt we shall meet often during +the next few weeks." + +"Of course, I can't wish you luck, Stepaside," said Mr. Bolitho +cordially. "You see, you're on the other side. All the same, as far +as you and I are concerned, we have decided to let bygones be bygones, +haven't we?" + +But Paul did not speak. He would have given anything to have spoken to +Mr. Bolitho in the same spirit in which he had spoken, but for the life +of him he could not. A weight seemed to be upon his tongue. + +"Perhaps we shall also meet again," he said, turning to Mary Bolitho. +"Do you know, I sometimes think you do not understand me! And I should +like to have half an hour's chat with you. It might alter your views +concerning me and the class I represent." He spoke almost humbly, and +even her father did not resent his words. Ordinarily he would probably +have been angry that a man of Paul's status should have dared to have +spoken to his daughter in such a fashion--now there seemed nothing +wrong in it. + +"I should love to," laughed the girl. "Perhaps you do not understand +my father either. I am sure I could convince you that he's right!" +And with a pleasant smile she left him alone on the platform. + +Only a few words had passed between them, and if an outsider had been +listening to them, he would have regarded them as of no import +whatever, but Paul felt that they had changed everything. In a way he +could not understand, the old antagonism had gone, and, stranger to her +as he still was, it seemed to him that a bond of sympathy had been +formed. On previous occasions when he had met her it had seemed to him +as though he were meeting an enemy, even although she had filled the +whole of his horizon. But now the very atmosphere was changed, and he +was sure that when they met again he could make her understand him, and +that they would be able to speak on equal terms. + +When he returned home that night his mother wondered why his eyes were +so bright and his voice so cheerful. + +"Have you heard good news, my boy?" she asked. + +"I feel that I'm going to win, mother," was his reply, and his words +meant a great deal more to him than to her. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE NEW MEMBER FOR BRUNFORD + +The day following the meeting at the railway station Paul saw Miss +Bolitho in the streets of Brunford and to his delight she greeted him +with a frank smile. + +"Have you begun your work of canvassing?" he said, with a laugh. + +"Not yet," she replied. "Indeed, I doubt whether I shall take any part +in this contest. I have been engaged in a far more feminine +occupation!" + +"Shopping?" asked Paul. + +She laughed in assent. "But I've finished now," she said. "I am just +returning to Howden Clough." + +"Are you staying in Brunford long?" + +"No, I leave to-morrow." + +"May I walk back with you?" he asked, wondering at his own temerity. +They went together some little distance without Paul speaking a word. +He felt he had much to say to her, and yet, now that the opportunity +had come, he was speechless. He noticed, too, that the people in the +street were watching them, and doubtless many were commenting on the +fact that he, who had no reason to be friendly with Mr. Bolitho, should +be walking with his daughter. Once or twice he looked shyly towards +her, and could not help thinking how utterly different she was from the +girls of her own age who lived in Brunford. She seemed to have no +connection with the town at all. Everything there was smoky and grimy +and harsh. She seemed more like a country girl than a denizen of a +town or city. Sometimes, when he had watched people in the market +square selling violets, the incongruity had struck him. The violets +brought in fresh from the country seemed utterly out of place in the +grimy hands of these Northern people. As he looked at the young girl +by his side he could not help thinking of the violets. + +"I want to apologise to you," he said at length. "I was rude to you +when I met you in the fields near Howden Clough, and I've been angry +with myself ever since. It is very good of you to forgive me. I don't +deserve it." + +For the first time Mary Bolitho realised what she was doing. In a +moment of thoughtlessness she had yielded to his suggestion that he +should walk to Howden Clough with her, and she felt angry with herself. +Had anyone told her that morning that she would have allowed him to +walk by her side through the public street she would have laughed at +the idea. It is true she had been interested in him ever since she had +first seen him. There was something masterful in his presence. His +political campaign had been marked by incidents which appealed to her +imagination, and she felt she could never forget the look on his face +when he had flung out his defiance to her father on the day of the +election. She felt there was something morose and sullen, if not +savage, in his nature, and even while she spoke pleasantly to him in +her father's presence, the thought of being alone with him in such a +way would have been deemed impossible. Directly he had suggested +walking home with her, however, she felt she must fall in with his +desire. There was something in him that interested her and almost +mastered her. + +"You thought I was rude, didn't you?" he continued. "Well, I +apologise, humbly and sincerely. But perhaps there was some excuse for +me. Your father treated me badly, and, naturally, I associated you +with him." + +"You mistake my father," she said. "He would never treat anyone badly." + +"He was unjust to me," said Paul. "I know that barristers are supposed +to do their best for their employers, but through him I suffered unjust +imprisonment. He did not try to arrive at the truth. He only tried to +win his case, and, in so doing, he stopped at nothing to make it hard +for me. I am thinking now of that riot trouble. Of course, you heard +that I was innocent of the affair?" + +"Yes, I have," she replied. "I am very sorry. But surely you +understand my father's position?" + +"I can never understand injustice," he replied. "Still, it was not +your fault, and I acted to you like a brute. Besides all that, you +were a friend of the Wilsons, and Ned Wilson hates me." + +"Why should he hate you?" asked the girl. + +"I will not tell you that," replied Paul. "That would be stabbing a +man in the back, and I will not be guilty of that. Anyhow, years ago, +I incurred Ned Wilson's enmity by telling him certain home truths. He +has never forgiven me. But for the stories he set afloat and his +action towards me I should have won the last election. All this made +me bitter towards you." + +"I wonder," she replied, "if you feel so angry towards me, that you +should care to make these explanations." And she did not understand at +all why she spoke. They were some little distance from the roar of the +traffic now, and could hear each other plainly. + +"I want you to think well of me," he said. + +"Why should you?" she asked. + +"I cannot tell you now," replied Paul. "But some day I should like to. +You wish me good luck in this fight, don't you?" + +"How can I," she asked, "when I look at things so differently? I think +I admire your pluck, and if I were in your place I should be proud of +the influence you have over the working-men; but, then, I think your +policy is a dangerous one." + +"Let me explain that to you," he replied eagerly. "I think you do not +understand how the working classes feel, and I, even although my father +did not belong to that class, I--well, I have been a working-man. And +there is a shadow over my name, too, and over my mother's life. I +should like to tell you about that." + +"Really, Mr. Stepaside, I have no right to hear." + +"But I want you to," he urged, and his voice was tremulous. "You +really do not know, Miss Bolitho, all I have been thinking, and how I +long for you to know the truth. You must know it, too. You have had +harsh thoughts about me. Yes, you have been unjust to me, and it's my +right that you should know the truth. I wish you knew my mother, too. +If you did----" + +His speech was here broken off by the advent of Ned Wilson, who came +from a side street. He seemed utterly surprised at seeing her and Paul +together, but, without taking any notice of Paul, he exclaimed, "Oh, +this is luck, Miss Bolitho! I am just returning home, and I shall have +the pleasure of walking back with you. Or, if you like, we will go +back to the mill together. There's a conveyance there." + +"No, thank you," she replied. "I'd rather walk. Good-afternoon, Mr. +Stepaside. I hope you will--that is----" And then, without finishing +her sentence, she walked away by Ned Wilson's side, leaving Paul alone. + +"Well, of all the impudence!" said Wilson angrily. His tone did not +please the girl. She was vexed with herself for allowing Paul to +accompany her, especially as she did not know why she should have done +such an unprecedented thing, but she resented Wilson's remark, +nevertheless. It seemed to suggest proprietorship. + +"How in the world did you allow him to walk with you? Really, Miss +Bolitho, I cannot allow it!" And his voice was hot with anger. + +"I am afraid I do not understand!" And Wilson saw that he had gone too +far. + +"I mean, you do not know him. He's a low-bred clown, a fellow +who--well, who should not be seen walking with you, Miss Bolitho. +Besides, people will talk; they do not understand." + +She did not know why it was, but she felt it was for her to defend +Paul, and, without thinking, she burst out, almost angrily, "I think +he's a magnificent fellow, and I do hope he'll win!" + +"You hope he'll win?" cried Ned. + +"Yes. You see, I like strong men--that is, I like men who will never +be beaten, who know what they want, and who never rest until they get +it; men with great purposes, great ambitions. And he's a man who will +surely be heard of. Nothing can stop him. I hear he's becoming a rich +man, but that will not content him. He's ambitious to take a great +place in life. I should not be at all surprised if some day he won a +national reputation!" + +"Nonsense!" cried Ned. "National reputation, indeed! He might have a +national reputation for some great crime, but for nothing else. He has +the instincts of his class, Miss Bolitho, and I am sorry you were seen +walking with him. If I were to tell your father, he'd be angry, too." + +Ned knew he was doing himself harm by saying these things, but at that +moment his hatred of Paul was increased. He had never dreamt that Mary +Bolitho could think of him in such a way. He believed she was +interested in him, and that somehow Paul had fascinated her by his +presence. Jealousy of him, therefore, was added to the old grudge. + +"I am afraid you do not understand, Mr. Wilson. Oh, here's a tram, +which will take me a long way towards the house." And without taking +any further notice of him, she walked towards the conveyance. + +Three weeks later Brunford was again on the tiptoe of excitement. +Again a great crowd had gathered around the town hall, again there was +the excitement of counting votes, and this time Paul, to his great +delight, found himself Member for Brunford by a big majority. That he +was gratified goes without saying. He felt, somehow, that the day +brought him nearer the things he longed for. All things seemed +possible to him now, and his heart beat high with joy. It is true, Ned +Wilson bad done his best to defeat him, but this time he had been +powerless. He was unable to use the methods he had used on the +previous occasion, and while he had resurrected the old stories +concerning Paul's parentage, they had apparently done the young man no +harm. Paul was delighted, too, with the conduct of his opponent. The +Honourable Stephen Boston had been true to his word. He had fought the +battle fairly and with a sportsman's spirit, and when the results were +announced no man in Brunford was more cordial towards the new Member +than the defeated candidate. + +"I did my best to lick you, Stepaside," he said, when all the noise and +excitement was over. "But you were too strong for me. All the same, I +congratulate you. You have fought a good fight, and you'll be heard +about in the country yet. When you come to London, I hope we shall see +more of each other, and it may be I can introduce you to some people +whom you would like to know." + +It was long after midnight at this time, and they had met with a number +of men at a kind of social club which had no political bias. The +leading people of the town were there, and Paul also noticed that Ned +Wilson was among them. He fancied he had been drinking heavily. His +eyes were bloodshot, and his voice was loud and truculent. + +"It's good of you to say so," said Paul. "And never do I want to fight +with a fairer opponent. I hope that neither of us will ever be able to +think of this election with a shadow of regret." + +"Yes, but Brunford will!" interposed Wilson. + +"Nay, nay, Ned," remarked someone near. "Hold your tongue. It's no +use probing old wounds now." + +"I say Brunford will!" shouted Ned, heedless of the other's warning. +"The time will come when it will be ashamed of what it's done to-day. +For my own part, I think I will move out of the town. Politics have +become a dirty business now, when a nameless vagrant can become a +Member of Parliament. Still, we know the old adage, 'Give a beggar a +horse----'" + +Paul did not speak. For one thing, he was in a great good humour. He +had been victorious and could afford to forgive Wilson for all he had +done. Besides, he remembered the last quarrel they had had in a public +place, and he did not want another scene now. But Wilson was evidently +bent upon a quarrel. He was deeply chagrined at the other's victory, +and this, added to the whisky he had been drinking, made him more than +ordinarily quarrelsome. + +"If I had my way," he went on, "none but those of honourable birth, and +whose parentage was respectable, should legislate for a country like +this. As for this fellow's parentage----" And then he gave a sneering +laugh. + +"Be quiet, now, Ned! Do be quiet! You'll get into trouble presently. + +"Trouble!" cried the other. "I'm going to say my say. Why, if the +fellow had any sense of shame, he would at least have kept his mother +out of the town." And then he uttered words which I will not write +down--words which, had Paul's mother heard them, would have made her +long to fly the town. + +This proved too much for Paul. Insults hurled at himself he did not +mind, but for such words to be uttered about his mother in a place like +this was beyond endurance. With a face as pale as ashes, and a voice +hoarse with passion, he strode towards Wilson. "You dare not repeat +those words!" he said, scarcely knowing what was passing his lips. + +"Repeat!" said Wilson. "I shall repeat what I like, and scum like you +shall never stop me. Who are you that you should dare to be here among +gentlemen? You may have been elected by the riff-raff of the town, but +that does not hinder you from being what you are--a workhouse brat. It +does not hinder your mother from being----" And again he uttered words +which I will not write down. + +Paul forgot where he was now. The day's election, his longing to keep +away from vulgar quarrels, all his ambitions became forgotten in the +passion of the moment. A second later Ned Wilson was lying on the +floor, blood flowing from his mouth. A blow from Paul had laid him +prostrate, almost senseless. What Paul would have done to him, I do +not know, but he was held back by many strong arms. "No, no, +Stepaside," men said. "This is a bad beginning for your new career. +If this gets out in the town, and it's almost bound to----" + +"I don't care," interrupted Paul. "No man could hear what he has said +without resenting it. Let me go, I tell you!" + +By this time Wilson had risen. The blow, while it had partially +stunned him, had also to some extent sobered him. For a few seconds +the two men looked at each other, each with great passion in his eyes. + +"Remember," said Wilson, "I'll pay you out for this! By God! I'll pay +you for this! You and I have had our knives in each other for a long +time, and I have always got the better of you, and I will again, in +spite of this!" And he left the club with a look of murder in his eyes. + +Paul also left immediately after. In spite of his day's victory, he +was heartily ashamed of what he had done, and yet the mad anger in his +heart caused by what Wilson had said kept him from regretting the blow +he had struck. + +"He is right," said one of the men who had witnessed the affair. +"He'll pay thee out for this, Paul. Ned Wilson is a chap that never +forgives, never forgets." + +"If it comes to paying out," said Paul, "I've a bigger score than he +has, and he'll always find me ready." + +"It serves him jolly well right," said the Honourable Stephen Boston. +"I wonder Stepaside did not kill him! I know I would if anyone said +such a thing to me! All the same, I am sorry it has taken place. Had +I known Wilson was here I would not have asked Stepaside to join us." + +When Paul reached his home he found his mother sitting up for him. She +met him with a look of joy in her eyes. "Paul," she said, "they've +brought me the news." + +"What news, mother?" he asked. + +"The news of your victory, my son. It's glorious! I little thought +when I saw you first that I should ever live to see such an hour as +this. But what's the matter with you?" + +"What should be the matter?" he asked. + +"You're as pale as ashes, and you do not look like one who has won a +great victory. What has happened?" + +"Oh, never mind," he replied. + +"But I must mind, Paul. Something has taken place that has upset you. +Tell me what it is." + +Even yet Paul was scarcely master of himself. The words he had heard +still rang in his ears and rankled in his heart. He felt as though all +the joy of the day had been destroyed by what Wilson had said. He +knew, too, that it would become public property by the morrow. There +were those who witnessed the affair who would not be slow in making it +known. Perhaps, too, it would come to his mother's ears in a garbled +fashion, and would wound her more than if he told her himself. + +"Has the man Bolitho done anything?" she said. "Or is it your +opponent? Was he terribly cut up because you beat him, Paul?" + +"No," he replied. "I've never heard of Bolitho, and as for Boston, +he's a splendid fellow. He took his beating like a man and offered me +his friendship afterwards." + +"Then what is it? Is the news I've heard, that Wilson is engaged to +Miss Bolitho, true?" + +"Have you heard that?" + +"Yes; I have heard it only to-day." + +"I wish I had killed him!" he said, and his voice was hoarse and +unnatural. + +"What do you mean, Paul? Tell me what has happened." + +Had he not been excited beyond measure, he would have told the story in +such a way as to take away the sting from it. As it was, never +dreaming of the results, he related what had taken place, and repeated +the words Wilson had said. No sooner had he spoken, however, than he +was mad with himself for being so unguarded. His mother's face became +drawn with agony. Her eyes shone with a strange light, and he saw her +clench and unclench her hands like one in great pain. + +"Did he say that?" she cried. "Did he say that?" And he scarcely +recognised her voice. + +"Anyhow, he's suffering for it," said Paul. "Ay, and he shall suffer +for it, too." + +"He shall! He shall!" And her voice almost rose to a shriek. "I have +violent blood in my veins, Paul. Back in the old days my people would +have only been content to wipe out such an insult in blood, and I will +make him suffer for it!" + +"I am sorry I told you, mother," said Paul. "I was a fool to do so; +but I did not think, I did not remember!" + +"I am glad you have told me!" was her reply. "I know now what I have +to do. I have been so happy that I was almost forgetting; but I will +not forget now! And that man is your enemy, too. He means to marry +Mary Bolitho, and he will, too, unless, unless--Paul, you needn't fear! +I tell you, you needn't fear." And after that she would not speak +another word. + +For a long time Paul lay thinking of what his mother had said and of +the strange look in her eyes. It seemed as though he had roused +something evil in her nature, and for a time he wondered whether her +brain had not been unhinged. He knew she was a proud woman, and that +she was jealous beyond words of her good name. The thought of Wilson's +words being bandied around the town must be worse than death to her, +and yet what could he do? He blamed himself more than he could say for +having told her the truth so brutally. Had he not himself been so +overwrought he would have acted with more deliberation. He remembered, +too, what his mother had said when they had first met, and he wondered +whether Wilson had proposed marriage to Mary Bolitho before she had +left Brunford, and whether she had accepted him. It might be so. And +then all the joy of his winning the election would be as nothing. + +For the last three weeks he had been looking forward to this day with +great anticipation. He felt sure he would win from the beginning, and +he had wondered whether Mary would send him some word of +congratulation. He did not expect she would, but she would hear of his +victory, and perhaps their next meeting would be under more favourable +circumstances. He knew that, in spite of the fact that he had been +elected for Brunford, the sky of his life was black again. The words +he had heard had filled him with black shame and feelings of deadly +anger, while the look on his mother's face aroused in him an unnameable +fear. + +When morning came, however, he felt better. A few hours' sleep had +restored him to something like normal health. The excitement of the +last few weeks had told upon him, and the strain upon his nerves had +been tremendous. Now that the fight was over, however his splendid +constitution stood him in good stead, and he felt strong and vigorous. +That which had appeared black at night assumed less sombre colours in +the light of day. After all, he had won a great victory. He had +received nearly a thousand votes more than his opponent. He had +wrested a seat for the cause in which he believed, and he was member +for Brunford! + +He slept until nearly nine o'clock, and when he came downstairs he +found, to his delight, a heap of congratulatory messages lying upon the +table. After all, it was delightful to be a victor, delightful to have +won in the battle of life! He noticed, too, that his mother had become +like her old self again. She spoke in her natural voice, and made no +reference whatever to what had taken place the night before. + +"I shall have to go to London, to-day or to-morrow, mother," he said. +"I hope you won't be lonely while I'm away." + +"Oh, never fear for me, Paul, my son!" she replied. "I shall be all +right." + +"I do not like the idea of your being alone, though," said Paul. "And +I shall have to be away from Brunford a great deal when Parliament +meets. I think I shall have to take you to London with me!" + +"No," she replied. "I would rather stay here. I should only be in +your way if I went to London, besides increasing your expenses--and +that I must not do." + +"Why not, mother? I can afford it very well. We're having a specially +good run of luck just now, and the extra expense would not bother me at +all. Besides, I want you to be near me!" + +"No, Paul. I would rather remain in Brunford. I have my work to do." + +"Your work, mother! What do you mean?" + +She did not reply, and Paul could not understand the look on her face. + +"Tell me, mother," he said, "what do you mean by having your work to +do?" + +"There's only one work for me now, Paul--only one thing I care +about--and that is to give you your rightful name, and to make you +happy!" + +"I have thought lately he's dead," said Paul. + +"No," she replied, "he is not dead. I feel it in every fibre of my +body. He is not dead! And I am going to find him. And I must not +leave Brunford--something has told me I must not. And I must watch +Wilson, too." + +"I have been thinking about that, mother," he said; "and, after all, +it's not so bad. The man was drunk, or he would not have said such a +thing!" + +"Drunk or sober," was her reply, "he shall pay for those words. But do +not trouble, Paul. You shall be happy. And you shall have your +rightful name, in spite of everything." + +A week or two later, Paul had forgotten almost everything in the new +life which he led. He had journeyed to London to take his seat in the +House of Commons, and, amidst the excitement of his new experiences, +even the incidents of the election faded away. It was wonderful to +him, the nameless lad who had come to Brunford a few years before, to +be one of the legislators in the greatest Empire of the world. Even +yet he was little more than a youth, and he had practically no +experience of life. Thus London, with all its excitement, and the +world of possibilities which it revealed, made everything new to him. +Never had he realised the meaning of history until now. Never had the +greatness of his country so impressed him. Hitherto he had not +realised what his ambitions meant. Now they became clear. The House +of Commons became the pivot of the world, and it seemed to him as +though he had his hand upon the pulse of humanity. London was the +great heart of the Empire, sending out its streams of life-blood +through the length and breadth of the world. And the heart of London +was the great pile of buildings on the banks of the Thames. He was no +one as yet--just one of the unknown men among nearly seven hundred who +gathered there. He had an obscure seat in the House, and, unlike many +of the other men with whom he came into contact, he had few friends. +Still, he rejoiced in his isolation, and dreamed dreams of the time +when he would emerge from his comparative obscurity, and when his voice +would be heard in the councils of the Empire. No one was more regular +than he in his attendance at the House, and he took a supreme delight +in wandering through the buildings, and in trying to understand their +significance. Westminster Hall, especially, attracted him. He thought +of the scenes which had taken place in that historic building, and +remembered how it had stood there through the centuries. The greater +part of the parliament houses was comparatively new, but this remained +almost unchanged by the ravages of time and of fire. Here great trials +had taken place. Here great battles had been won--battles which had +changed the destinies of the nation. Brunford, which had seemed so +important to him a few years ago, was now only an insignificant +manufacturing town. It had but little history, little meaning; but +London--London was everything. There, in Westminster Abbey, close by +him, kings had been crowned and monarchs were buried. There, too, the +great ones of the world had come. Men whose names were imperishable +were buried in that mausoleum of the illustrious dead! And he--well, +he was nothing now, but men should hear of him in the future. While +keenly observant of the procedure of the House, he sometimes found +himself dreaming dreams. He thought of the time when Disraeli was +refused a hearing in that historic assembly, remembered how the Irish, +led by the great Daniel O'Connell, refused to listen to him, and how, +when at length he had sat down, after trying to make a speech, he shook +his fist in the faces of the excited crowd, and cried: "You will not +hear me now, but one day you'll be glad to hear me!" Well, why not he? +It is true Disraeli was a man of genius, but he was handicapped on +every hand. He was a Jew, and when he commenced his career the +prejudice against Jews was stronger even than it was to-day. He was in +debt, too, and was hampered on every hand, and yet he had broken down +all opposition. He had conquered prejudice, had mastered one of the +greatest prime ministers of the age, and was for years the central +figure of the Government of the Empire. It just showed what one strong +man could do; and he would do it. But at the back of everything was +the face of Mary Bolitho. It was for her he was going to win fame and +renown. It was at her feet that he would lay all he could win. + +Of course many will feel like smiling at these dreams of youth. All +the same, the young man who does not dream impossible dreams and +determine to win impossible battles will never do much. It is these +things which keep the world young and eternally hopeful. Sad will it +be for the youth of England when they cease to be! + +Fleet Street, too, fascinated him beyond words. Next to the Houses of +Parliament, he loved to walk along this busy thoroughfare. Sometimes +he would stand there and watch the crowd as it went hurrying +by--perhaps the most interesting crowd in the world. Here nameless +vagrants rubbed shoulder to shoulder with men who were influencing the +thought of the nation. This was the home of one of the greatest +estates of the land. It was from here that millions of newspapers were +sent, containing the hopes, the aspirations, the life of the people. +None of these papers mentioned his name as yet, for he had never dared +to try to catch the Speaker's eye, but the time would come when he +would. Leading articles should be written about him, and his views of +life and politics should be discussed. + +In spite of all these things, however, the session came to an end +without Paul Stepaside having tried to speak a word in the British +House of Commons. His time had not come yet, but it was coming, and he +knew how to wait. Those months were to him months of education. He +was accustoming himself to his surroundings and preparing for the +future. He was studying the methods of the men whose words carried +weight. He was seeing the inwardness of this great parliamentary game +which was being played, and he was learning to understand how he could +use his knowledge, not simply as a means of self-aggrandisement, but +for the betterment of the people he loved. + +Three times during the session he had gone to Brunford on matters of +business, but nothing had happened worthy of recording. His mother had +inquired eagerly concerning his doings in London, and had stored within +her memory every incident which he had related to her. + +"I'm glad you have not spoken in the House yet, Paul," she said, again +and again. "When you speak it must be on something which is near and +dear to you--something which has gripped your life. Then you will make +them feel what you feel. Ay, and you will, too, my boy! It's coming! +I can see it!" + +"Yes," replied Paul. "I'm going to do it, mother. I'm going to make +the name of Stepaside honoured." + +"Nay, but you're going to have another name, Paul--your own!" + +"Have you found out anything yet?" he asked repeatedly. But at this +she would shake her head, as if all her efforts had been in vain, and +yet Paul felt assured that she knew more than she cared to tell him. + +During the second session Paul made his first speech. As he thought of +it afterwards, he was terribly disappointed. It seemed to him that he +had not said the things he wanted to say, while the things he had said +seemed crude and unimportant. The atmosphere of the House of Commons +was so utterly different from that of any assembly he had ever +addressed, and he knew that he was speaking to what was perhaps one of +the most critical audiences in the world. As fortune would have it, +too, the House was full when he spoke, and a great deal of interest was +attached to the Bill that was being discussed. That was why he was so +disappointed that his language, especially during the first few +minutes, was so poor and stilted. He imagined, too, that he had been +listened to respectfully, and even cordially, because it was his maiden +speech. As a matter of fact, however, Paul had made a great +impression. Something of his history was known, and his striking +appearance told in his favour. Indeed, it was remarked freely that his +speech was one of the most promising that had been heard for years from +a new and untried member. Consequently, when Paul returned to Brunford +the next time, he was met with congratulations on every hand. He was +beginning to fulfil the promises he had made, and many prophesied a +great career for him. + +And Paul was greatly elated. Indeed, so much was he carried away by +visions of the future that he never dreamed of the dark, ominous clouds +that were filling his horizon. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +PAUL'S DARING + +One of the results of Paul's success was entirely unexpected by him. +He suddenly found himself made much of by what is called Society. +Hitherto he had been altogether unnoticed in this direction. While he +was scarcely looked upon as a Labour Member, he was regarded by many as +belonging to that class. Moreover, he had done nothing to bring +himself into notice, and so, having no advantages of birth, and no +circle of acquaintances in London, he had been comparatively neglected. +Suddenly, however, he had become a public man. His speech was not only +talked about in the Members' Lobby, but it was discussed by a number of +society women who professed to be interested in politics. More than +one paper devoted articles to him, and many spoke of him as a coming +man. This meant that Paul received invitations to society functions +which hitherto had been unknown to him. + +The wife of a Cabinet Minister gave a reception, and Paul was among the +invited guests. "It's a risk!" said that lady to her husband, when the +invitations had been sent out, "but, as you know, I love risks, and +these things are usually so tame! Will he come in his working-clothes, +do you think?" + +"Everything is possible!" laughed her husband. "Still, I don't think +you need be afraid!" + +"I do hope he'll do something shocking!" said the lady. "From what +I've heard, he's young and handsome, and if he does something +outrageous it'll make the thing go!" + +"I should not be surprised if he does not appear in good clothes," said +the Cabinet Minister. + +"Let's hope they'll be badly fitting, anyhow!" said the wife. + +Paul felt very strange as he joined the gay throng. It was his first +experience of that sort, and he had not the slightest idea as to what +would be expected of him. He had always refused to go to the social +functions in Brunford, and now to be ushered suddenly into what he had +heard was to be one of the most brilliant political gatherings of the +season was staggering. With a fast-beating heart he saw conveyance +after conveyance arrive at the scene of gaiety, and men in immaculate +evening clothes and ladies in gay attire emerging from them. But Paul +quickly gained the mastery over himself. "After all, what does it +matter?" he said. "I don't care about this kind of life. These +chattering, overfed women have no attraction for me! Still, it may be +interesting." + +It was a large gathering, and he noticed that many of the most +prominent people in the country were present. When he heard his name +mentioned to the host and hostess he saw a look of surprise on the +latter's face. Evidently she was altogether disappointed, although she +was much interested. + +"Mr. Paul Stepaside!" said a man in a loud voice, and Paul was shaking +hands with one of the leaders of London society. + +"So glad to see you," said the lady. "Did I catch your name +aright--Mr. Stepaside?" + +Paul bowed, uttered a few commonplaces, and passed on. + +"I thought you told me he was a working-man?" said the lady to her +husband. "I hoped he would come in his working-clothes. This fellow +is immaculate!" + +"He's a fine figure of a man, anyhow," said the Cabinet Minister. + +"The most striking-looking man in the room!" was the lady's answer. +And then her attention and smiles were given to the next comers. + +Paul was not long left alone, and quickly found himself quite a centre +of interest. More than one Member of Parliament brought his lady +friends to see the new star. Indeed, he was so much monopolised that +for a time he had little opportunity to take notice of the guests as a +whole. By and by, however, he managed to get away by himself, and to +take the part of a spectator. + +It was all very strange to him, this gay throng--and he was not very +favourably impressed. If this was Society, he did not want it! +Everyone seemed blase and satiated with pleasure. The conversation was +clever, but superficial. It seemed to him as though almost everyone +lacked earnestness--lacked reality. + +"I am glad you are interesting!" said one lady to him during the +evening. Paul had been with her some time, and had given expression to +some very unconventional opinions. "The greatest sin I know of is to +be dull, and you can't be dull." + +"No?" said Paul. "I think I'm a fairly good actor." + +"No, you have a good deal of the devil in you, and I like a man of your +sort. Do you know I saw a criticism of a book the other day of which +you remind me?" + +"And of course you've read the book?" + +"Oh no! The critique said that the only bad book was the book which +was badly written, no matter what its morals might be, and this book, +although excellently intentioned, was not well written. You know I +have a similar feeling about men. The greatest crime in the calendar +is to be dull. Men may break all the other commandments if they like, +but he who breaks that is impossible. And I find you so interesting!" + +"And I feel myself so dull," said Paul. "I don't follow your simile a +bit." + +"Ah, but you're not conventional. The great charm of a man is that +he's always going off the beaten tracks. When he gets back to those he +is impossible! Do you know, I hoped you would come in your +working-clothes. Our hostess told me you were coming, and I quite +looked forward to seeing you." + +"My working-clothes are very shabby," said Paul. "Still, if I had +thought you wanted to see them, I would have brought them." + +The lady laughed good-humouredly. "Oh, but do remain unconventional!" +she said. "Don't become a polished Society man. If you are to be +interesting, always keep off the beaten tracks." + +"Even at the expense of politeness?" said Paul. + +The lady looked at him quizzically. "Yes, even at the expense of +politeness." + +"Then I'll run away. There's someone over here I want to speak to," he +said. + +The truth was, at that moment he had caught sight of a face which had +set his heart beating wildly, for he felt sure it was that of Mary +Bolitho. "Oh, I wonder, after all, whether it can be!" he said to +himself. + +Regardless of passing faces, he found his way toward the spot where he +thought he had seen her, and to his delight he discovered that he had +not made a mistake. Their eyes met as he came up, and she held out her +hand with a smile. + +"This is splendid!" he said. "It's so pleasant to see a face that one +knows amid a crowd of strangers!" + +"But surely you must know hosts of people here," was her response. + +"No, I know very few," replied Paul. "Some of the men I have met in +the Members' Lobby, but nearly everyone is a stranger to me." + +"And yet I find that many people are talking about you!" was her reply. +"You are quite the lion of the evening. It must be very gratifying to +you." + +"Do you know," replied Paul, "that I am not so unsophisticated as not +to know the value of these things?" + +She looked at him inquiringly. + +"I can see how much a moment's popularity is worth," he said, almost +bitterly. "A lifetime of good work is passed by unnoticed, but if one +happens to make a speech that causes a certain amount of discussion, no +matter how silly it may be, one gets noticed until someone else +appears. And my speech was a very poor one! I feel ashamed every time +I am complimented on it!" + +There was something in the way he spoke that annoyed her, why she could +not tell. "Then I will not add to your shame," she said. + +"No," he replied eagerly. "But I do want you to think well of it even +although I know it was a failure. I have been wondering lately if I +should meet you, and I was afraid once or twice lest I had seen you." + +"I do not quite understand." + +"I am comparatively new to this sort of function," said Paul. "And, to +tell you the truth, I have been very weary of it all." + +"How disappointed your hostess would be if she knew!" + +"No," said Paul, "I don't deserve that. But I suppose it's because I +have not been brought up in this world. I am a plain, humble fellow, +and have had to work my way through the grimy and sordid things of +life. Still, there's something real in it, something healthy, too, +compared with this--at least, some of it. The other night I was at a +banquet, and I was afraid I saw you. You see, I have all sorts of +old-fashioned ideas. I'm a Puritan of a sort, and am what these people +would call bourgeois." + +"What in the world do you mean?" + +"I saw a girl who looked like you smoking a cigarette. She had the +same coloured hair, and bore such a strong resemblance to you that my +heart became as heavy as lead. A little later I saw the same girl, or +someone very much like her, drinking a liqueur. Of course, it seemed +quite the order of the day, and I ought not to be shocked, but had it +been you I should have been very sad." + +"Why, what is there so terrible in a cigarette or a liqueur?" asked +Mary Bolitho. + +"I don't know, I'm sure," he replied. + +"You'd have taken no notice if a man smoked a cigarette or drank a +liqueur. Is a woman different from a man?" + +"She ought to be," said Paul. "At least, so it seems to me; but then, +as I tell you, I am altogether out of place among that kind of people. +I have all sorts of old-fashioned ideas about women. I know they are +unpopular. They are thought to be bourgeois, and entertained only by +the middle classes. But there you are--I am bourgeois; or perhaps I +belong to a lower class even than that. I'm a working man." + +"Can you find a chair for me somewhere?" asked the girl. "Of course I +don't agree with you in the least, but it's rather interesting to hear +you." + +He found a chair for her and stood by her side. "I'm so glad it wasn't +you." + +"How do you know it wasn't I?" she asked. + +"Because you're not that sort! You don't drink liqueurs. You don't +smoke cigarettes!" + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know," replied Paul; "but you don't. If you did--well, it +would be wrong somehow. I can't explain it, but it feels to me +something like--well, what I think a Roman Catholic would feel if he +found someone trying to caricature the Virgin Mary." His voice was so +earnest and sincere that she could not be offended. + +"I am not like all these men here," went on Paul. "I was brought up +among the working-classes, and I have, in spite of everything, +idealised women. I expect it is because I love my mother. And when I +see a girl drinking liqueurs, smoking cigarettes, and doing things like +that, I feel that somehow my ideal is, well, besmirched somehow. I +believe less in the modesty of women, and I think it's a bad thing for +any man to lower his ideals concerning women! Yes, I am so glad it +wasn't you!" + +"Still I don't understand why." + +"Because you are the most sacred thing in my life!" he answered. "I +have tried to tell you that before now, only somehow I haven't been +able. You are the most wonderful thing in the world to me, and you +hate these things too, don't you?" + +"Why should you think so? There are many better girls than I who smoke +and drink liqueurs." + +"No," said Paul. "No. Do you know that, although I have hated you, +you've been the one dream of my life, and that you've made everything +possible to me? You're angry with me, aren't you?" + +"No," she replied, "not angry. But still, you must not speak to me +like that!" + +"I cannot help it," he replied. "Do you know that but for you I should +not have been a Member of Parliament now?" + +"But for me?" + +"Yes," said Paul. "From the first time I saw you, just after I came +out of Strangeways Jail, you've always inspired me, even while you +angered me, and have determined me to win when otherwise I should have +lost. Tell me honestly now, do you think I shall ever overcome life's +handicap?" + +"Does it not depend what the handicap is?" + +"My handicap is that I'm nameless," he replied. "I told you the story, +didn't I? At least, I tried to. Miss Bolitho, am I mad?" + +"You are certainly talking very strangely." + +"I hate your father," went on Paul, and his voice, although very quiet, +was very intense. "The first time I saw him I hated him. No, no one +is listening, you need not fear. I believed he was the tool of the +Wilsons. I believe it still! I don't think he fought me fairly +either. I think he dislikes me, too. But, but--shall I tell you +something?" + +"I think you had better not," she replied. Even although she was +surrounded by a crowd of people, and their voices were wellnigh lost in +the hum of conversation, she was afraid. + +"I do not think I can help myself. Miss Bolitho, I have been sustained +in all the work of my life by one thought--I want to win you for my +wife! Do you think it's possible?" And then, without waiting for her +reply, he went on: "It must be possible. It shall be possible! I will +make it so." + +"I must ask you to excuse me. I have some friends over here wishing to +speak to me." + +"Not yet," he said. "You must forgive my rudeness, but when a man +feels as I feel, and have felt for years, niceties of behaviour don't +count. You, in spite of everything, have become the one thing in life +worth living for, and yet I ought to be ashamed of speaking to you now. +I have no right!" + +She looked at him wonderingly, as if not understanding what he meant. + +"You see, I have no name," he said. "I don't know who my father is or +where he is. I only know that he and my mother were married in +Scotland, and he left her the day after the wedding. She, in her +trouble, went to her mother's old home in Cornwall, and was looked upon +as a poor outcast thing. She lay down on a bank near a little hamlet +called Stepaside, and thought she was going to die. From there she was +taken to a workhouse, where I was born. She would not tell her name, +and that was why I was called Stepaside. It's a terrible handicap, +isn't it? No father, no name! Ned Wilson made the most of that at the +election; but there, I've fought it down so far. Will you promise me +something? I hope you will, I think you will. I don't think I'm +altogether a clown, and I feel sometimes as though I can do great +things if you---- You see, you are everything to me, everything! +Promise me this: If I find out who my father is, may I speak to you +again? Do you think--do you think it is possible for you----?" + +At that moment some acquaintances came up, and Mary Bolitho turned as +if to leave him. + +"But give me an answer before you go!" he said eagerly. "Is there any +possibility--in spite of my handicap?" And then he felt that his heart +had, for a moment, ceased to beat. He forgot where he was. The +chatter of the crowd was nothing to him; it did not exist. + +"Everything is possible to a man who doesn't know when he's beaten!" +she said with a radiant smile, and then turned towards her friends. + +Paul remembered little of what took place after that, and he soon found +himself walking near Hyde Park alone. It was very wonderful to him--so +wonderful that he could not altogether realise it. She had seemed to +promise him so much, even though she had said so little. He felt as +though the sky had become higher, the world bigger. He had never dared +to hope for so much, never dreamt she would speak to him so kindly. +They belonged to different worlds, were reared amidst different +associations, and yet she had not treated him with scorn. Yes, +everything was possible! And he would translate that possibility into +the actual. He would win her a name and a position that even she might +be proud of. For he had idealised her. To him she was far removed +from all the others that he had ever met, and he must do something +worthy of her. For hours he walked around the Park alone, wondering +how he should begin to carry out the object nearest and dearest to his +heart. Poor Paul, he knew little of the ways of the world, especially +of the world in which Mary Bolitho lived. Among the lads and lasses in +Brunford courtship and marriage were very simple. The boy met his girl +there, and they married each other without difficulty. But Paul knew +that there were certain formalities that had to be complied with in the +class to which Mary Bolitho belonged. She was a judge's daughter, and +he, although he had succeeded beyond his hopes, was still looked upon +as little more than a working man. One thing, he knew he ought to ask +Judge Bolitho for his permission to seek his daughter's hand. He had +no right to pay her attentions otherwise. It was a frank and +honourable course of action, too, and appealed to him strongly, and if +he succeeded, then the way was made plain. Not that he liked the idea +altogether, for he had still an instinctive hatred of the man who had +treated him, as he believed, so unfairly. But he must destroy that +hatred now. He must think kindly of the father of the woman who was +all the world to him. + +Before the night was over he wrote Judge Bolitho a letter, asking for +his permission to try and win Mary Bolitho for his wife. He did not +refer to the shadow that rested upon his name, told him nothing of what +he had said to Mary. He only told him of his hopes and ambitions, and +of his undying love. + +Three days later the answer came, and when Paul read it his heart was +filled with black rage. It contained only a few words, but they seemed +to blot out the sun from his horizon. Without saying so in so many +words, Judge Bolitho treated the proposal made in his letter with +thinly veiled scorn and contempt. He made him feel, although he did +not say so, that what he had said was an impertinence. It was true the +letter was couched in terms of politeness, and yet it might have been +written to a groom who had the temerity to seek his mistress's hand, +and it contained a command that he must never dare to speak to her +again. + +Paul was scarcely master of himself as he read, and every evil passion +of his nature was aroused. This man had added insult to injury. Ever +since the day of his trial he had been his enemy, and now he had sent +him this! "But I will speak to her again," he vowed. "I will win her +in spite of everything; by fair means or foul she shall be mine!" + +Shortly afterwards he returned to Brunford for the Christmas vacation. +Only a few days were allowed by the leader of the Government, because +much and important business had to be transacted; but those few days +were destined to change the course of Paul Stepaside's life. His +mother met him when he returned to Brunford with unusual manifestations +of affection. He had sent her a copy of the _Times_, wherein was a +full report of his speech. He had also forwarded to her a number of +other papers which had spoken kindly of him, and she was elated beyond +measure at his success. To her Paul was everything, the one object of +her love, the one hope of her life. For him she would brave +everything, suffer everything. In her inmost heart there was only one +thing she desired, and that was Paul's happiness. She had stifled all +thoughts of jealousy when she had learnt that Paul loved the daughter +of the man who had treated him so badly. She would have loved to have +had him all to herself, so that they might have been all in all to each +other, but she had seen into his heart, and knew that he loved this +girl. And he must have her, and whatever stood in his way must be +removed. For that she lived and thought and planned. + +The day before his home-coming she had seen that which grieved her +sorely, and angered her beyond words. A local newspaper had it that +Ned Wilson and Mary Bolitho were engaged, and she wondered how she +could break the news to her boy. That the engagement should be broken +she had fully made up her mind--no matter what happened Paul must have +the woman of his choice! + +After dinner they sat alone in the little room on which Paul had +bestowed so much attention, and she wondered whether he had beard the +news which bad brought her so much pain. + +"It was a great speech you made, Paul!" she said, when they had been +sitting quietly for some time. + +"Nonsense, mother!" was his reply. "Nonsense; it was a failure!" + +"No, no. I read every word, Paul, and it was not a failure. You're +going to be a great man, my son!" + +He laughed bitterly. He remembered the letter which Judge Bolitho had +written to him. "I feel as though I don't care about anything!" he +went on at length. "What's the good of success? What are we in the +House of Commons, after all, but a lot of voting machines? What does +it matter which party is in power?" + +"Nay, nay, Paul. That's not like you to talk so!" + +"I'm tired of it--tired of everything!" he went on. + +"You're thinking about that lass!" said his mother, and although he +made no reply, she knew she was right. + +"Have you ever seen her?" she asked at length. + +He nodded. + +"And done nothing, I expect?" + +"I wrote to her father," was his reply. "I asked him in a +straightforward, honourable manner to let me try and win her for my +wife." + +The woman's eyes shone bright with excitement. "And, and----?" she +said. + +"Here's his letter!" he replied. "I carry it around with me to tell +myself what a fool I've been. You can read it if you like! You can +see it's written in the third person, and evidently typed by his +secretary. That of itself is an insult, when one bears in mind the +kind of letter I wrote to him!" + +The woman read it carefully, word by word. She could not help seeing +the insult contained in every line, could not help realising that Judge +Bolitho regarded Paul's request as an unpardonable piece of +impertinence. + +"Can't you be happy without her?" she asked at length. + +"Never!" he replied. "Everything I may get in life could be but Dead +Sea fruit now! Oh, mother, if only I had a name, if we could find out +the truth!" + +He was sorry he had spoken the moment the words passed his lips. He +saw that her face became hard and set, that her eyes burnt with deadly +anger. "Do you know that she is engaged to young Wilson?" she asked at +length. + +"What!" + +"It's all over the town, Paul; there can be no doubt about it! It's in +the newspaper." + +"She does not care for him!" he cried. "She cannot!" + +"But he'll be one of the richest men in Lancashire, Paul!" + +"But she could not! She could not!" + +"Perhaps it explains this letter," said his mother. "Judge Bolitho has +doubtless set his heart upon his daughter marrying a rich man, and her +feelings are not considered. But don't give up hope, Paul. Don't give +up hope. Ned Wilson shall never have her!" + +"But what can we do, mother?" + +"Are you a son of mine to talk like that?" she asked. "Can you, a +strong man, give up tamely?" + +"No," cried Paul. "I'll not give up tamely; but of course her father +is against me, and he has chosen Ned Wilson for her. As you say, he'll +be one of the richest men in Lancashire, and now that Mr. Bolitho has +become a judge, his income will not be so much as it was. However, +I'll put a stop to it; I can and I will!" + +"How can you do it?" asked the mother. + +"Never mind," replied Paul. "But it shall be done." That same night +he wrote a letter to Ned Wilson. + + +"Dear Sir," he wrote. + +"Circumstances necessitate that I shall have an interview with you +immediately on a very important matter. Will you kindly let me have a +note by return of post when and where I can see you? I may add that +the matter is of such importance that you must not think of refusing +me." + + +The next day he received a type-written letter from Wilson, in the +third person: + + +"Mr. Edward Wilson is sorry that he cannot see Mr. Paul Stepaside, as +there is no conceivable matter on which he could think of granting him +an interview." + + +Paul read this curt note with a grim smile upon his lips and an almost +murderous look in his eyes. But he made no comment. + +Before many hours were over he had discovered Wilson's whereabouts, and +had determined to waylay him. They met in a lane not far from Howden +Clough. + +"Mr. Wilson," said Paul. "Just a word, please." + +Ned looked at him with great hauteur, and then was about to pass by +without further notice. + +"No," said Paul, "That will not do. You received my letter." + +"And you received mine." + +"That was why I followed you here," said Paul. "I told you that the +matter on which I wished to see you was of the utmost importance." + +"I do not transact any business with you," said Wilson. "And there is +no other matter in which we can be mutually interested. Let me pass, +please." + +"You cannot pass until you have heard what I have said to you. I am +sorry to have to meet you in this way----" + +"Not so sorry as I am!" interrupted Wilson. "Still, I will hear you. +What is it?" He spoke as though Paul were a persistent beggar, and +seemed to regard him as a millionaire might regard a pauper. + +"It's this," said Paul. "I noticed in the _Brunford Gazette_ this +morning that you are engaged to marry Miss Mary Bolitho." + +"And what then?" said the other. "I do not discuss such matters with +men of your class." + +"It must be contradicted immediately," said Paul quietly. Wilson +looked at Paul in astonishment. "I think you must be out of your +mind!" he said. + +"No, no; I am sane enough. Will you write a letter to the editor, +denying this rumour, or must I?" + +"In Heaven's name, why should I?" + +"I know it's not true"--and Paul still spoke quietly--"that is why this +paragraph must be contradicted at once." + +Wilson laughed as though he were enjoying a joke, but it was easy to +see that he was far from comfortable. He did not like Paul's quiet way +of talking. He did not understand the tone of his voice. + +"Of course," said Wilson, at length. "I cannot discuss these matters +with you. I would sooner discuss them with one of our grooms. +Whatever be the truth of the report, it cannot have anything to do with +such as you. Still, I will humour you. What's the matter?" + +"This is the matter," replied Paul. "You are not fit to associate with +such as she." + +"Come, come, my good fellow. I have borne a good deal, and I am nearly +at the end of my patience. Besides, I cannot allow Miss Bolitho's name +to be bandied about by such as you." + +"Will you kindly deny that statement which appears in the _Brunford +Gazette_?" persisted Paul, still quietly. + +"Certainly not!" + +"Then I must make you," said Paul. + +"Make me! You!" + +"Yes, I!" + +"And how, pray?" + +"Simply that I shall tell Miss Bolitho the truth about you if you +don't." + +"The truth about me?" + +"The truth about you. You see, I happen to know a good deal about you. +Oh, you needn't start. I have all particulars and proofs to the +minutest detail. If you do not wish Miss Bolitho to know exactly the +kind of man you are, what your responsibilities are, and your duties +are, you must send a note to the editor, signed by yourself, declaring +that there is no truth whatever in the announcement." + +"You spy! You sneaking hound!" said the other, quite losing control +over himself. + +"Spy, if you like," said Paul. "Sneaking hound also comes well from +such as you; but, as it happens, I have had my reasons for a long time +for forming certain impressions about you; and as Miss Bolitho is a +friend of mine--naturally, I take an interest." + +"A friend of yours!" said Wilson. + +"Of mine," said Paul. "Now then, will you do what I tell you?" + +Neither of them knew that they were being watched, and neither of them +knew that, although their conversation was not overheard, two men could +hear angry voices, and were wondering what it could be about. These +two men knew of the feud which existed between them, and knew that each +hated the other. + +"Will you write that letter, and give up all thoughts of such a thing +for all time?" + +Wilson answered in language which I will not set down. This time his +words were loud enough for the two men to hear--words which were +calculated to rouse anger in the heart of the mildest of men, and Paul +was not a mild man. They saw Paul look towards the other with murder +in his eyes, saw his hand uplifted as if to strike, then they saw him +master himself. + +"Very well, then," he said. "I shall do what I say," and turned on his +heel to walk away. + +He had not gone six steps, however, before Wilson, blind with rage and +the pent-up fury of years burning in his heart, rushed after him, and +with all the strength that he possessed struck Paul on the head with an +ivory-handled walking stick. The young man fell to the ground with a +thud, for the moment stunned, while Wilson stood over him trembling +with passion, and as if waiting for an attack. + +Paul quickly recovered himself, and rose to his feet. He wiped the +blood from his face, and then seemed undecided what to do. He struck +no blow, but spoke in tones loud enough for the watchers to hear him +plainly. "I might have expected this," he said. "It was a coward's +blow, the kind of blow such as you always strike. But, remember, I +always pay my debts--always, even to the uttermost farthing." Then he +walked away without another word. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A NIGHT OF DOOM + +Paul found his way back to his home, thinking over what had taken +place. He was still half-dazed by the blow he had received, and his +heart was filled with black rage. Perhaps, too, he was the more angry +because he found it difficult to perform what he had threatened. In +spite of himself he shrank from writing to the paper contradicting the +engagement. He had no right to do so. For all he knew, the engagement +might be an actual fact. He did not believe that Mary Bolitho had +consented of her own free will to marry Wilson, and yet he did not +know. Rumour had it that her father was not a wealthy man; and, after +all, Wilson was one of the richest men in Lancashire, the home of huge +fortunes. It might be, therefore, that Judge Bolitho had persuaded her +against her will to marry this man. It would relieve him of all +financial worries. From some standpoints it would be a brilliant +match. It was true, Wilson was not a man who would shine in Mary +Bolitho's circle, but money can do a great deal, and here he was almost +all-powerful. But that was not all. Brunford, like all provincial +towns, was noted for its gossip, and if he contradicted the engagement, +all sorts of wild rumours would be afloat. Mary Bolitho's name would +be discussed by all sorts of people, and things would be said which +would madden both him and her. Still, she must know the truth. If he +told her certain things he knew about Wilson, he believed he could save +her from him. But even here difficulties presented themselves. Could +he prove these facts in such a way that Mary Bolitho would be +convinced? And should he not, by so doing, make himself appear to her +a spy and an informer? He did not know much about such matters, but it +was not a dignified role to play. In a way it would be striking below +the belt. He would not be playing the game. And the thought was +hateful to him. "But she must know, she must know!" he said to +himself, as he trudged along the road. "And I'll not be beaten, +especially by a man like that." And then he remembered the blow which +had been struck. "Yes, he shall pay for it!" he said grimly, as he +wiped the blood away from his face. "He shall pay for it to the +uttermost farthing!" + +When he reached his home it was dark, and he was still undecided as to +the exact course he should pursue. He opened the door with his +latch-key, and switched on the electric light. As he did so his mother +came into the hall. "Paul," she said, "what is the matter?" + +"Nothing," he replied, trying to evade her gaze. + +"But your face is bleeding. There's an ugly wound in your temple!" + +"It's nothing," he replied. "Just a slight scratch, that's all." + +"It's no scratch," said the mother. "Tell me, what is it, Paul? I +must know!" And she caught him by the arm. + +"It's no use telling you, mother," he said, facing her. "And you +needn't trouble; I am not hurt very much." + +The woman looked searchingly at his face, and knew by its extreme +pallor and the tremor of his lips that he was much wrought upon. + +"Paul," she said. "This is Wilson's doing!" + +"Is it?" he said, with an uneasy laugh. "Well, he shall pay for it, +anyhow!" + +"I was right, then. It's true. Has he beaten you?" + +"No, mother," he said. "I'm not to be beaten by Wilson." + +"You shall not! You shall not!" And her voice was hoarse. "Tell me, +Paul, tell me. What is it? I must know--I will know!" + +"Very well," he said. "If you will know, come into my study." And +then he described the scene which had taken place. + +The woman fixed her eyes upon him, and kept them fixed all the time he +was speaking. Her face never moved a muscle, although her hands +clenched and unclenched themselves nervously. "And you'll pay him out +for this?" she said at length, when he had finished his story. + +"Yes," he said, "he shall be paid out." + +"But how? Tell me, Paul?" + +"I have not quite made up my mind yet, mother. I must sleep on it." + +"Sleep on it!" And there was an intensity in her tones which almost +frightened him. "Sleep on it--sleep on it! Will you let a man like +that get the better of you? Will you have a wound like that--a wound, +the marks of which you'll carry to your grave, and then say you'll +sleep on it? Paul, you're chicken-hearted." + +"No," he replied. "I'm not chicken-hearted; but whatever is done, +mother, I must save Mary Bolitho's name from being dragged into the +mire. But you need not fear." + +For an hour or more they talked, the woman asking questions, and Paul +answering them. + +"Come," said his mother presently, "you'll be wanting some supper!" + +"No," he said. "I want no supper, but I think I want to be alone, +mother. I have a great deal to think about." + +"I wish you'd let me do your thinking for you, Paul." And Paul almost +shuddered as he saw the look in her eyes. "You think I'm a weak +woman," she went on. "You think I know nothing, and can do nothing. +But you're mistaken, my boy. I know a great deal, and can do a great +deal." + +She reached towards him, and put her arms round his neck. "Oh, my lad, +my lad!" she said. "You're the only thing I love. All through those +long years in Cornwall I had nothing to brighten my life but the +thought of you. I had only one thing to live for and to hope for, and +that was your happiness; and you shall have it. All that you hope for, +Paul--all that you hope for shall come to pass. Sometimes a weak, +ignorant woman can do more than a clever man; and you're clever. Oh, +yes, you are! You've got into Parliament, and you'll make a name in +the world; but you haven't found the things you started out to find. +You haven't got your rightful name. But you shall have everything, +Paul: you shall have revenge, and you shall have love; and I, your +mother, will give it you. As for that man Wilson, never fear, Paul, +you shall have your revenge!" + +"What do you mean, mother?" + +"I mean all I say, Paul; never fear. But you want to be alone now, so +I'll go and leave you." + +As she went towards the door, he heard her muttering something about +Howden Clough, but he did not pay much attention to her; his mind was +too full of other things. + +She closed the door behind her, and left him to his thoughts. He went +into the lavatory and bathed his face, and as he looked at the wound on +his temple a curious smile played around his lips. Presently he went +back to his study again, and sat for hours brooding and planning, +Murder was in his heart. "And they talk of God," he said. "They talk +of a beneficent Providence that controls all and arranges all! A man +has to be his own Providence. He has to shape his own destiny. He has +to fight his own battles." + +It was nearly midnight when at length he rose to his feet. His mind +seemed to be made up as to what he intended to do. His course was +mapped out. "Why, it's nearly twelve o'clock," he said. "And mother +has not come to bid me 'Good-night.' I wonder why." He left the room, +and found that the house was in absolute silence. All the lights were +turned out; the ticking of an eight-day clock in the hall sounded +clearly in the silence of the night. "I'll go up into her room," he +said. Forthwith he went noiselessly up the thickly carpeted stairway, +and knocked at her bedroom door. There was no answer. "Mother," he +said, "mother. I want to speak to you." But there was no reply. All +was silent. + +He opened the door and went in. The room was empty, and the bed was +unruffled. A strange feeling possessed him; he did not know what it +was. It seemed as though something terrible had happened, but he could +see nothing. Almost mechanically he opened some of the cupboards in +the room, and saw his mother's dresses hanging--the dresses which he +had bought for her with a great love in his heart. "I wonder where she +is," he said. "I think I will go up to the top floor, and rouse the +servants." Suiting the action to the thought, he went up the next +flight of stairs. He stood for a moment and listened. He thought he +heard the servants breathing heavily. Evidently they were fast asleep, +and would know nothing about his mother. "I should only start them +talking if I asked them where she is," he thought to himself. +"Perhaps, after all, she is in one of the other rooms!" + +Feeling almost like a thief, he visited every part of the house, but no +one was there, and everything was as silent as death. "I can't go to +bed and not know where she is," he reflected. "I wonder what she meant +when she talked to me so strangely--what she had in her mind! I must +know, I must know!" He opened the door, and went out into the night. +The sky was moonless, but for a wonder it was resplendent with stars. +All the factory fires were low, and the air was no longer smoke-sodden. +The wind came from the sea, and he breathed deeply. It seemed as +though a great healing power passed over his heart. He went into the +little garden upon which he had bestowed such care, and stood still, +listening. Not a sound broke the silence. Not a footstep was to be +heard. A thought struck him, and he hurried back to the house again. +The bonnet and boots which his mother usually wore when she went out +were missing, and, as he noticed it, a great fear entered his heart. +He looked at his watch; it was nearly midnight. "I wonder--I wonder!" +he said to himself. A minute later he had closed the door, and was +walking in the direction of Howden Clough. + +It was six o'clock in the morning when he returned; but the month being +December, darkness still reigned supreme. Black clouds now covered the +sky, and a wailing wind passed round the house. He turned up the +electric light, and saw that his mother's boots were placed ready for +cleaning. They were covered with mud. Evidently she had had a long +tramp. + +"At any rate, she has returned," he said to himself. He went into all +the downstairs rooms, but she was nowhere visible. Then he climbed the +stairs again, and stood at his mother's bedroom door. He opened it and +went in. The bed had not been used at all, but sitting in an armchair, +just under the electric light, was his mother, her face buried in her +hands. + +"Mother," he said, "where have you been?" + +She took no notice; perhaps she did not hear him. He came up to her +side and touched her, upon which she started to her feet. "Mother," he +repeated, "where have you been?" And he could not help noticing a kind +of unholy triumph in her face. "Why are you not in bed?" he asked. +"It is six o'clock in the morning, and your bed has not been slept on." + +"It's all right, Paul," she said. "It's all right. Never mind; you +needn't fear. I've found out something. I've done something!" + +"Found out something! Done something! What?" + +"I am not going to tell you," she said, and the look on her face +frightened him. It might be that some long-desired thing had been +given to her--some great object attained, some unholy desire gratified. +For the look on her face was not one that a man loves to see in the +face of his mother. + +"All you hoped for shall come to pass, Paul. Yes, all--all, my boy; +don't be afraid. I've done it!" + +Her words sounded like a knell in his soul. It seemed to him that they +had a dark, ominous meaning. He was not a nervous man, rather he was +strong, determined, not easily moved; but it seemed as though something +had gripped him, and he was afraid. + +"I never dreamt when I went out," she said, "that I should do such a +good night's work--never dreamt that everything would come so easily." +And then she laughed. + +"Tell me what you mean, mother." + +"No, Paul, nothing. But you'll have a surprise--yes, you'll have a +surprise!" + +She might have been mad. Her face was strange, her words were strange, +the look on her face was such as he had never seen before. + +"Go to bed," she said. "Go to bed quickly. The maids will be up soon, +and they must suspect nothing. Sleep in peace, my boy; your debts +shall be paid, paid to the utmost farthing!" + +He stooped to kiss her, and she threw her arms wildly round his neck. +"Oh, my lad, my lad!" she said; "morning is coming, the morning is +coming. There's a God in the Heavens after all! And yet, and yet---- +Oh, Paul, I forgot, I forgot! Did I tell you that everything could be? +Nothing can be, my boy, nothing! I forgot! I forgot!" + +And her voice almost rose to a scream. + +"What is it, mother?" + +She walked round the room like one demented. "I did not think of +that," she said. "I did not think of that. I thought I had made +everything plain. I thought, I thought, and now----" + +"Tell me, mother, tell me!" + +"No, I can't tell you. It would kill you--kill you; and I thought +there was a God in the heavens. And there isn't, Paul. There isn't. +Only the Devil lives. Oh, my boy! my boy! But leave me, leave me. I +must think, I must think. There, go away. Don't trouble about me, +Paul. I'm all right, I'm all right. But go away! Go away!" She +pushed him out of the room as she spoke, and locked the door behind him. + +"She's right in one thing, at all events," said Paul. "I can do no +good by staying with her, and I had better go to bed. The servants +will be talking, else, and they must know nothing." He threw himself +on the bed, and tried to understand all that had taken place. It +seemed as though something terrible had happened, some dire calamity +had taken place. The world seemed a different place from what it had +been a few hours before. Since meeting with Ned Wilson, that had +happened which had altered the whole course of his life. The very air +seemed laden with terror, the skies were black with doom. It seemed to +him as though ravens were croaking, and the church bell tolling for the +dead; and then, while trying to drive the black scenes of the night +from his mind, it seemed as though his senses became dulled. +Everything became unreal. The past might have been blotted out, even +those years at St. Mabyn were like a dream, while all the events since +were just as a tale that is told. It was simply Nature taking him into +her arms, and rocking him on her broad bosom. His strength had given +way. The events of the night, his home-coming, his mother's strange +behaviour, and the excitement which it all meant had simply worn him +out, and now Nature was trying to restore him. He fell into a deep, +dreamless sleep, and lay like a log upon his bed. How long he slept he +did not know, but presently he heard a sharp knock at the door. + +"It's half-past eight o'clock, sir. Are yo noan gettin' up?" + +"What?" he cried, half asleep. + +"Half-past eight o'clock, sir. Are yo noan gettin' up? And summat +terrible has happened!" + +"What's happened?" he asked. + +"Mr. Ned Wilson is dead. He's been murdered! He was found this +mornin'." + +He did not reply. It seemed as though he had lost the power of speech. +Mechanically he looked out of the window, and saw the murky, +smoke-laden air. It seemed to him as though the roar of a thousand +looms reached his ears. He pictured the weavers standing in their +weaving sheds. He did not know why he did this; in fact, it did not +seem to matter. Nothing mattered. Mechanically he dressed himself. +There seemed no reason why he should go downstairs, but he was merely a +creature of habit. "I wonder where she is!" he said to himself again +and again. "I wonder where she is. I wonder, too----" Again a knock +came at his door. + +"Well?" he said. "What is it?" + +"A sergeant of the police and two constables are at the door. They +want to see you particular," said the servant. + +"All right," he said. "I shall be down in a minute." + +He remembered tying his necktie with great care, and then went down +into the hall. No sooner had he done so than the sergeant came +forward, and put his hand upon his shoulder. + +"Paul Stepaside," he said, "I apprehend you for the murder of Mr. +Edward Wilson." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +HOW MARY BOLITHO RECEIVED THE NEWS + +Just before Christmas Mary Bolitho returned to her father's house from +London, where she had been visiting some friends. It was during this +visit that the meeting between herself and Paul, which we have +previously described, took place. During the rest of her stay in +London she constantly thought of what he had said to her, and wondered +whether, in the excitement of the moment, she had spoken foolishly. +She admired Paul greatly, even in spite of the dislike which still +lurked in her heart. She had an admiration for strong, capable men, +and had been greatly interested in the career which she felt sure lay +before him. Nevertheless, a strong feeling of antagonism possessed +her. His air of masterfulness irritated her, and in her quiet hours +she felt angry because he possessed a kind of fascination for her. She +could not help being pleased at his evident admiration for her, and she +thought of his avowal with feelings almost akin to delight, and yet she +never meant to encourage him. A great gulf lay between them, and the +thought of crossing it was not seriously entertained. He might be +ambitious, and he might carve out a great future; but still he was of +the working class, and doubtless had the instincts of his class. + +On her return home she found her father much preoccupied. During the +whole of the dinner hour he scarcely spoke, but presently, when the +servants had left them, he seemed desirous of entering into +conversation with her. + +"Have you had a good time in London, Mary?" he said. + +"A very interesting time indeed," was her reply. "The Scotmans were +very kind." + +"I suppose Stepaside's speech was talked about a good deal?" + +"Yes," replied the girl. "He seems to have made a great impression. +People are very much interested in him, too; and he was at the house of +Sir John Sussex on the night when he gave that reception." + +"Did you see him?" + +"Yes," she replied. + +"And speak to him?" + +"It was difficult to avoid doing that. You see, I had met him once or +twice, and when he came to me I had to be civil." + +"The impertinent upstart!" cried Mr. Justice Bolitho, and there was +almost a snarl in his tones. + +"He's not looked upon in that light in London," said the girl. +Somehow, she knew not why, she wanted to defend him against her +father's evident dislike. + +"We live in a topsy-turvy age," said the Judge. "Do you know what the +fellow did? He actually had the temerity to write, asking for my +consent to pay his addresses to you! You did not know of this, of +course?" + +"No." The word escaped her almost mechanically, but she felt a warm +flush pass over her face. + +"I never knew of such impertinence! Fancy the fellow whom I sent to +jail only a few years ago daring to think of such a thing! Had he come +to me in person, I think I should have had him horsewhipped. And he +ought to be horsewhipped, too. Why----" And then he laughed harshly. + +Mary Bolitho did not reply. Somehow words did not come easily to her. +All the same, a feeling of hot rebellion came into her heart. + +"I answered him, of course," went on the Judge. "At first I thought of +returning his letter without any remark whatever. Still, I sent him a +few words which I think will have a beneficial effect on his colossal +cheek!" + +"What did you say?" asked the girl. + +"I have a copy of it here somewhere," went on the Judge. "Would you +like to see it?" + +He took some papers from a drawer, and, having selected one, passed it +to her. Mary Bolitho's face crimsoned as she read. She knew what Paul +would feel. There was an insult in every line, almost in every word, +veiled by conventional politeness, it is true, but still a note which, +to a proud man, would wound like a poisoned knife. + +"I had to put a stop to that sort of thing, of course. Just because he +has made a little money, and has become a Member of Parliament, he has +dared to---- But I say, Mary, this leads me on to something else; and, +as we have an hour alone, it is well to have an understanding. How old +are you?" + +"Nearly twenty-one," she answered. + +"I don't want to lose you, of course, but the time must come when I +shall have to do so, and--of course, you'll not be surprised to know +Ned Wilson was here two or three days ago, and I fancy he considers the +matter settled. Do you know that he has spoken to me more than once?" + +"But I gave him no encouragement," said the girl. "I have promised him +nothing." + +"No; but you have not repulsed him." + +"You did not wish me to meet his appeal with a blank refusal," said the +girl. "You said you had special reasons for that. But I gave him no +encouragement. I do not want to marry him." + +"But you do not dislike him; in fact, you told me you felt very kindly +towards him." + +"But not in that way, not in that way!" + +"Mary, I want to be absolutely frank with you," said the Judge. "I +wish you to marry young Wilson." + +"Is that a command?" said the girl, and her voice was as cold as ice. + +Her father looked at her steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be +on the point of resenting her tones, but presently decided not to do so. + +"Let us put it this way," he said quietly, "Your marriage with Wilson +would help me out of many difficulties, and save me from many troubles." + +"I don't understand, father." + +"You've always looked upon me as a rich man," said Judge Bolitho. "I'm +not. I have been unfortunate in my investments, and while I was +practising at the Bar I made a good income; but we have always lived up +to it. You see, I have had to entertain a good deal; and then my +Parliamentary career, though short, was very expensive. I know I have +been very foolish, but I kept on that London house when I ought not to +have done so. A man who keeps up two establishments should be rich. I +thought I could afford it at one time, as my investments promised well. +Still, everything has gone to pieces, and I have enormous liabilities. +Had I known how things would have turned out I would never have +accepted the judgeship. You see, the salary is but small compared with +what I could make before. Within the next few months I have to find +huge sums of money; and--well, when you are Wilson's wife, it'll be +easy. But, for the life of me, I do not know another man who could +help me out of my troubles! There, Mary; I am sorry to have to make +such a confession, but it is best for you to know." + +"Then I am to be sold!" said the girl. "Sold like a bale of cotton!" + +"Don't put it in that way," said the father. "It's not fair. Besides, +consciously or unconsciously, you have doubtlessly encouraged Wilson. +You've repeatedly gone to the house, and you have known what gossips +have said." + +"I have refrained from contradicting gossip for your sake," replied +Mary. + +"Yes, I know. But you've always seemed pleased to see him, and as far +as I can judge, always found pleasure in his society. He's a good +fellow, too. I have made inquiries about him. He has a blameless +record, and I am sure would make you a good husband. As for +position--it is true he belongs to the manufacturing classes, but trade +is no longer regarded as it used to be. Why, how many men in Ned's +position have, during the last few years, obtained peerages! Among all +our circle of friends in London there is not one who could do for us +what Ned can do; and--Mary, as far as a father can promise for his +daughter, I promised for you. I knew you liked him, and Ned regards it +as settled." + +"Have you fixed the date, too, and decided where the wedding's to take +place?" And there was a world of scorn in her voice. + +"Come now, Mary. Don't be unreasonable!" + +"Unreasonable!" cried the girl. "Surely I have my own life to live. +If I have been friendly with the Wilsons it has been at your request. +You know that, during the election, I begged of you to stay at an +hotel, instead of continually accepting their hospitality. But you +practically commanded it, and so I went with you. But when you promise +that I shall take a man like Wilson for my husband I think it's going +too far. I should loathe his presence. I should shrink from him every +time he came near me." + +"But, Mary," said her father, evidently determined to keep his temper, +"surely this is strange. You knew his feelings towards you years ago, +and you never evinced any repugnance. You liked to spend hours upon +hours with him at the time of the election. You have been seen with +him a great deal. And when you have known that people have coupled +your name with his, you've still consented to go to Howden Clough." + +"As though a girl may not think differently at twenty-one from what she +thinks at nineteen!" And her voice was tremulous with anger. + +"Why should you think differently?" he asked. "You've seen no one else +whom you like better?" + +Mary was silent. + +"Perhaps you would like to marry this fellow?" And her father placed +his hand upon the letter which they had been discussing. + +"A thousand times rather than him!" + +"Mary, Mary!" + +"A thousand times rather than him!" repeated the girl. "At least, Paul +Stepaside cannot be despised." + +"And what is there to despise about Wilson?" + +"Oh, nothing!" said the girl. "But had he been placed in Mr. +Stepaside's position years ago, what would he have been?" + +"Well, think it over," said the Judge, rising. "In fact, if you care +anything about me, you will do what I say. Surely you've not fallen in +love with that fellow?" + +"No," said the girl. "I've fallen in love with no one. But, father, +can't you see, can't you understand what a girl feels? Marriage is, or +ought to be, the most sacred thing in life, and to think that I am sold +to such a man, because--because----" + +"Oh, you'll think better of it by to-morrow," said Judge Bolitho as he +left the room. "I know that young girls are silly. But remember, +Mary, I am older and wiser than you, and I am thinking of your future +as well as of my own." He left the room as he spoke, while Mary sat +for a long time thinking deeply. + +Every fibre of her being revolted against her father's proposal. She +hated the thought of a marriage of convenience, and her heart hotly +rebelled. All the same, she loved him greatly, and she knew that he +must have been in dire straits or he would not have told her of his +financial troubles. For Judge Bolitho was a proud man, and did not +talk freely of such matters. Had it been simply because her father +wished her to marry a rich man, she would never have given the question +a second thought; but when he asked her to save him from what seemed +like ruin, what could she do? She knew that a judge could not afford +to get into financial difficulties, and knew that his honour must be, +as far as the world is concerned, stainless. How, then, could she +refuse? All the same, her whole nature rose in angry rebellion against +such a thing. + +Again she thought of what Paul Stepaside had said to her, and wondered +whether, if she had never seen him, she would have been so angry at +what her father had done. For hours that night she lay sleepless, +trying to think of a plan whereby what seemed to her now as a calamity, +and worse than a calamity, could be avoided. + +When she came down the following morning her face was pale and almost +haggard. Although she did not realise it, what Paul Stepaside had said +to her had altered the whole outlook of her life. A heap of letters +lay on the breakfast-table, but they were all for her father. A +servant moved quietly round the room, arranging for their morning meal, +while she stood listlessly looking over the garden. It was now nine +o'clock, and her father always came punctually to the minute. + +The clock on the mantelpiece had barely ceased striking when he came +into the room. He kissed her perfunctorily, and then turned to his +letters. + +"Nothing important, Mary. Nothing important," he said, with an evident +desire to be cheerful. "I think we're going to have a nice day, too, +although we are so close to Christmas. But it's really too warm for +this time of year." + +For several minutes he evidently tried to make conversation, with but +little success. The girl made no response to anything he said, but sat +silently toying with the food that was placed before her. + +The meal was nearly at an end when a servant came in bearing a +telegram. The Judge took it from the salver and opened it almost +indifferently, but a second later his eyes were wild with terror, and +his hands trembled like an autumn leaf shaken with the wind. + +"My God!" he exclaimed. + +"What is it, father?" + +He had risen from his seat. He did not speak. He seemed unable to +answer her. + +"What is it, father? Is someone ill--dying--what?" + +And she snatched the wisp of thin paper from her father's hand. + + +"Ned murdered," she read. "Found early this morning with a knife in +his heart. Stabbed from the back. Stepaside apprehended for murder. +We're all distracted.--WILSON." + + +For a moment the words seemed to swim before her eyes. She could not +grasp their purport; and yet, even then, that which filled her heart +with terror was not the fact that Ned Wilson was dead but that Paul +Stepaside was apprehended as his murderer. She knew of the long feud +that had existed between them. She had heard a garbled account of +Paul's attack on Wilson on the night when he had been elected a member +for Brunford. She remembered all that rumour had said during her +father's political contest in Brunford, knew that it was the talk of +the town that Wilson had tried to ruin him. And Paul Stepaside was not +a gentle man. He was strong, passionate--a man who in his anger would +stop at nothing. Had Wilson, she wondered, aroused him to some +uncontrollable fury? And had Paul, in his anger, struck him down? But +a knife in his back, what did it mean? Paul could never do that, and +yet---- + +She felt her head swim. It seemed to her as though her senses were +leaving her. The vision of her father standing before her, pale-faced +and horror-stricken, was a blurred one. Nothing was real except that +ghastly terror was everywhere. + +"Of course, it can't be true!" she said, at length. + +"But don't you see, it's from his father? It was sent off this +morning. I wonder--no, I wonder at nothing! My God! what shall I do?" + +Even at this moment he seemed to be thinking more of himself than of +the agony which must be realised in Brunford. It was not Ned Wilson's +death which had whitened his face and caused him to tremble so. It was +the thought of his own ruin. Unless he could meet his liabilities, he, +an English judge, might be disgraced. Still, no; he thought he could +manage everything. It only wanted time, and perhaps--well, things +might not be so bad after all. + +"But it can't be true!" repeated the girl. "Paul Stepaside could never +do such a thing." + +Judge Bolitho had mastered himself by this time. His eager quick mind +had grasped all the bearings of the case. He remembered his last +interview with young Wilson, and the arrangement which had been made. +Yes, things were not so bad, after all. He could manage. + +"Of course he did it!" was his answer. "Who else could there be? +Stepaside was Ned's only enemy." + +"What will the Wilsons feel?" said the girl. "The horror of it! But +surely he could not be capable of it! He could not do it!" + +"He's capable of anything devilish!" replied her father. "I felt it +years ago, when I got him sent to prison. Of course, his name was +cleared somewhat, but he was always an incipient criminal of the worst +order--clever, if you like--ambitious, undoubtedly, but he belonged to +the criminal class. And yet---- There, don't you see, 'Stepaside +apprehended.' I thought he was too cunning for that, anyhow. I judged +that a man of his order would have done the deed in such a way that the +guilt would seem to belong to someone else. However, such fellows +always overreach themselves." + +"But he could not do it, father. He could not do it!" cried the girl. + +"A man of Stepaside's character could do anything." He was almost calm +now, and able to consider the bearings of the case judicially. "The +thing has been growing for years. Event after event has prepared the +way for it. Stepaside has never forgiven the Wilsons for sending him +to prison. As you know, too, he has always hated me for that. +Besides, Stepaside has always had the belief that Wilson has been +trying to ruin him financially. You know what was said during the +election? There have been rumours lately to the effect that this +fellow and his partner have lost a good deal of money. Very likely he +tried to fasten that on Wilson; and so in the end he murdered him. But +we shall see! We shall see! There will be more detailed news +presently." + +"But he could never have done it!" and the girl reiterated it with +weary monotony. It seemed to her as though she must fight for Paul +Stepaside's life, as though she were called upon to proclaim his +innocence. + +"Who else could have done it?" said the Judge. "Don't you see, events +must have pointed to him clearly, or they would never have dared to +apprehend him. Besides, Ned Wilson hadn't an enemy in Brunford besides +Stepaside; no other in the world as far as I know. The Wilsons have +always been kind masters, always popular with their employees. Ned was +a general favourite in the town. He's always borne a good character, +too. During the years we've known him, there's never been a breath +against him. Yes, it's all plain enough. But I must make inquiries, +and find out." + +He wandered round the room for more than a minute like one demented, +while the girl sat watching him with a hard, fearsome look in her eyes. + +"Do you remember what he said that night when I was elected for +Brunford?" said the Judge presently. "Do you remember how he defied +me, and proclaimed savagely that we should meet again, and always to +fight? Well, it seems as though we shall meet again, but this time it +will be as judge and criminal!" + +"But, father," cried the girl, "you don't mean that you would ever sit +in judgment on him?" + +"It seems probable that it will be so," said Mr. Bolitho, after a +moment's reflection. "Yes, and I will see that he shall have justice, +too, full justice. The atheistic scoundrel! You can now see the +logical outcome of the opinions of such men. He has vaunted for years +that he believed neither in God nor Devil. He admitted no +responsibilities to a Supreme Being, and when a man occupies such an +attitude, what moral standard can he have? He hated Ned--poor +Ned!--and then, having no standard of right before him, having no +religion to sustain him, or to rebuke him, he became, in fact, what he +was at heart--a murderer! You know what I have always said, Mary, +about these socialistic fellows: Atheism lies at the root of it all! +When a man ceases to believe in God he can be trusted for nothing. If +religion is destroyed then all is destroyed!" + +Each word seemed to ring like a knell in the girl's heart. It was as +though judgment were passed already, and Paul Stepaside were condemned. + +"But I must find out more about it," he went on. "Particulars will be +flashing over a thousand wires by this time. I must send a wire to +Howden Clough, too. I must try and find out the truth, the whole +truth!" + +And then he went out of the room, leaving Mary bewildered. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +PAUL IS APPREHENDED FOR MURDER + +"Paul Stepaside, I apprehend you for the murder of Mr. Edward Wilson!" + +The words stunned him, and for the moment he scarcely realised their +purport--but only for a moment. His mind asserted itself, and the +meaning of what he had just heard came to him in all its grim reality. + +"I have to inform you," said the sergeant of the police, "that anything +that you may say to me may be used against you as evidence hereafter." + +Paul looked at the man's face with a kind of curiosity. For the moment +he seemed to be watching some drama of events with which he had nothing +to do. The three policemen were of the ordinary well-fed and somewhat +self-satisfied class of men. They acted upon order, without much +intelligence. Paul hesitated a moment, and began to reflect deeply. +He called to mind all the events of the last few hours, and his heart +was filled with a great terror. That which, a little while before, had +seemed only a dark shadow now assumed tangible shape. + +"Very well, I will go with you," he said quietly. And then, again +reflecting a moment, he continued: "But first of all I would like to +speak to my mother." + +"No," said the sergeant. "I can't allow you to go out of my sight." + +"Think what you're saying, my man!" said Paul sharply. + +"I can't help it, sir," replied the sergeant. "I'm only acting upon +orders"; and he spoke humbly, apologetically. Even at that moment a +passing stranger could not have helped noticing the difference between +the men. The policemen were stolid, commonplace, the mere creatures of +formula; the young man whom they had come to apprehend was, to the most +casual observer, a man of mark. Neither of them could help feeling it. +Pale of face, clear-cut features, black, flashing eyes, square +forehead, a well-shaped head covered with black, glossy hair--tall, +erect, well-dressed--it might seem as though he were their master and +they his servants; and yet each realised that he was a prisoner, +apprehended for murder. + +"Very well, Broglin," said Paul quietly. "I see you take this thing +seriously, and, of course, I do not wish to hinder you from doing your +duty. But, at least, I have the right to know what authority you have +for apprehending me?" + +"I have a magistrate's warrant," replied Broglin, the sergeant. + +"Yes; but they cannot have made out a warrant without some sufficient +reason for so doing. To be charged with murder is a serious affair!" + +"I know it, sir," replied Broglin. He had forgotten the part he had +intended to play. He was altogether conquered by the stronger +personality with which he had come into contact. + +"Well, what are the grounds for apprehending me, then?" + +"First," said the policeman, after a moment's reflection, "Mr. Ned +Wilson was found dead this morning. This man here, Police-Constable +Ashworth, was on his beat, not far from Howden Clough, when he found +him lying face on the ground, the knife driven into his heart." + +"Very sad, very terrible," said Paul. "But pray, what have I to do +with that?" + +"Of course, he started to work," said the constable, "and before long +two men who are well known in Brunford, Abel Scott and James Thomas +Dixon, stated that they saw you the previous night. They heard what +took place between you; they saw Mr. Wilson knock you down with a heavy +stick--you can't deny that; there's the wound on your temple now--and +they heard you threaten to pay him out." + +"Yes," said Paul, "but that's not enough on which to apprehend me." + +"I have got the magistrate's warrant," said the policeman. + +"Still, there must be something more. What is it?" + +The policeman did not feel himself obliged to answer the question; but, +still yielding to Paul's stronger presence, went on humbly: "Well, sir, +of course the people at Howden Clough were knocked up at once, and a +letter was discovered from you to young Master Edward, asking him to +meet you." + +"Still, that's not enough to apprehend me," said Paul. + +"Maybe not," replied the constable. "But the knife which was buried in +Mr. Ned Wilson's heart is known to be yours. It was seen on the desk +in your office only yesterday." + +Paul's lips became pale as these words were spoken. He knew it was +damning evidence. He remembered the knife; he had reason to. "Very +well," he said. "I will go with you; but, first of all, let me ring +for a servant. No, I do not wish to move away from you farther than +the bell here." He pressed a button as he spoke, and the servant, who +had been listening, eagerly rushed to him. + +"Mary," said Paul, "where's my mother?" + +"I don't know," replied the girl. "I don't think she's up yet." + +"Perhaps she's not well," said Paul. "Tell her for me that I have to +go down into the town with these men, on a matter of business, but that +she need be under no apprehension about me. Do you understand?" + +"Yes, sir," replied the girl. + +She had heard all that had been said. She knew that her young master +was accused of murder, and in a way she believed it, but she could not +treat him disrespectfully. There was something in his presence that +made it impossible. + +"The cab's outside," said Broglin. "I'd better put on the handcuffs, I +suppose?" + +Paul lifted his eyebrows. For the first time he fully realised what +was taking place. All the ghastly disgrace, the terrible notoriety, +became real to him. He knew that in a few minutes the whole town would +be agog with excitement. His most intimate affairs would be discussed +by every gossip in Brunford. Still, it could not be helped. The thing +had to be gone through, and he must go through with it. But he must be +careful not to betray himself or anyone else. + +"There is no need of the handcuffs, Broglin," he said. "Still, do your +duty." + +"I am sorry," said the man. "But, you see, it's a serious affair, +and--and----" + +"Never mind," interrupted Paul, "put them on!" + +He stepped into the cab, and the three burly forms of the policemen +also went with him. The word was given to the driver, and a few +minutes later he felt himself drawn towards the Town Hall. + +"Shall I pull down the blinds, Mr. Stepaside?" said Broglin. + +For a moment he was tempted to say "Yes," but only for a moment. It +was no use. What would be the good of blinds? Every one would know. +Even now he saw groups of people in the street, talking excitedly, +while more than one looked curiously at the cab in which he rode. He +had no doubt that reporters were near, eager to get a sensational +account for the local papers. It would be a godsend to them. Paul +Stepaside, Member of Parliament for Brunford, the man who had been +spoken of as the idol of the people--he, whose one speech in the House +of Commons had given him an almost national reputation, would now be +notorious for one of the foulest deeds of which a man is capable. +Still, he did not lose control over himself. He sat quietly, grimly, +thoughtfully. There was that in his heart which he dared not reveal, +and which at all hazards must be kept buried. + +Presently the cab reached the Town Hall. A number of loafers were +hanging around, while many had gone so far as to leave their work in +order not to miss such a sight. It was not like an ordinary murder. +Ned Wilson was the son of one of the most prominent men in the +district; and Paul Stepaside, who had come to Brunford only a few years +before, had become the most noted man in the town--and now it had come +to this! A few minutes later he found himself in a cold, dark cell. + +Of what he thought during the many hours he remained there it is not +easy to tell, but that he felt the terror of it and the grim tragedy +which pervaded everything can be easily realised. He was apprehended +for murder, and he had been taken to that gloomy cell because of it. +Of course, the reasons were plain enough, and as far as he could see, +the police officials could not evade their duty. The long-standing +feud between himself and Wilson was well known. Many threats had been +uttered on both sides, while the quarrel which had taken place the +previous night had evidently become public property. It seemed to him +as though the hand of Fate had been at work in order to encompass his +ruin. Of course, he was innocent of the deed. He had never struck Ned +Wilson the blow which deprived him of life; nevertheless, every +circumstance seemed to point to him; and, to crown all, it was his +knife that had been found in Wilson's heart. + +During the time he had been in the cab he had been thinking of the +means he should use to clear himself, for he felt sure he could do so. +Sitting alone in the cell, however, this became impossible. Such a +terror as he had never known before filled his heart. He believed he +knew who had committed this ghastly deed, but his lips must be sealed. +He must not tell; he would rather die than tell of what he knew. His +mother, out of love for him, and with a desire to be revenged upon the +man who had been his enemy, had, in her mad passion, taken away his +life. + +He called to mind the incidents of the previous day. He remembered +that, not long after he had arrived at his office that morning, his +mother came to see him. She had come in by a side entrance and had +found her way across a little piece of intervening yard, and had thus +come to his office without the notice of others--at least, he hoped so; +at any rate, it was quite possible that she should have done so. He +wondered why she had come that morning, because she seemed to have +nothing to say to him of importance. But while they were there, she +had noticed a large knife lying upon his desk. It had been sent to him +some time before by a man from South America, with whom he had done +business. It was an ugly, murderous-looking weapon, and keen as a +razor. He remembered her asking questions about it. Soon after he had +been called out of the office, and when he returned he noticed that it +was not lying on the table. He had paid no particular attention to +this fact at the time, because his mind had been filled with other +things. He had been trying to discover Ned Wilson's whereabouts, and +he had been thinking of the things he meant to say to him. + +During the afternoon he had forgotten all about his mother--he had +reason to--but on his return, after he had told her all that had taken +place, he remembered she seemed like one bereft of her senses. Every +detail of the interview they had together came to him there, as he sat +alone in the darkness, thinking and remembering. He called to mind +every word she had spoken; and, in the light of after events, he +thought he could plainly see their meaning. She had told him that he +need not fear, that he should be avenged, that the desires of his heart +should be realised. She had said something about Howden Clough. He +had paid no particular attention to it then, as he fancied she was +thinking of the place where he had quarrelled with Wilson; but now he +knew. + +He remembered going into his mother's bedroom and looking into the +wardrobe where she kept her dresses. He had noted that it was nearly +midnight, and her bed had been untouched. He called to mind, too, how +presently he had left the house, determined to find her; how he had +walked for hours in vain, not daring to make inquiries; and then, when +presently he had returned, he had found her in her bedroom, evidently +under the stress of a great emotion. There was a look of unholy joy in +her eyes, and she had uttered wild words. He could not understand them +then, but he understood now. His mother, wrought up almost to a pitch +of insanity, roused to hatred of Wilson, not only because of what he +had done to him but of what he had said about her, and madly thinking +that she was going to help him, had gone out and committed this deed. + +Of course, there were many things he could not explain; but the grim +logic of facts stared him in the face, and they explained the +unnameable fear which had come into his heart, the black shadow which +had rested upon everything. + +In a way, he was almost glad that they had apprehended him; and there +in the silence he made a vow that, whatever should happen, he must see +to it that no suspicion should ever rest upon her. Evidently she had +not been in the mind of the officials at all. No one would suspect +that she had not gone to bed when she left him. He was the only one +who knew, and he must guard the secret at whatever cost. + +He knew something of the course of the procedure which would be taken +against him. Whether he were committed for trial or not--ay, whether +any jury might find him guilty or not, he must say nothing, and do +nothing, which should have the slightest tendency to connect her with +this terrible thing. + +The meaning of the tragedy itself did not appeal to him. The fact that +Wilson, the man who through the long years had been his enemy--yes, and +his rival, too--was dead did not appeal to him. The ghastliness of the +tragedy was not what he thought about at all. Ever and always his mind +reverted to his mother. She must be saved. + +He had wondered the night before whether she were quite sane, and he +wondered now; but that did not matter. Under no conceivable +circumstances must the thoughts of men be directed to her! + +But what should he do? He did not want to die; he hated the very +thought of death. He remembered, too, the smile that Mary Bolitho had +given him when last they met. He thought of the hopes she had inspired +in his heart, of the dreams which had made the world beautiful. That +was all over now. His mother had made everything impossible. But +whatever she had done, she had done out of love for him, and he could +not think harshly of her. Rather, in a way he could not understand, he +loved her more than ever. + +"Poor mother!" he said to himself. "It was all for love of me--all +because she wanted to make me happy!" + +Again he went over the whole miserable story, and tried to see whether +he had not been mistaken in the suspicion which haunted his brain, but +he saw no loophole anywhere. Who could have committed the deed but +she? There was the fact of the knife, the fact of the wild threats she +had uttered, the fact of her going out into the night alone, the fact +that when he returned in the morning he had found her in an almost +hysterical state of mind in her bedroom, the fact that his knife was +buried in Wilson's heart. No, no; there could be no doubt about it. +He did not love her the less, rather the more. He did not regard her +as a murderess, and yet he felt sure it was she, even although he lay +there apprehended for one of the foulest deeds man could commit. + +The following morning Paul was brought before the magistrates. He knew +that their duty was largely a matter of form. It was for them to +justify the warrant that had been taken out against him, the warrant to +arrest him on a charge of murder. + +When he entered the justice room he was perfectly calm. He had mapped +out his course of action to the minutest detail, and he had no doubt +about the findings of the magistrates. Up to the present no coroner's +inquest had been held on the body of Edward Wilson. That might not +take place for another day or so. Certain preliminaries would have to +be arranged first. + +The court was thronged, and he afterwards learnt that the street +outside was literally deluged with people who had tried to obtain +admission. He had no doubt that thousands who had shouted with +exultation when he became Member for Brunford now believed him to be a +murderer; while others, with that morbid interest which is ever +associated with crime, wanted to be present while he was tried. Every +seat on the magistrates' bench was occupied; both the victim and the +supposed murderer were well known. + +Several witnesses were examined; the two men who had seen the quarrel +between Paul and Wilson gave evidence of the very angry scene which +took place. They described Wilson's rage, and told how he had struck +Paul a very heavy blow on the head with a stick; and that Paul, on his +recovery, had threatened to be revenged. The knife, also, which had +been found in Wilson's body, was proved to be Paul's property, and had +been known to be in his possession, while the long enmity between the +accused and the murdered man was the talk of the town. + +The results of the magistrates' sitting were, of course, inevitable. +No bench of magistrates could do other than they were obliged to do. +He had set up no defence nor made any statement. Paul Stepaside was +remanded, and sent to Strangeways Gaol in Manchester to await the +coroner's inquest. + +By a little after six that evening Paul found himself again a prisoner +in the gaol where he had previously spent six months. But this time +all was different. On the former occasion, even although he knew he +had been unjustly accused and more unjustly prosecuted, he was aware +that much public sympathy was felt for him. He was regarded as a kind +of hero among a large class of people. He felt sure, too, that in due +course his name would be cleared, and even although the marks of his +prison life would ever remain upon him, he would be outwardly very +little the worse for what he suffered. + +Now, however, the situation was worse. The sky was black and murky; +the air was smoke-laden; the atmosphere seemed to be tense with gloom; +but it was not blacker than the sky of his life. Everything was +hopeless, and he could do nothing. + +Hour after hour he sat in Strangeways Gaol, thinking and wondering. +When the magistrates had remanded him for trial, he had shown no sign, +but had stood proud, calm, erect, and had shown no perturbation +whatever at their judgment. It might have been the most commonplace +thing imaginable. But now that he was alone in his cell everything was +different. He saw what it all meant, and he knew, too, where the +pathway in which he had elected to tread would lead. + +He was not a coward, and he had steeled his heart against the worst. +Death he did not fear; but even although he believed that to no man who +was dead was there any life hereafter, and, as a consequence, he would +know nothing of what took place, he dreaded the thought of disgrace. +He knew that throughout the whole land his portrait would be printed in +a thousand papers. He knew he would be discussed by people whom he +despised. He knew that his name would be a byword and a hissing in the +country, while his mother---- But no, he would not think of her. + +And what of his hopes? What of his ambitions? What of his life's +work? All seemed to be at an end. He called to mind what his mother +had said to him years before on the Altarnun Moors. "Find your +father," she had said. "Clear your name from reproach, and be revenged +for all he did." And now he would have to die, with his work +unaccomplished. In spite of everything, he had failed to find his +father, failed to find the slightest clue to his whereabouts. Thus, as +far as that went, his life's work would be unaccomplished. He thought +of his career, the career which he was just beginning to make +brilliant. He had become a Member of Parliament. He had risen from +obscurity to what was the promise of fame. He had been invited to the +houses of the rich and great. His name had been spoken of as one that +would have a great future, and now all that was at an end. + +But more than all this, he thought of Mary Bolitho. He remembered the +words she had spoken to him on the night of the gathering in London, +remembered the flash of her eyes, the smile on her lips. What if her +father had written an insulting note of refusal? It weighed nothing +with him. He had sworn to win her, and he believed--yes, he believed +that he could have done so. But now all that was impossible, too. Of +course, she had heard of what had taken place, heard of the accusation +which had been laid against him. She would look on him as a murderer; +yes, and as the perpetrator of a gross, vulgar murder, too. What would +she think of him? Yes, that maddened him. The rest seemed small in +comparison with this, and he knew what would take place, too. Next +there would be a coroner's inquest, then another meeting before the +magistrates, and then he would have to meet judge and jury at the +Manchester Assizes. Every detail of his life would be discussed, no +matter how sacred it might be, while the vilest thoughts and feelings +would be attributed to him by a gaping, vulgar crowd, and he must +suffer it. And this was to be the end of life. A few weeks more and +the end would come, and he, Paul Stepaside, who had such hopes of a +brilliant future, would end his life on the scaffold. A hangman's cord +would be around his neck, and he would drop into Eternity, reviled and +spurned despite his innocence. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE CORONER'S INQUEST + +The next day he was brought back to Brunford again, this time to be +present at the coroner's inquest. A prison van took him from +Strangeways Gaol to the station, and thence he went to the town in +which, to use the words of one of the morning papers, "he had won an +almost unique position." He dreaded this inquest almost more than he +dreaded anything else, for he knew that the inquiry which would be made +would not be hedged in by so many formulae as those which are +associated with the Assizes. The business of this coroner's inquest +would not be to condemn a murderer or even to apprehend a murderer, but +officially to decide upon the means whereby Ned Wilson came to his end, +and, as a consequence, anyone could elect to give evidence, and anyone +could tell not only of what he was sure, but of what he believed. All +sorts of irrelevant matter might be adduced here--gossip, suspicion, +unsupported statement. All belonged to the order of the day. He knew +what Brunford was. On the whole the people were kind-hearted and +well-meaning. Many of them might be coarse and somewhat brutal, but on +the whole they were people he loved. But he knew their morbid interest +in crime, their love of gossip; knew that they were eager to hear and +to discuss every bit of scandal which might be adduced. + +The place in which the inquest was held was crowded. The jurymen who +had been sworn had examined the body according to the dictates of the +law, and had now met to decide as to the cause of his death. A number +of people were there, ready to give evidence or to state what they knew +or believed concerning the matter. All were eager, and many enjoyed +the situation as they had not enjoyed anything for years. + +"I would not miss being here for a week's work," said one man to +another. + +"I see George Preston is over there. He looks pale, does George. It +must be an awful blow to him!" + +"Dost believe Stepaside did it?" + +"I don't know. I never thought him to be that sort of chap; but then, +you know, he and Ned Wilson have been at it for years." + +"I can't see that the motive is sufficient," said another. "What +motive had he for killing Ned Wilson? Here he wur in Parliament, and +making a name for hissen. Is it likely that for a bit of spite he'd +kill a chap in that way? Besides, he's fair clever, is Stepaside. +Would he be such a fooil as to kill him wi' a knife as was known to be +his own?" + +"No; but when a man is in a passion he thinks o' nowt. He just becomes +like a savage. And Paul always had a bit of a temper." + +"Ay, but he were a quiet chap, too, and he must ha' known that he'd ha' +been suspected. I can't believe that he would be such a fooil--and +yet, as tha ses, nobody knows." + +At length the proper business of the inquest commenced. The coroner, +who was a local doctor, sat grave and disturbed. He knew Paul well, +and the two had often fought side by side on public questions. The +jurymen, too, although they in a way enjoyed their position, were sad +at heart. Nearly every one of them knew Paul and respected him. It +was terrible to them to see him before them there as a prisoner, and +yet they could not help admiring him. He was carefully dressed, and he +had seen to it that his clothes were brushed, and that his linen was +spotless. Not by a tremor of his lips or by the movement of a muscle +did he show what he felt. Pale, haughty, calm, dignified, he stood +before them as though he were a mere spectator of a scene which he +despised. + +The case was taken in the ordinary way. The first to give evidence was +old Mr. Edward Wilson, the father of the murdered man. Even Paul +almost pitied him as he saw him. His face was haggard and drawn. He +who had been usually so florid looked as pale as ashes. His cheeks +were baggy and his voice was unnatural. He identified the murdered man +as his son. He confessed to his having returned that night after his +quarrel with Paul, when he had seemed much disturbed. Two letters +awaited him, both of which he had read and then destroyed by throwing +them into the fire. About nine o'clock he went out, saying that he was +going to his club. Since that time he had never been seen alive. +Where he had gone he could not tell; certain it is he never came home +again. He told of the feud which had existed between his son and Paul +Stepaside. He knew that Paul hated the murdered man with an intense +hatred, and had been known on many occasions to threaten him with +violence. He adhered strictly to the truth, and yet that truth was so +coloured by his own feelings and prejudices that it was evident he had +no doubt about who killed his son. He enlarged upon the fact that, as +far as he knew, his son had not a single enemy in the world besides +Paul Stepaside, and certainly no other had a sufficient motive to +murder him. + +After this came the statement of the policeman. He had been walking on +his beat about seven o'clock, and had seen the body of a dead man lying +in a lane not far from Howden Clough. He quickly identified it as that +of Mr. Edward Wilson. He described the position in which it lay. He +told of the knife which was driven through the body. He immediately +reported the matter to his superiors, whereupon the usual steps were +taken. A doctor was summoned, who had made an examination, and so +forth. + +After the constable's statement the doctor gave his evidence. He had +no doubt as to the cause of death. He had died as a result of a knife +that was driven through his heart. The blow was struck from behind. +As far as he could judge, Mr. Edward Wilson had been murdered between +half-past four and five that same morning. While the doctor was +speaking there was a deathly silence in the room. It seemed as though +there were another nail driven into the scaffold on which Paul +Stepaside was to hang. Up to now Paul's name had been seldom +mentioned, and yet his was the personality which dominated everything. +Eyes were constantly turned towards him. Whispered remarks were often +heard concerning him. All that the magistrates had asked at their +meeting was remembered. The story of the past became vivid again. + +Presently the two men who had watched the quarrel between Paul and Ned +Wilson told their story. It may be that they did not adhere strictly +to the letter of the truth. Perhaps they were anxious to make an +impression at the gathering. Certain it is that, in their own rough +way, they made it almost certain that Paul was the murderer. + +"You say," said the coroner to one of them, who was more gifted with +speech than the other, "that you saw the deceased and Paul Stepaside +quarrelling?" + +"Ay, I did. I were just going down t' lane wi' my mate here, and I +heard a sound of voices. It wur gettin' dark, but I could see plainly +who they were. We wur a bit curious, and so we both on us waited and +listened. They did not see us." + +"Did you hear what was said?" + +"Weel, nowt what you would call anything connected like, but it were +easy to see as 'ow Stepaside were threatenin' Wilson. They were both +on 'em pale wi' passion." + +"Was Stepaside armed at the time?" + +"No--at least, as far as I could see, he'd nowt in 'is hands, but +more'na once he lifted his fist as though he would strike Mr. Wilson." + +"You say you heard no connected speech between them?" said the coroner. + +"Not much," replied the man; "but we heerd summat." + +"Well, tell us what you heard." + +"I heerd Wilson say to Stepaside, 'You spy! You sneaking hound!' And +then I heerd Stepaside tell Wilson he must do summat, but what it was I +couldna rightly say. It seemed to be summat about a letter." + +"Well, and what then?" + +"Well, then Wilson was in a fair fury, and he spoke loud." + +"And you heard what he said?" + +"Ay, I heerd." + +"What did he say?" + +"Well, he insulted Stepaside's mother. I cannot remember the exact +words, but he said she were no better'na she ought to be, in fact that +she were--I'd rather write it down, maaster," he said. + +"And after that?" said the coroner presently. + +"And after that I saw Stepaside look murder. No one could help seeing +it. His great black een just shot fire, and I thought he was going to +knock Wilson down, but he didn't. He just stopped hissen, and he only +said, 'Very well, then, I shall do what I say.' Upon that he turned on +his heel to walk away, but he had not gone more than six steps when +Wilson lifted that stick of his with an ivory handle to it, and struck +Stepaside a smashing blow on th' head. I thought first of all he had +killed him, for he fell on t' ground like a lump o' coll, and lay there +for maybe a minute, while Wilson stood over him." + +"And then?" asked the coroner. + +"Presently he picked himself up. 'I might have expected this,' he said +after a bit. 'It's a coward's blow, a kind of blow such as you always +strike. But remember, I always pay my debts, always; even to the +uttermost farthing!' And then he went away without another word, and I +shall never forget the look on his face as he did go away." + +"And after that?" asked the coroner. + +"After that I know no more," replied the man. + +The question of the knife was then considered, and there were several +who testified that this knife belonged to Paul. It had been sent to +him from abroad by a man with whom he did business, and his partner, +George Preston, admitted that he had often seen it lying on Paul's desk. + +During this evidence it was noticed that Paul listened intently. It +seemed as though he were specially interested. Never once did he relax +his attention. It might seem as though he regarded this as the most +important piece of evidence. During the earlier part of the +examination he had seemed almost careless, but now every faculty was on +the alert, every nerve was in tension. + +"Did Stepaside ever carry this knife with him?" asked the coroner. + +"Not to my knowledge," replied Preston. + +"Has he ever discussed the knife with you?" + +"Well, I can hardly say that," he replied. "But when it was sent I +remember him saying that it was a murderous weapon, and it would be +easy to kill a man with it. It was as sharp as a razor, too." + +"Do you know whether he had it on the day in question?" + +"I only know that it was on the office desk that day." + +"Do you know of anyone who entered the office that day who would be +likely to take it?" + +"No," replied Preston; "I know of no one. You see, since we took the +new mill my partner had one office and I had another. Of course, we +were constantly going into each other's offices, but each of us +regarded the other's room as private." + +"Is your office situated close to his?" + +"Not far away." + +"Could anyone go into his office without your hearing or knowing?" + +"Yes, I suppose so, but I do not think it likely." + +"And you say you know of no one who entered Stepaside's room that day?" + +"No, I can remember no one." + +"Were you in it that day yourself?" + +"Yes. We always meet and discuss matters every morning when I do not +go to Manchester." + +"And you met that morning?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you happen to see the knife?" + +"Yes, I saw it lying on his table." + +"Was Stepaside in the habit of locking his office before he went out?" + +"Always. He was very particular about that. He thought he had reason +to be." + +"What reason?" + +"Well, he believed that we had enemies. I do not wish to enlarge upon +it now, but it's well known in the town." + +This led to a number of questions wherein Paul's relationships with the +murdered man were freely discussed. Witness after witness gave +evidence of this. There could be no doubt about it. A long-standing +quarrel had existed between the late Edward Wilson and Paul Stepaside. + +"There's one further question I would like to ask of Mr. Preston," said +the coroner presently. "It seems to me of very vital importance. A +knife known to belong to Paul Stepaside was found driven into the body +of the deceased. The question I wish to ask is this: Do you think it +possible that anyone could have obtained this knife without Stepaside's +knowledge and consent?" + +"I am afraid not," and Preston spoke the words with a kind of gasp. + +"And you, who were in your room most of the day, have no knowledge of +anyone going into his office who would be likely to take it?" + +"I have no knowledge. Indeed, my partner left at midday, and I do not +remember him coming to the place at all afterwards." + +At the close of this evidence Paul gave a sigh, seemingly of relief. +This might seem strange, for every word that had been spoken had seemed +to fasten the guilt more securely on himself. Presently he was asked +whether he wished to make a statement, and again all present were +struck by his demeanour. His face was very pale, and his eyes had a +peculiar light in them, but otherwise he showed no excitement or fear. +His voice was perfectly steady; his lips did not quiver; his hands did +not tremble. The evidence against him was as black as night. Indeed, +no one seemed to have any doubt as to the finding of the jury--but he +did nothing to clear himself. It is true, he declared emphatically +that he had no hand in killing the deceased man; he also said that when +he had last seen the knife it was lying on his office desk, but he made +no endeavour to show how it might have been taken away without his +knowledge. + +He was also just as reticent about his whereabouts on the night of the +murder. During the examination of the other witnesses, especially that +of his partner, he had seemed perturbed and anxious, but directly that +was over he became calm and almost indifferent. + +If there was one ray of light in the whole of the ghastly business, it +was that Mary Bolitho's name had never been mentioned. The truth was, +no one knew of his dreams concerning her. No one fancied that he had +ever given her a thought. It was generally believed in the town that +she was to become the wife of young Edward Wilson, but the thought that +the deceased man had a rival in Paul was outside the realm of their +calculation. Consequently, the words which he had dreaded were never +spoken. + +The inquest came to an end presently, and the jury found what had been +a foregone conclusion throughout the day. Their verdict was that the +deceased man had been wilfully murdered, and that the murderer was Paul +Stepaside. + +Everyone felt and knew that this was but another preliminary step; +everyone knew that the trial was yet to be held, and yet no one doubted +but that this, as far as Paul Stepaside was concerned, was another step +towards the gallows. Many had hoped with a great hope that some +evidence would be adduced whereby a shadow of suspicion might be thrown +on someone else, but none was forthcoming. Every hand seemed to point +to Paul Stepaside. When the jury gave their verdict, even although all +knew it was not final, a great sobbing sigh was heard. The air seemed +to be charged with calamity. The faces of many were white, and tears +flowed from the eyes of many unused to weeping. + +"Thou'st hanged tha partner," said one man to George Preston. "Thine +was the most damning evidence of th' lot." + +Preston's face was pale as ashes. He could scarcely speak. "I +couldn't help it," he said. + +"Nay, I suppose not. But it seemed to me that every answer tha gave +was another strand in the rope which shall hang him." + +"God knows," said Preston, "if I could have answered in any other way +than I did I would have done so." + +"Then tha doesna believe he did it?" + +"I don't know what to believe. I know he hated Wilson. I know they've +been at daggers drawn for years, but I can't believe that Paul did it +that way. He isn't that kind of man. Besides, it doesn't stand to +reason that he should have taken the knife that was known to be his to +do such work." + +"That's where I'm stalled." + +"And yet, what could I do? As far as I know, nobody did go into the +office, and nobody could take it without his knowing." + +"We've noan heard the last on it yet. Things'll come to light." + +"Ay," whispered another man in another part of the room. "'He that +hateth his brother is a murderer'--that's Scripture, ain't it? And +Paul hated Wilson. Besides, he had no faith in owt. He believed in +neither God nor devil. Ay, it's a sad thing when a chap's given up +faith in religion." + +And so men talked, while many shook their heads and wondered. Many did +not believe in his guilt, and yet when the question was asked as to who +could be guilty if not he, no reply was given. + +"He'll have a weary Christmas," remarked an old weaver as the prison +van went towards the station. "I wish I could send him summat to make +it a bit brighter, but what can us do?" + +"At ony rate, we can pray for his soul." + +A little later Paul was brought back to Brunford again. He had to +appear a second time before the magistrates, who, after another +examination, committed him for trial to the Manchester Assizes. + +"What'll happen to him now?" asked someone after the committal. + +"He'll have to stay in Strangeways Gaol in Manchester until the Assizes +are held," was the reply. + +"When will that be?" + +"It may be weeks; it may be months. But I expect it'll be held +somewhere about the end of January." It was a young lawyer who said +this, who was hoping that the trial would mean some work for him. + +"Poor Paul!" was the response. "I wonder how his mother is takin' it?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AWAITING THE TRIAL + +Of course, the newspapers were full of the accounts of the murder of +young Edward Wilson. The two Brunford papers were filled with +practically nothing else. The Manchester dailies devoted several +columns to it. Not only were the Wilsons an important family in +Lancashire, but Paul Stepaside was a Member of Parliament, who had +lately made a speech of note in the House. Even the London dailies +gave a large amount of space to it; and on the morning following the +coroner's inquest Mary Bolitho felt as though someone had struck her a +blow, when, on the first page of the newspaper which had been sent to +her father's house, she saw the staring headlines: "Brunford Murder. +Coroner's Inquest. Paul Stepaside, M.P., committed for trial." She +had no breakfast that day, but went straight to her room, where she +spent hours reading and re-reading the reports given. Everything +pointed to the fact that Paul was guilty, and yet she felt sure he was +not. The shock of Ned Wilson's death, of course, had been very great, +and she had written a letter of condolence to the family. But even her +horror at the murder was nothing compared with her feelings as she +realised that Paul Stepaside, even at that moment, lay in Strangeways +Gaol. She remembered him as they spoke together the last time they had +met. She called to mind her admiration of him, and reflected that, +although he had been brought up among the working classes, his +appearance gave no suggestion of it. Perfectly dressed, perfectly +calm, and possessed of that _savoir faire_ which seems to be innate +with a certain class of people, Paul was infinitely removed from the +class of men with whom one associates criminal deeds. She knew enough +of law, and had talked sufficiently often with her father, to know how +absolutely false circumstantial evidence may be, even although it seems +absolutely conclusive; and now, despite the fact that her father seemed +to have no doubt about Paul's guilt, her mind simply refused to accept +it. + +He had never done the deed. He simply could not! If she were asked +her reason for this she could not have given one, only she knew--she +was absolutely sure. + +Like many others, too, she tried to think who could have been guilty of +the murder. The fact that young Ned Wilson was dead was, of course, +beyond doubt. Someone must have killed him. Who was it? Her father +had repeatedly declared that, excepting Paul, Ned had not an enemy in +the world. He had lived all his life in Brunford; he was known to the +people. His father was a large employer of labour, and was regarded as +a good master. Ned lived on good terms with everybody. Who, then, +could have killed him? Of course, every finger pointed to Paul--the +long feud, the repeated quarrels, the injuries which Wilson had often +done to him, the blow on his head on the very night of the murder, and +Paul's threat. Then, again, there was his refusal to give an account +of his actions between midnight and six in the morning--and, last of +all, the knife acknowledged to be the property of Paul, with which the +deed was done. The chain seemed complete; there did not appear to be a +loophole anyhow, and yet she was certain Paul had never committed the +deed. Was it likely that a clever man such as he, even if he had +wanted to commit murder, would have used such brutal means? Would he +have left behind him the knife which must inevitably be traced to him? +The thing was impossible! Paul could not have done it. Then she +remembered the strong, passionate nature of the man, the flash of his +eyes, his grim resolves, and her mind became torn by conflicting +thoughts. Why did he persist in being silent? Was there someone whom +he desired to shield, and, if so, who was it? And again and again +there were the old haunting questions. + +When the news was presently announced that the Brunford magistrates had +committed him to the Manchester Assizes for wilful murder, her father +was in the room. + +"You've seen this, Mary?" he said, and he noted how pale her face was, +noted, too, the dark rings round her eyes. + +She nodded. + +"I haven't had time to go to Lancashire," continued the Judge. "Of +course, I wrote a long letter of sympathy to the Wilsons. I hope +you've also done this?" + +"Yes," she replied. + +"Poor Ned! He was a good lad," said the Judge. "To think that such a +life as his should have been cut short by that atheistic villain!" + +"Are you sure it was he?" she could not help saying. + +"Nothing is sure in such cases," replied the Judge. "But I have read +every line of the evidence. I've had full reports sent to me from +Brunford, and I have carefully weighed everything. Besides, you see, I +know the history of both men, and I know the motives likely to be at +work. Unless something comes out at the trial which utterly alters the +impression made by what has previously taken place, nothing can save +him. Any jury in the world would condemn him!" + +Her heart became like lead as he spoke, but she remained silent. + +"Poor Mary!" continued the Judge. "Of course, you feel Ned's death +keenly, and it must be ten times harder for you to bear than if it had +taken place in the natural way. Talk about not believing in capital +punishment after this! Why, the people would tear him to pieces if +they could get hold of him!" + +"What do you mean?" asked the girl, and her voice was hoarse as she +spoke. + +"From what I can gather, public feeling against him is terribly +strong," went on Judge Bolitho. "It seems that the news has got afloat +that he had been planning this for months." + +"It's a lie!" cried the girl. + +"What?" asked the Judge in surprise. + +"It cannot be true. I saw him only a few days before the murder. He +is not capable of such a thing, father." + +The Judge laughed sarcastically. "I ought to be the last man to +prejudge a case," he said. "But when you talk about such a thing being +impossible I cannot help being amused. Besides, no one can look at his +face without realising the streak of the savage that is in him. He +always looked like an incipient criminal. Anyhow, we shall see, and +justice must be done." + +Christmas passed away and the New Year came, and there was nothing +further in the newspapers about Paul Stepaside save that he was lying +in Strangeways Gaol in Manchester awaiting the coming Assizes. Early +in the New Year, however, Mary noticed that her father's face looked +strangely perturbed. He was very silent, and seemed very anxious. + +"What is the matter?" she asked. "Aren't you well?" + +"Oh, yes, quite well," he replied. + +"What is it, then?" + +"I don't like it," said the Judge. "As far as I can see, I shall have +to try Stepaside. I thought I should have escaped it, but for some +reason or other Leeson has dropped out, and I am the next on the rota. +There is not sufficient reason, either, why I should raise any +objection, and, after all, the jury will have to decide his guilt, not +I. Besides, if I did, it would cause a certain amount of comment. +Still, I don't like it." And it was easy to see, by the look on his +face, that he meant what he said. Much as he had always disliked Paul +Stepaside, he shrank from having to give judgment against him--and +that, he seemed to believe, would be inevitable. + +"It is settled," he said a day or two later. "I have to go to +Lancashire next week." + +"Father," said the girl, "let me go with you, will you?" + +"Go with me, Mary? Surely you do not mean to say that you wish to stay +at the Wilsons'?" + +"Oh, no," she cried quickly. "But I should like to be near you. There +are good hotels both in Manchester and Liverpool, and I dread the +thought of staying here alone." + +"The Gordons have invited you to go to their place. Why not accept the +invitation?" + +"I don't wish to," she replied, "Let me go with you." + +"Come, come, Mary. I shall begin to think that you are getting morbid. +This vulgar affair can be nothing to you, after all. Of course, I know +you feel Wilson's death keenly, but why--why----" + +"Don't ask me any questions, father. I want to go with you. I want to +be near to you." + +"Oh, very well," he replied. "If you can find any pleasure in being in +Lancashire at this time of the year by all means come. But I think +you'll repent of it." + +A few days later, however, she started upon the journey northwards with +her father, knowing that, according to all probability, he would be the +judge who would try Paul Stepaside for murder. + +Meanwhile the accused man lay in Strangeways Gaol. Up to the present +he had been treated with leniency, if not kindness. First of all, +according to the English law, every man is regarded as innocent until +he's proved to be guilty, and as yet this had not taken place in Paul's +case. He was allowed to see whom he would. If he wished lawyers to +come and consult with him with regard to the method of his trial, or to +arrange for counsel, it was in his power to do so. He could also see +friends. Of course, he was held in strict confinement, but until the +word of doom was spoken certain privileges were allowed to him which +would be impossible afterwards. As a matter of fact, too, many people +came to see him. An ambitious young solicitor from Brunford, a friend +of Paul's, came to urge him to be defended and to offer his services. +"You and I, Stepaside," he said, "have known each other for years. +Won't you allow me to prepare your defence?" + +"No," said Paul. + +"But why?" + +"Because I have none." + +"Do you mean to say, then, that you're going to plead 'guilty'?" + +"I don't say that--no, I shall plead 'Not guilty.'" + +"Then will you allow yourself to be undefended?" + +"I choose to defend myself," he replied. + +"But, my dear fellow, you minimise your own chances that way!" + +"Nevertheless, what defence is made on my part I shall make myself," he +replied. + +The young solicitor looked at him in astonishment. "You must be mad!" +he said. "It isn't as though you can't afford it." + +"No, it's not a matter of money," said Paul. + +"You're going to plead 'Not guilty,' you say?" + +"Yes." + +"Then what is the line of defence you're going to offer?" + +"That will be seen when the time comes." + +"Come now, Stepaside, do be reasonable. I know a man, perhaps the most +brilliant K.C. on the Northern Circuit. Won't you let me bring him to +you?" + +Paul shook his head. "No," he said. "I want to see no one." + +"No one?" + +"No, no one for that purpose. I shall make my own defence in my own +way." + +The interview which affected him most during the first weeks after he +had been committed for trial was that between himself and his mother. +He had been sitting alone for hours, brooding over the terrible +position in which he found himself placed, and, naturally, his mind +reverted to Brunford and to its many associations. + +"She has never been to see me," he reflected. "Never once. Well, +after all, perhaps it is better not. If she does come I must be very +careful. I was afraid she might have been subpoenaed as a witness at +the inquest, but we were both spared that. It would have been too +terrible. Still, I am afraid they will insist on her being here at the +Assizes. I wonder, I wonder----" + +A few seconds later he felt as though his heart had grown cold within +him. He heard his mother's voice as she spoke to a warder; and a +little later they were together. The light was very dim, but still, he +could see the ravages which the last few days had made in her +appearance. During the last few months Paul had reflected on his +mother's looks. She had been growing young and handsome. Her face had +been ruddy and free from marks of care. In spite of everything, the +life with her son had renewed her youth. Her hair was still black and +glossy; her form unbent. It was no wonder--she was still but young in +years, and the effects of the tragedy of her girl-life had begun to +wear away. Many a one in the town had remarked what a handsome woman +Paul Stepaside's mother was, and she, although she professed to care +nothing for her appearance, could not help being pleased. Now, +however, all was changed. The last few days seemed to have added years +to her life. The ruddy hue of health was gone. Her face had become +almost ashen, while in her eyes was a haunted look. Paul was almost +startled as he caught sight of her, although he said nothing. But he +drew his own conclusions, nevertheless. + +Neither of them spoke for some time. The woman's arms were round her +son, and her cheek close to his, and that was all. She did not sob +convulsively as one would have expected under such circumstances; she +did not cry out in agony, rather she appeared like a dumb, half +lifeless creature, while in her eyes was a look of mute inquiry. + +"My poor boy! My poor boy!" she said presently. + +"It's all right, mother." + +"I thought we'd come to the end of our troubles. I thought the new day +was dawning," she said. "I thought that God was in the heavens after +all, and that He had used me, a poor, weak woman, instead of a strong +man like you. But, oh, Paul, my boy, my boy!" + +He did not understand her at all, and he fancied that her mind had +become somewhat unhinged by the experiences through which she had been +passing, but he said nothing. He thought he had better not. + +"What is the good of speech?" he reflected. "She loves me. I am +everything to her, and I would not add to her pain for worlds!" + +"I tried so hard, Paul," she said presently. "And I thought--no, never +mind what I thought; besides, even now I can say nothing that would---- +But oh, my dear, dear boy! When I was a lass on my father's farm +everything seemed hopeful--everything! Of course, I had my +troubles--my stepmother was cruel to me, and she did not understand the +longings and fears of a lass such as I was; but still, I did not +trouble. But ever since, Paul, ever since he came, it seems as though +everything has added to the confusion, to the mystery, to the misery! +I don't know how it is, but it seems as though Almighty God has placed +a curse upon me. Whatever I've done has turned out wrong. I don't +blame you, Paul. No, I don't blame you; but to think--to think----" + +"I don't understand, mother." He was obliged to say this, although he +still believed his mother's mind was wandering. + +"Of course, you've got your defence?" she said. "You would say nothing +about it at the trials at Brunford, but I know you have something at +the back of your mind. You have, my boy, haven't you?" + +His voice was almost grim as he replied, "Yes; I have something at the +back of my mind." + +"What maddens me," she went on, "is that everything one does seems to +be so futile--it ends in nothing! I thought I had done that which made +everything plain for you. I thought the sun was going to shine on you +continually, and that the desires of your heart should be gratified. +And now I find I'm a fool. Almighty God laughs at me--just laughs at +me! I've done and suffered in vain. But, of course, you'll clear +yourself?" + +Again the young man looked at his mother steadily. What did she mean +by this--"Of course, you'll clear yourself"? + +"It will be very difficult," he could not help saying. + +A look of terror came into her eyes. "But not impossible, Paul. No, I +see you mean that you'll get out of it. You're so clever. You can see +your way out of things which to other people would be impossible. +You've got your plans all made, haven't you?" And she looked at him +with a mad light in her eyes. + +"Yes," he replied with a sigh; "I have my plans all made." + +"Someone told me that you refused to have anyone to defend you. Better +so, Paul, better so. You're cleverer than any of these barrister men, +'King's Counsels,' I think they call themselves. If you got one of +them to defend you you'd have to tell them too much, and you mustn't do +that. You know what to say, what not to say, what to tell and what to +keep back. It'll be very hard for you, Paul, but I can trust you. +You're my own brave, clever lad. About that knife, Paul, I think I can +help you." + +Still he did not understand her. She seemed to be talking riddles. + +"George Preston said that no one was near your office, Paul. As you +know, I was there, and I saw the knife lying on your desk. Paul, Paul, +let me confess to it! After all, it doesn't matter about me. Let me +confess to it, so that you can go free--I will if you like. I don't +mind the shame, I don't mind the disgrace. Let people say it was his +mad mother, let them say----" + +"No, no, mother." His voice became harsh and almost unnatural as he +spoke. "No, mother, not you. Whatever is borne, I will bear it. You +needn't fear. My business affairs are all arranged satisfactorily; +even while I'm lying here, money is being made. The contracts I made +were good, and Preston is an honest, capable fellow; and you can live +on at the old house, mother." + +He hardly knew what he was saying, so great was the terror which filled +his heart and life. His mother had practically confessed to him the +thing he feared, but he was not angry with her. Instead, his heart was +filled with a great yearning pity. Oh, what she must have suffered! +the agonies through which she must have passed; and it was all for him, +all for him. He would a thousand times rather plead "Guilty" to the +crime than that one shadow of suspicion should fall upon her. Besides, +he did not believe she was altogether responsible for what she had +done. Even on the night of the murder, he had noticed the madness in +her eyes. He remembered the look which had haunted him almost ever +since. In her love for him, a love which was unreasoning, and which +rendered her anger almost uncontrollable, she had done what under +ordinary circumstances would never have been possible. + +"Poor mother!" he reflected. "All her life she has blamed herself for +having brought, as she thought, disgrace upon me. Her only object in +life has been that I might find happiness, and that justice should be +done to me. No thought of self ever came into any deed she has done +since I have been born. She was silent for me; she suffered for me; +she thought for me; she slaved for me; and now she has become---- But +it was all for me. No, she shall suffer nothing that I can defend her +from. But, oh, her burden must be a ghastly one! And I must try hard, +too; yes, I must make her think bright thoughts." + +"It's all right, mother," he said. "You needn't fear!" + +"It'll all come out right," she said, and there was a kind of hysteria +in her voice. + +"It must," was his reply. "I have thought it all out, mother. I have +gone over the ground, step by step, and you needn't fear." + +"That's why you're going to defend yourself, isn't it?" and she almost +laughed. "You're going to surprise them at the trial? You won't tell +what your thoughts are to anyone, for fear they shall make a bungle of +it? Half these barristers, I'm told, are very muddle-headed, and make +all sorts of foolish admissions; and you're going to defend yourself in +your own way, aren't you?" + +"Yes, mother," he replied, "in my own way." + +"I expect they'll bring me as a witness." + +"Well, what if they do, mother? You must know nothing, absolutely +nothing. Do you see? You went to bed that night in the ordinary way, +don't you remember? I came home from London, and we had a long talk +together, and then you asked me to go to bed, and I told you I had a +great many things to think about, many plans to arrange; and, of +course, you went to bed. You saw nothing, suspected nothing. That's +your line, mother. Don't hazard any opinion when they ask you +questions. Say 'Yes,' or 'No.' Do you see?" + +"Is that what you want?" she said. + +"That's what you must do." + +She looked at him steadily, searchingly. "And I can trust you, Paul?" +She seemed on the point of telling him something--something which he +was afraid to hear. So he went on hastily: + +"Of course you can. You must fear nothing, absolutely nothing; and you +have nothing to do, nothing to say. Yes, it will be awful for you, for +they will be sure to bring you as a witness, but that's your line." + +"Yes, I understand, Paul. You can trust me. Perhaps they will not +bring me at all." + +"I hope, I hope---- No, it's all right; nothing will be said." + +When they parted a little later, Paul thought his senses were leaving +him. He understood nothing, except that he was in a cell in +Strangeways Gaol, awaiting his trial for murder. + +Presently the news came to him that the assizes had commenced, but when +his own trial would come on no one seemed to know. He still refused +all offers of defence. The truth was, he dared not open his heart to +any lawyer. He saw that if he were to allow anyone to defend him, he +must of necessity give them a certain amount of confidence. He must +trust them. That he could not afford to do. He was not afraid to die, +and at least he had courage enough to be silent. + +Presently the news reached him that he was to be brought to the bar of +judgment on the following day, but still he refused all offers of +defence. He gave no reason for this; indeed, he became more and more +grimly silent than ever. He simply shook his head when those who +pretended to wish him well pleaded that they might be allowed to appear +for his defence. + +On the night before his trial, therefore, he sat in his cell alone. +The day had been black and grimy, and not a shadow of sunshine +penetrated the gloom. Perhaps there is no town in England which looks +more grey and sordid than Manchester does in the dead of the winter. +The streets are covered with black, slimy mud; the atmosphere is dank +and smoke-laden; the houses are grey and enveloped in gloom; even the +crowds which throng its streets seem oppressed by the grime-laden air. +And Strangeways Gaol is perhaps the most forbidding place in the whole +of this great northern metropolis. As someone has said; "Manchester is +one of the best places in the world to get out of." Of course, there's +another side to that; it is a city full of strong, clear-headed, +progressive people. On the whole, too, there are but few people in the +world more loyal and more kind-hearted than those in what a great +divine used to call, "Dear, black, old, smoky Lancashire." But in the +dead of the winter, and to a man with the shadow of the gallows resting +upon him, there can be no place in the world so little to be desired. +The black night of despair was resting upon Paul's heart. On the +morrow the great trial would commence, and although he thought he had +arranged everything perfectly, he could not help fearing the results. +And then, while his thoughts were at their blackest, he heard a voice +which thrilled his being and caused every nerve to quiver with delight. + +"This is the one," he heard a warder say. And a minute later he was +alone with Mary Bolitho. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE LOVERS + +Had anyone told Mary Bolitho, even when her father consented for her to +accompany him to Lancashire, that she would have sought admission into +Paul's cell, she would have repudiated the idea. Even while she could +not help believing that there was some awful mistake, and that Paul was +utterly incapable of such a deed, she felt that there was nothing for +her to do. When she arrived in Lancashire, however, and the assizes +had commenced, she realised the terrible issues at stake. If Paul were +found guilty, he would be hanged. The thought was like a death-knell +in her heart, and all its grim horror possessed her. Day by day passed +away, and she could not shake it off. She pictured Paul lying in +Strangeways Gaol, waiting his trial, and realised something of the +loneliness and the terror which must have encompassed his life. + +One day, while visiting a shop in Market Street, she heard some people +talking. "He's said no word, I suppose?" said one man. + +"I've never heard of anything." + +"A curious business, isn't it?" + +"Ay, very curious. It don't seem right, somehow, that a man like Paul +Stepaside should do such a thing. Of course, the jury will have to go +upon evidence, and the evidence is all against him. I've heard as 'ow +he's refused to be defended." + +"What'll that mean?" + +"I don't know, but what I am thinking is, why should he take such a +step?" + +"Perhaps he's guilty, and wants to get it over!" + +"Ah, but what if he's wanting to shield someone? Anyhow, unless +something happens, he'll swing! My word, though, I wouldn't like to be +in his place! Fancy lying in yon Strangeways Gaol day after day! It's +not a cheerful place at any time. I've heard that when they're +condemned to die, they can hear the carpenters nailing the scaffold +together. Hellish, isn't it?" + +"Ah, and he must be very lonely. Fancy the terror of it!" + +It was only gossip, which might be expected under such circumstances, +but it fired Mary Bolitho's imagination. It helped her to realise the +situation more keenly even than she had yet realised it. Paul swinging +on a scaffold! Paul dead! Then she knew the secret of her heart. +What she had never dreamt of as possible became a tremendous reality. +He was the one man in all the world for her. Without him life would be +a great haggard misery. She did not know why it was, or how it was, +but the man had become king of her life; and he was lying in a prison +cell accused of murder! + +She must do something; she must! She felt as though she were going +mad; she free in the streets of Manchester, free to live her own life, +to follow her desires, while he lay there alone, with the shadow of the +scaffold resting upon him! And he was innocent. She was sure he was +innocent. She had no more a doubt about it than of her own existence. +The evidence at the Brunford Town Hall and at the coroner's inquest was +nothing to her. Circumstantial evidence was nothing. The gossip which +was so freely bandied was nothing. Paul was innocent, and she loved +him. But what could she do? Rather, what must she do? Regardless of +the consequences, she immediately took steps whereby she might be +enabled to see the prisoner. + +Naturally Paul had no idea of the thoughts that were surging in her +mind. He never dreamed of what she intended to do. He sat alone in +his cell, thinking and wondering. He had given up all hope of ever +seeing Mary again. All his fond imaginings had come to nothing. The +resolutions he had made were but as the wind. One day he was full of +hope, full of determination; he would conquer difficulties, he would +laugh at impossibilities; the next day all hope had gone; defeat, +disgrace, horror blotted out everything else. + +That was the greatest burden he had to bear. His life broken off in +the middle? Yes, he could face that. The career which promised great +things utterly destroyed--well, that did not seem to matter. The +destruction of the dreams of a lifetime? Terrible as it was, he met it +with a kind of grim despair. But the loss of Mary Bolitho--to feel +that he would never see her again, never hear her voice again, never +enter into the joy which he had promised himself should be his--that +was terrible beyond words. + +He had no belief in a future life, even while his heart demanded it. +When the last act was over, then came a pall of eternal silence, +eternal unconsciousness. Of course it was a great, grim, ghastly +tragedy, but he had to accept facts as they were. There was no God, no +Providence, no justice; life was a hideous mockery, a meaningless +tangle. No; he would never see her again, never hear her voice again, +never catch that glad flash of her eyes which he had seen during their +last meeting. It seemed to him as though he had entered an inferno, +over the portals of which was written: "All hope abandon, ye who enter +here." + +Then, suddenly, the heavens opened. It seemed as though the black +night had ended in the shining of a summer morning. The blackness of +his cell, the grim future of his life were as nothing. He heard her +voice, and they stood face to face. + +For a moment they did not speak. He looked at her like one fascinated. +It was too wonderful to be true. Presently he would wake from his +dream, as he had wakened from other dreams, and everything would mock +him again. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to wipe away the +shadows which hung between him and reality. Yes, Mary was there; she +was looking at him with kind eyes, and her lips were tremulous. Then +in a moment the meaning of what she had done became real to him. If +there was one thing for which he had feared, it was Mary's good name. +One of the great objects of his life had been to save her from being +connected with the shame which surrounded his name. Little as he cared +for gossip under ordinary circumstances, he dreaded it now. What would +be said if it were known that she had come to see him? And people +would know! Would not a thousand suspicions be aroused? Would not +evil tongues wag? His own suffering he could bear, but she must not +suffer. + +"Why have you come?" It was not a bit what he intended to say, but the +words seemed drawn from him in spite of himself. + +"I came to see you," she said. "How could I help it?" + +Again he looked at her wonderingly. He did not understand. He fancied +that his brain must be giving way. He could not connect cause with +event. He could not grasp the issues of the situation. + +"Why could you not help it?" + +"Paul, you know!" she said. + +He thought his heart would have burst; the excitement of the moment was +too great. His head whirled with a mad wonder, and yet he would not +have exchanged places with a king. The prison cell seemed like a +palace; that second of joy more than atoned for all he had suffered. + +"Mary!" he cried, "do you mean that? You know what is in my heart. +You know what for months I have been afraid to tell you. You must have +known! Why, it has been like fire in my brain; it has been the great +passion of my heart. You knew it when we were in London together, even +before I told you, didn't you?" + +She nodded her head, and Paul saw that her eyes were brimming with +tears. + +"And you cared enough to come and see me?" he said. + +"I could not help coming, Paul," was her reply. "How could I, when I +knew that you were alone, and that you needed me?" + +"But you must go away," he said. "It's heaven to have you near, but +you must go away. No one must know. Why, think of what the world +would say!" + +"As though I care what the world says," was her reply. "As a matter of +fact, I obtained admission to you without difficulty, and I do not +think anyone knows who I am. You see, I have means unknown to other +people. But I do not care who knows. Why should I care? I came to +you because I--I---- But you know, Paul! You know!" + +"And you came to tell me that?" he said. + +"Yes, to tell you that," she replied. "Of course, I could never have +told you had things been as they were; but now--I can't help it. How +can I? And I've come to save you, too!" + +"To save me?" + +"Yes, to save you." + +"But do you know what I am accused of?" he asked, and his voice was +hoarse. + +"Of course I know. How can I help it? But that's nothing." + +"But, Mary, you don't understand." + +"I understand everything," she said. "That is, everything that +matters. You and I are all the world, Paul. For days I've been +fighting; perhaps I've been a little mad; I sometimes think I have. +But that's all over. I have thrown fear to the wind. I don't care +what the world says. I don't care though all the gossips in the world +talk about me. I came to you because you needed me, and because I love +you, Paul." + +Her words were simple, but there was something glorious in her +self-abandonment. To her the non-essentials of life did not seem to +exist. She had thrown everything to the winds. The wondrousness of +her womanhood had burst forth. Her heart had spoken, and she had +listened to it. The ways of the world, the conventionalities of +society, the gossip of tongues were no more than thistledown. The +great thing in life was the love which had been born in her heart, a +love which overwhelmed and submerged everything else. For that she had +dared everything, and she had found her way to the cell of this man +accused of murder. + +"But even yet I do not think you realise," he said. "Oh, don't +misunderstand me, Mary. You know how my heart rejoices in this +moment--how I would gladly suffer ten times more than I have suffered +for the joy of this hour. Why, the thought of your love has been life +to me. It has been the inspiration of everything I've done. Ever +since that day I caught the flash of your angry eyes--the day when I +came out of prison, you have dominated everything. Your presence has +filled everything. Even while I hated you, I loved you. Even when I +steeled my heart against you, you were everything to me. I did not +know you, but that did not matter. What is knowledge? Of course, I +only thought that you regarded me as a thing beneath your notice, but +that did not matter. You were born for me, and I swore that you should +be mine, even although I went to hell to get you. And now, now that +you've come to me like this, Great God, Mary, you know what it must +mean to me! Words are such poor little things, aren't they? But +you're here, here!" + +He caught her hand as he spoke, and again looked into the depths of her +eyes; while she, although she was half-afraid, stood steadily gazing at +him. + +"I'm accused of murder, Mary. Do you understand? Murder! I was never +jealous of him, and yet men said that you and he were to be wedded. +You know all about it?" + +"Yes, I know," she said. + +"And you believe I'm guilty, don't you?" + +"Guilty!" The girl laughed as she spoke. "Guilty! I believe in my +own guilt rather than yours." + +"But I'm going to be hanged for it," he said. "The knife which was +found in his heart, is my knife. Don't you see?" + +"I see everything," she replied. "I see nothing. But you guilty!" +And again she laughed. + +"You don't believe it, then? You have seen what the newspapers have +said? You have read every bit of damning evidence against me? You +know that I have been lampooned in a thousand newspapers? You know +that I have been discussed by every pothouse villain in the land? And +it is said that there is not one link wanting in the chain that binds +me to the scaffold." + +"I don't know, I don't care about that," she replied. "You are as +innocent as the angels in heaven. Why, Paul, if all the juries in the +land were to condemn you; if all the newspapers in the world were to +lampoon you; if your best friends told me they had seen you do it, I +would not believe it." + +"Then you believe me innocent?" And his voice was tremulous with joy. + +"I don't believe," was her reply. "I know." + +"How do you know?" He spoke like one bewildered. + +"Because I know you, Paul. I've seen into your heart; and my own heart +has spoken to me, and God has spoken to me. You guilty!" + +He felt as though the shadow of death were lifted from his life. The +great terror which had enveloped him for days had been that Mary +Bolitho would look upon him as a murderer; and now, with the +self-abandonment which was to him past all thought, she had come to him +of her own accord, she had thrown conventions to the winds, and she had +confessed, as only she could confess, that she believed in him and that +she loved him. + +The heart-hunger which had consumed him during the long weeks was too +great to be borne. He opened his arms; and each, forgetful of where +they were, forgetful of the grim prison walls, forgetful of the painful +silence of the prison, held the other. + +Years before Mary Bolitho had admired the words of Lovelace, the poet: + +"Stone walls do not a prison make, or iron bars a cage." + +But now the lines seemed poverty itself. How little it expressed the +deep feeling of her life. They were not in prison. The solemn bell of +doom was not tolling. She was in heaven. So great is the power of a +pure love. As for Paul, at that moment everything faded but the +blissful present. There was no past, there was no future. Nothing +mattered but the now. He had entered into the joy of which he dreamt, +and he would not think of anything else. How long they remained in +that condition of untold happiness he did not know, he did not care. +But presently all the grim realities came back again. He knew where he +was. Mary would shortly have to leave him. He thought of the warder +peering curiously into her face and making surmises as to why she came. +He thought of whispering tongues; but more than all that, he thought of +the terrible future which awaited him. Paul's temptation had not yet +come, but the hand of the tempter was even at that moment knocking at +the door of his heart. + +"Now, Paul," she said, and her voice was changed, "now we must think +about the future." + +"Not yet, not yet, Mary. Let me remain in heaven while I can. Hell +will come soon enough." + +"No, Paul, you must think about the future. You must think about it at +once. You are not guilty of this, and you must know who is. You must +tell me. Hitherto you have refused to confide in anyone. You have +maintained a silence which has been misunderstood, and which has caused +so many to think of you as guilty. It must be broken, Paul. You must +tell me everything, and I will save you." + +It was then that he realised what he had to face. For Paul Stepaside +believed that he knew who had killed Wilson. For many a weary hour he +had thought over his mother's strange behaviour, thought of the flash +of madness which had shot from her eyes, thought of the wild words she +had uttered. He remembered, too, the sight that met his gaze on the +morning of the murder. He saw her again, sitting in her bedroom, saw +the look of unholy joy in her face; and in his heart of hearts he felt +sure of what she had done. It was all for him. She had loved him with +a mad, unreasoning frenzy; for him she was willing to sacrifice her own +life. How much wonder, then, that she had been willing to sacrifice +another's life. She had believed that Ned Wilson stood between him and +happiness, and she had determined to move him out of life's pathway. +He had seen her on the day before the murder, with the knife which had +killed Ned Wilson in her hand. She, unknown to his partner, George +Preston, had come to his office. He had seen her handling this +murderous weapon, and he remembered the look in her eyes; remembered, +too, what she had said. How could he doubt? Indeed, she had +practically confessed the deed to him, and he had sworn that not a +shadow of suspicion should rest upon her name. She was his mother. +She had suffered for him. She had committed a crime for him. But he +could not let her pay the penalty for it. No, no; he was willing to +die himself, but he could not bear the thought of his mother's name +being tarnished. He shuddered at the very suggestion of her being held +up before the world's gaze. + +"You see, Paul," went on Mary Bolitho; "I know you never did this, and +I know you're hiding something. And you must clear your name, for my +sake. You see, don't you?" + +It seemed as though the god of silence sealed his lips. He could not +speak. How could he speak, when, if he told what was in his heart, his +words would be of such terrible portent? Then, like lightning, the +issues became clear to him. They were written from sky to sky. If he +did not speak, if he maintained the silence which he had hitherto +maintained, the jury would find him guilty, and he would be hanged. +But his mother's name would be saved from disgrace. She would not have +to pay the penalty of the deed which she had done out of love for him. +No one could associate crime with her. He had gone carefully into his +business matters, and he knew that he would leave her enough to live +comfortably. The hand of want would never knock at her door. Of +course, it was all very terrible; but she would never be branded, and +she might find some measure of peace. Anyhow, he was willing to pay +the price for what happiness she could get. He would be an ingrate +indeed if he were not. Had she not done everything for him? Ah! but +there was the other side. Mary's coming had made everything a thousand +times harder to bear. He did not mind it before, for he believed that +everything had become impossible, but now that she had come to him, now +that she had freely told him with her own lips of the love she bore for +him, now that she was willing to link her life with his, regardless of +what the world might say, now that a happiness such as he had never +dreamt of was possible, how could he do it? In that moment Paul +Stepaside seemed to live an eternity. Whichever way he turned, he was +met by blank impossibilities. How could he enter into happiness, +knowing that in order to do so he had sent his mother to the gallows? +Rather a thousand times that his tongue should be paralysed than that +he should utter a word to fasten the crime upon her. And yet, if he +did not do so, he must lose Mary for ever. He must end his days in a +way which has become a byword and a shame for every right-thinking man. + +"You'll tell me what you know, and all you know, won't you? It's for +my sake, Paul. It's for both our sakes, our life's happiness is at +stake. You see it, don't you? Tell me, my dear, tell me?" + +What would he not have given to have been able to have told her! But +how could he? + +"No, Mary," he said at length. "There is nothing to tell." + +"You mean you will not tell?" + +"There is nothing to tell," he repeated. + +"Paul, you're not guilty; you know you're not guilty. You are +absolutely innocent of everything with which you are charged. You know +it. I don't want you to answer me. You know it, and I know it." + +He looked at her with a glad light shining from his eyes, even although +her words were laden with such a terrible meaning. It was heaven to +know that she believed in him so--heaven to realise that her trust was +so infinite. + +"There is nothing to tell," he repeated with dreary monotony. + +"But there is, Paul. You can save yourself if you will, you know you +can." He did not speak, but sat still, looking at her with steady gaze. + +"Will you leave me so?" she went on. "I will not plead with you for +your own sake, or for your own happiness, but will you not for mine? +Think, Paul! I love you. All that I have and am belong to you. To +lose you will be losing everything. Will you not, for my sake, speak? +There, Paul"--she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him--"there, +Paul, I love you; I love you more than life. Will you not tell me for +my life's happiness?" + +He knew what temptation meant then, as he had never known it before. +His heart hungered for her as even he had never thought it could +hunger. His whole being cried out for her and for happiness, and if he +would but speak, then everything became possible; while if he were +silent---- + +It seemed as though his mind were giving way, as though the trial were +too hard to bear. God, if there were a God at all, could never expect +him to give up such a joy. He was young--only a little more than a lad +in years--with life all before him, with glorious possibilities, and +the love of Mary Bolitho. While she, she who stood there, was glorious +in her youth and in her beauty. She, who, with the sacrifice of all +that lesser women hold so dear, had come to him and besought him to +enter into the joy he longed for. Oh, he could not give her up; he +must speak. + +He nerved himself to tell her, nerved himself to relate the story of +his life, and the story of what he was sure his mother had done; but +even as he did so, he saw his mother's face. He remembered her years +of loneliness and disappointment and sorrow. He remembered how her +life had been blackened and broken, and that she had done everything +for him. No, he could not, he could not. + +"There is nothing to tell." He reiterated the words as though they +were some formula, and he thought indeed all was over. But to his +surprise, the girl laughed again. + +"Do you think I don't know you, Paul? Do you think I am going to give +up our happiness without a struggle? Do you think I am going to allow +you to go down to your grave without fighting for you? You will not +tell me, but I'm going to find out! I know you are shielding someone. +Your eyes have told me the truth, and you cannot deny what I have said. +Who it is doesn't matter. But I'm going to find out. I'm going to +save you, Paul. And we shall be happy in spite of everything." + +"No, no." His voice was hoarse and unnatural. + +"But I will," she said. "Do you think my love is something that makes +me helpless? Do you think I can stand by knowing that you are +innocent, and allowing you to appear guilty of such a crime? I don't +love you for nothing, Paul. I love you to serve you--to save you." + +Never, even in those hours when he had thought most fondly of her, had +he dreamt of the depths of her nature, or thought of what she was +capable. Now he realised that Mary Bolitho was no ordinary woman, that +all along there had been depths in her being which he had never +fathomed, knew that she meant what she said. + +"No, no, Mary," he repeated, "you must not. If you love me, you will +promise me this. You will promise to be silent. You will promise that +you will give no hint or suggestion of what you fancied. Besides, I'm +guilty, Mary. I'm guilty, Mary. That is, promise me, for the love you +bear me." + +There were footsteps in the stone corridor outside. It was a warder +coming to tell her that her time was up, and that she must leave him. + +"Promise me, Mary." He caught her and held her close to him. "Tell me +you'll do nothing!" he cried. + +"On one condition I will," was her answer. + +"What is it?" he asked eagerly. + +"That you'll tell the truth before my father and the jury." + +"Your father?" + +"Yes, did you not know? He is the judge who has to try the case." + +"Then, then, Mary, promise me----" + +The key turned in the lock, and Mary and Paul separated. Neither had +made a promise. + +Presently Mary Bolitho went back to her hotel, where she sat in her +room alone for hours, thinking and planning; while Paul Stepaside sat +in his cell, with heaven in his heart; yes, heaven, even although he +suffered the torments of hell. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL + +It was the morning of the trial, and the Assize Court was crowded. +Before daylight a number of people, hungry for excitement, had hung +round the strangers' entrance, and as soon as the doors were opened had +rushed with a kind of savage curiosity to the part of the hall where +the public was admitted. Long before the trial was opened every inch +of space was occupied by a seething, excited crowd. So great was the +interest created that many, who might not have been expected to witness +the scene, were so eager to be present that the officials were +inundated with applications for admission. Long before the court began +its sitting, the air was hot and tense with eager curiosity. Some, +indeed, talked casually and carelessly, as though a murder trial were +an everyday occurrence, but in the main the atmosphere was electric. +Men's faces were set and stern, and more than one woman showed signs of +hysteria. Outside, a great throng of people, who were unable to gain +admission, waited as if held by a spell. The ushers found difficulty +in maintaining anything like order. The hum of voices was heard +everywhere. + +"I wonder how he'll look," said one. "I'll warrant he'll be as pale as +death." + +"Nay," said another, "he's noan that soort. He'll look as proud as +ever. He'll mak it seem as though we were th' murderers, and he wur +innocent." + +"Ay, but he must have had a terrible time!" said another. "He's been +waiting there for weeks. Just think of it! I've heerd he's given in, +too." + +"Given in? What dost a' mean?" + +"Ay, I've heerd as 'ow he's consented to have a counsel." + +"Who has he got, then?" + +"I don't know for certain, but it is said that young Mr. Springfield +hev took on th' job." + +"But he can noan clear hissen." + +"I'm noan so sure. He's a rare clever chap, is Paul!" + +"It would be fun to see him swing, wouldn't it? It's a shame that they +hang people in private now, instead of in public like they used to." + +And so on. To them it was like a scene in a theatre. Their appetites +were morbid, and they had come thither to appease their hunger. + +One by one the barristers found their way to their seats. Clerks were +busy writing at their desks, while the reporters sat at the table +allotted to them, writing descriptive articles. To them the occasion +offered a fine opportunity. It was no ordinary trial. Paul Stepaside +was a young member of Parliament, and had become popular throughout the +whole county. He had been freely discussed as a coming man. What +wonder then that tongues wagged! What wonder the crowd eagerly waited +his coming! + +The murdered man, too, was well known in the county. He was a big +employer of labour, and had freely moved in Lancashire society. + +Sitting close to the barristers' seats, ladies belonging to some of the +best families in Lancashire had gathered. They, too, were eager, +hungry for excitement. Some of them were educated women, delicately +nurtured, and it seemed strange that they should find an interest in +such gruesome proceedings. Yet, with a kind of reversion to the savage +instincts of former days, they had gathered with the rest. After all, +civilisation is only a veneer, and the old, elementary, savage feelings +lie dormant in it all. + +"Bakewell's for the prosecution, I suppose," said one young barrister +to another. + +"Yes; and it couldn't be in better hands. I wish Stepaside were not +such a fool!" + +"Why, would you like the job?" + +"Like it! I should think I would! It's one of the finest +opportunities since I've been called." + +"But he's no defence, man!" + +"Oh, a defence could easily be made. It would give a fellow a splendid +chance. You see the case is the talk of the country, and the question +of motive has to figure largely. Why, the evidence could be riddled! +To say the least of it, one might get a verdict for manslaughter." + +"You mean to say he won't give you the chance you want." And the other +laughed. + +"Anyhow, it seems jolly mean of him not to allow one to make the most +of such an opportunity. You know Binkley, don't you? He's now making +thousands a year. For years he used to hang around the courts, unable +to get a brief, and then a case something like this turned up, and he +acted for the prisoner." + +"But he didn't get him off." + +"No; but, don't you see, it gave him his chance. His cross-examination +was clever, and his speech for the defence was so brilliant that it +gave him a reputation. It made him! After that, briefs came in like +mad. But I see time is up." + +A minute later the clerk of the assizes came into the court. Then a +great hush fell upon all present. From a door at the back of the hall +came Mr. Justice Bolitho and took his seat. Immediately all eyes were +turned towards him. + +"Handsome, isn't he?" + +"Yes; a striking figure of a man." + +"Isn't it strange though? Only a year or two ago he and Stepaside +fought for the Brunford seat. They ran neck and neck too, and he got +in. Of course that was before he was made a judge. Do you know what +Stepaside said when the figures were announced? He said that he and +Bolitho would meet again, and always to fight; and now it's come to +this!" + +"Ay; and he appeared against him years ago, when he was up for the +riot. Then he only got him sent to gaol for six months, and now it +seems as though he'll put on the black cap and condemn him to be +hanged. My word, though, I shouldn't like to be a judge!" + +Judge Bolitho was indeed a striking figure as he sat there in his +judicial robes and heavy wig. His features were large and commanding. +His eyes had the look of authority. His mouth was set and stern. He +looked every inch of what he was, a representative of the dignity of +the law, a man set apart to do justice--a cultured, able man, too, with +fine, almost classical features, even although they were somewhat +heavy. Not a cruel man--at least he did not appear so; indeed, he was +well known as one who could tell a good story and pass a timely joke. +A popular man, too, with those of his own order--one who by ability and +worth had risen to his present exalted position. + +One of the ushers shouted "Silence" as he sat down; but there was no +need for him to speak. The place was as still as death. Everyone +waited for what should happen next. Then, if possible, the atmosphere +became more than ever charged with the spirit of the day's trial. +Distant footsteps were heard, and then, accompanied on either side by a +policeman, came Paul Stepaside. + +Paul had scarcely slept a wink that night; not that he feared the +trial--that seemed to be in the background of his life now. Everything +else was swallowed up in the interview which he had had with Mary +Bolitho. Throughout the long night he had been fighting a great +battle. What should he do? If he were to tell the whole truth---- +But he would not think of it. Still, all the old questions recurred to +him again with weary reiteration, the old battle had to be fought and +re-fought. Love for his mother, love for the woman who was to him a +thousand times more than his mother yet in a different way, struggling +for ascendancy. What should he do? What should he do? + +The chaplain came to him again that morning--as he had done once or +twice before--to offer him his ministrations, but Paul was still as +hard as adamant. The chaplain was an earnest, good man, narrow in his +faith, but deeply in earnest. He believed in Paul's guilt, and would +have given a great deal to have brought him to a state of repentance. + +"If you'd only accept the consolations, the help of religion!" he had +said to him. + +"What consolations?" asked Paul. + +"Do you not realise the need of pardon?" asked the clergyman. "Do you +not need to feel the atonement made for sin?" + +"I only want justice. Look, sir," said Paul. "What is the practical +result of religion? Does it make men do justice and love +righteousness? I will tell you something. There was once a man who +betrayed a woman. He was a religious man. He partook of the +sacraments. But all his religion did not keep him from forsaking the +woman he betrayed and allowing her to spend her life in disgrace and +misery. If religion could cause that man to come forward, confess his +wrong, and atone for his guilt by doing justice to her, perhaps I could +believe. But all these little theories of yours are so many parrot +cries." + +It was in this state of mind that Paul was led from his cell to the +dock. He was still wearing his own clothes, for although he was an +accused man, he was not yet proved to be guilty; and with that innate +pride and that care for personal appearance which was natural to him, +he had carefully dressed himself. His garments were well cut, and +fitted his figure perfectly. His linen was spotless, and he stood +upright, with a proud look on his face. + +There was a kind of gasp when he entered the dock. He was not the kind +of man whom many had expected to see. Tall, erect, muscular, pale +cheeks, clear-cut features, well-shaped head, dark flashing eyes, +sensitive lips and nostrils, he was a direct contrast to those who are +usually associated with the crime of which he was accused. Even the +judge, who looked at him with keen, penetrating eyes, could not help +being impressed by the fact. He was a man capable of controlling other +men, a man who could deal with large affairs. Passionate, perhaps, and +vengeful, but not likely to wreak his passion like a brute. + +"Handsome, isn't he?" said one lady to another. "I'd no idea!" + +"Yes, terrible pity, isn't it? But still, I suppose he's had a grudge +against Mr. Wilson for years. He belongs to the working classes, too, +although by his cleverness he's risen above them. But it's always the +same, my dear--common people are common people." + +Paul looked steadily round the court. His eyes did not rest long on +the judge, although he gave him a keen, searching glance. Even then he +felt that the circumstances were far out of the ordinary. Only the +previous evening this man's daughter had confessed her love to him. +She had defied all conventions, defied the possibility of malign +gossip, but of course Judge Bolitho did not know that. They met there +as judge and accused, and such were the relations that they must +maintain. A few weeks before, this man had written a letter to him--an +insulting letter--forbidding him to approach his daughter; and now he, +the judge, sat in his seat of authority, while Paul was in the dock. + +His gaze swept round the room. He recognised many faces. He saw +Edward Wilson, father of the murdered man, pale as ashes, and with set, +stern face. He saw the Mayor of Brunford and some of the councillors. +He saw men who had fought for him at the last election--men with whom +he had done business. He saw people of the common orders--some of them +were his own employees--who a week or two before had paid him homage in +so far as any Lancashire man pays homage to his employer. + +No; it was not like an ordinary trial at all, and yet the issues were +tragic. The air seemed to pulsate with doom. No word had yet been +spoken, and yet men's hearts were beating wildly. Even the barristers, +who sat looking at the prisoner, seemed strangely moved. + +The clerk of the assizes rose, arranged his wig, settled his gown. + +"Order! Order!" shouted the ushers. + +The clerk read the indictment in solemn and impressive tones. Few +remembered the words he said, but all realised their purport. Paul +Stepaside, standing there in the prisoner's dock, was indicted for the +murder of Edward Wilson. + +"Are you guilty or not guilty?" + +"Not guilty," replied the prisoner. There was not a tremor in his +voice, and many thought, as they looked at him, that he seemed to +regard the question as an insult. + +The jury had been sworn. This was a somewhat tedious proceeding, the +swearing of the jury, and on Paul's face passed a look of contempt. It +seemed so tiresome, this reading of a formula to twelve men, making +them promise that they would consider the case "without fear or favour, +upon the evidence given," and so on and so on. Still it was necessary, +even although in many cases it might have become a mere matter of form. +Certainly, too, each juryman seemed to realise the importance of his +position and the seriousness of what he had to do. They were not men +of great intellectual acumen, these jurymen--just kind-hearted, +commonplace men who had been selected for the purpose. Still, they +would do as well as others who might be got. They would hear the +evidence given. They would listen attentively to the counsel's words +and to the judge's summing up. + +At length all was ready, and the jurymen settled in their seats, each +with his note-book, and each prepared to listen attentively. No sooner +had they sat down than the counsel for the prosecution rose. Mr. +Bakewell was a man well known on the Northern Circuit. He had for many +years appeared in the Assize Courts of Manchester, and had been spoken +of as an able man. It had even been said of him that he cared more for +verdicts than for justice. But this did not seem to annoy him. After +all, the verdict is what a barrister has to think of. He had his +reputation to maintain, his case to win, and he was the counsel for the +prosecution. He had studied the case thoroughly, point by point. In +this instance, too, he was more than ordinarily interested. He had met +Paul Stepaside. On one occasion there had been a slight passage of +arms between them, and Paul had come off best in the encounter; and +ever since, Mr. Bakewell, while bearing no grudge against him, had been +somewhat chagrined that this young man, who had never been trained in +the law, should have got the better in their encounter. + +"I am for the prosecution, my lord," he said, and sat down. + +"Who is for the defence?" asked the judge. + +This question was met by deathly silence. + +"Have you no one to defend you?" asked the judge, turning towards Paul. +And even then both of them felt the incongruity of the situation. + +"No," replied Paul. + +"But I advise you very seriously to accept counsel for defence." + +"No," replied Paul. "I wish no one." His voice rang out clearly in +the hall, even although he spoke in low tones. No one seemed to +breathe. What could be the meaning of such an attitude? + +Again Judge Bolitho spoke: + +"I repeat," he said, and his voice was very solemn, "that you will be +wise if you accept someone for defence. Mr. Langefield, now?" and he +nodded towards the man who had that same morning regretted Paul's +obstinacy in not securing his services. + +"No," said Paul. "I must decline your lordship's suggestion. What +defence is offered I will offer myself." + +"Of course this is not usual," said the judge. "And I think it my duty +to tell you that you will have a perfect right to cross-examine any +witness who may be called." + +"Thank you, my lord." + +The counsel for the prosecution here rose to address the jury and to +give a statement of the case. This he did in a lengthy speech, a +speech which showed that he had not only thoroughly studied the facts, +but had gone to some trouble to trace Paul's history. + +"My lord and gentlemen," said Mr. Bakewell, "this is no common case, +and the prisoner is no ordinary man. Although he came to Brunford as a +poor lad, he soon rose to a distinguished position. So much ability +did he show, and such was his influence in the town of his adoption, +that he was at length invited to stand for Parliament in the interests +of the working classes of the town. I would not mention this but for +the fact that it bears upon the case we are now considering. It was +during this contest that the prisoner accused the murdered man of +acting against his, the prisoner's, interests, and of doing his best to +ruin him. I shall also bring evidence to show that during this part of +his history he repeatedly swore to be revenged on the deceased. By and +by he was elected as Member of Parliament for Brunford, and immediately +after that election, as I shall prove to you, a quarrel took place +between him and the murdered man, during which the prisoner struck him +a murderous blow, and was only kept back from a renewal of the attack +by those who were standing round." + +He then went on to describe the scenes immediately associated with the +murder, and told in minutest detail the happenings which we have +recorded in these pages. + +As he went from point to point, all present could see, as if in the eye +of imagination, link fastened to link, and every one was riveted with +care and precision. The whole chain of evidence seemed perfect. Even +Paul himself, as he listened, could not help feeling that, as far as +circumstantial evidence was concerned, no stronger case could be +brought to prove a man's guilt. Indeed, had a vote been taken at that +moment, not only among the jury, but among all present, there would +have been a general admission that Paul was guilty of the murder of +Edward Wilson. + +"It remains now, my lord and gentlemen, for me to call witnesses to +prove the facts which I have laid before you. And it is for you, +gentlemen, to judge whether those facts are not sufficient to pronounce +the verdict of guilty upon the prisoner who now stands before you." + +There was a rustle in the court as he sat down. It seemed as though +everyone wanted to find relief from the tense excitement which had been +created by his words. The judge shuffled in his chair and looked at +his notes. The barristers who sat round nodded to each other and +seemed to say that undoubtedly Bakewell had made a very fine speech. +Many eyes were turned towards Paul, who remained perfectly calm. His +face was hard and stony. Not a tremor was to be seen. He seemed to +have no nerves. Then, before the first witness was called, he looked +round the court and saw, for the first time, the face of Mary Bolitho. +He had no idea that she would be present, and for a moment his heart +became cold and heavy. Their eyes met, and she smiled. It is true her +face was deadly pale, but there was no lack of confidence in the look +she gave him. As plainly as words could say them she said: "Do not +fear, Paul. I love you. I know you're innocent, and I will save you." + +In spite of all that had taken place, his heart became light again. He +still adhered to his resolution to keep his secret in his heart, but +that one look changed the whole atmosphere of the place. He knew that +the one, and the only one, for whom he cared, believed in his innocence +and looked upon him with eyes of love. + +The counsel was about to call the first witness when there was a sound +of confusion. Through the crowded court a woman was making her way, +and Paul, looking, saw his mother. How she got there he did not know, +but got there she had. He saw how pale and haggard her face was, saw, +too, that her eyes gleamed with the old light which had shone from them +on the night of the murder. He thought she seemed to be making +straight for him, but she presently stopped. The judge was at that +moment busily making notes. Presently, however, he lifted his head as +if in wonder at the counsel's delay. She looked at Paul, but only for +a moment. Her eyes were fixed upon Judge Bolitho. + +"It's Stepaside's mother," whispered someone to Mr. Bakewell, and many +eyes were turned towards her. + +Then a scream rent the air--a scream of agony, of madness, and the +woman fell down in the court insensible. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +PAUL DISCOVERS HIS FATHER + +As may be imagined, the sensation in the court was very great, but it +quickly died away. Paul's mother was immediately removed, and the +order of the day was resumed. For some time, however, Paul was unable +to give due attention to what was taking place. The sight of his +mother's face, added to the stress of the scene through which he was +passing, was affecting his iron nerves in spite of himself. Presently, +however, when someone whispered to him, saying that his mother was +quite recovered, he seemed more at ease, and was able to devote his +attention to the evidence which was being elicited from the witnesses. + +He did not know why it was, but he seemed to be the only man in the +court who was unmoved by what was taking place. On every hand was +strained attention to every word that was spoken. The most +insignificant question seemed to be carefully noted, not only by the +jury but by the spectators. But to Paul there was a sense of unreality +in everything. All these same questions he had heard before. All +these witnesses had appeared at the Coroner's inquest and before the +Brunford magistrates. It seemed to him, too, that the way the counsel +for the prosecution dwelt on insignificant details, details which could +have nothing whatever to do with the real issues, was childish. +Indeed, Mr. Bakewell appeared not only to have a positive genius for, +but also a personal interest in, dragging out the case as long as +possible. In a way Paul supposed it was necessary to inquire into the +minutest details concerning the evidence that was given, nevertheless, +it was wearying in the extreme. As far as he could judge, too, both +counsel and witnesses were supremely anxious to acquit themselves in a +way that should give satisfaction to the spectators. It was a matter +of intellectual juggling rather than a desire to arrive at the truth. +The counsel evidently hoped that his examination would be commented +upon as clever and searching, while the witnesses, aware that the eyes +of the many who knew them watched them closely, were eager to be spoken +of as having acquitted themselves with some amount of distinction. +Hours passed away, and, it seemed to him, they failed to get at the +heart of the case, while such a large amount of irrelevant matter was +allowed and discussed that, from the standpoint of a spectator, it +seemed to the prisoner that the methods of an English law-court needed +to be rigidly revised. During the afternoon sitting, however, they got +nearer to the heart of things. The counsel began to ask questions +which had a vital bearing upon the case, and, as a consequence, the +attention of all present became more tense. It was then that Paul +could not help feeling that the judge had already made up his mind. +During that part of the proceedings when he had advised him to obtain +counsel to defend him, and told him that he was at liberty to +cross-examine the witnesses, he felt more kindly towards him. There +seemed a desire to do him justice, and to give him every chance to put +his own case in the best possible light. But as matters proceeded, the +judge appeared to have arrived at a conclusion, and to regard the +prisoner as guilty. + +He renewed his determination, too, to maintain his attitude of rigid +silence. Had he been free to act, he felt he could have destroyed the +effect of the evidence which was given, but he could not have done so +without throwing suspicion upon someone else. If he were not guilty, +then someone else was. Who was that someone? + +For a long time therefore he did not seek to interpose, and witness +after witness left the box without any attempt on his part to +cross-examine them. + +Only once did he really interpose in the proceedings, and that was +after a short cross-examination by the judge himself. Whether it was a +mere matter of form or not, the judge had asked each witness a number +of questions on the evidence which had been given, and as Paul listened +to those questions, they seemed utterly unsatisfactory to him. He +remembered Judge Bolitho's career, remembered, too, that when he was +practising at the Bar, he was said to be one of the most severe +cross-examiners on the Northern Circuit. But now his queries seemed to +be trivial and unworthy. The questions he asked might have been those +of a newly-fledged barrister, who had not learnt the ABC of his +profession! + +This, as it seemed to him, was especially noticeable when he questioned +Mr. Edward Wilson, the father of the murdered man. Mr. Wilson's +evidence, of course, created a great sensation. He stated that, as far +as he knew, his son did not possess a single enemy in the world except +the prisoner in the dock. He also went on to say that almost ever +since Paul had come to Brunford he had been the sworn enemy of his son. +He spoke of the prisoner as clever, ambitious, unscrupulous, a man who +would adopt any means to accomplish his own purposes. He stated that +his son, although a brave, strong man, had told him, his father, that +he feared what the prisoner might do to him. He denied that his son +had sought to ruin Paul Stepaside, although he admitted that the +prisoner might have had reasons for believing that his son would not be +sorry if he could be driven out of the town. And he related certain +incidents which went to prove that Paul hated his son Ned with deadly +hatred. + +No one could help feeling when the counsel sat down after examining Mr. +Edward Wilson that the case looked blacker than ever against Paul. He +had supplied the motive which had caused Paul to commit this crime. It +was personal hatred, personal enmity, and a desire for revenge. The +gossip of years had been dragged into the court, and the picture which +he drew of Paul was that of a relentless, persistent enemy of his son. +When Mr. Bakewell had sat down after this examination, Judge Bolitho +asked the witness certain questions, and it was at this time that Paul +felt as though the judge were seeking to help the counsel for the +prosecution rather than to do justice to the accused man. + +"My lord," he said, when the judge had finished, "I will take advantage +of what you said at the commencement of the trial and cross-examine the +witness." + +The judge nodded. + +"Then I will ask Mr. Wilson two or three questions bearing on his +evidence," said Paul. "Mr. Wilson, you have stated more than once that +I have uttered threats concerning your son?" + +"Yes." + +"Would you mind telling me what those threats were?" + +"You threatened to do him injury." + +"What injury?" + +The witness looked confused. + +"Have I at any time in your hearing threatened your son with harm?" + +"No, not in my hearing." + +"Then you have been repeating gossip rather than telling of what you +actually know?" + +"You've threatened my son himself." + +"With what?" + +"Well, you have said to him, 'I'll pay you out for this.'" + +"For what?" + +"For certain supposed injuries." + +"But I am here on the charge of murder. Did I ever threaten to murder +him? Did he ever tell you that I had threatened to murder him?" + +"No, not in so many words." + +"That's all, my lord," said Paul. "I would not have interposed, only, +since you have so kindly allowed me to cross-examine witnesses, I +thought you would not mind if I mentioned such an obvious thing!" + +On this the judge made no comment, and the case was proceeded with. +They had made but little headway when the business of the day came to +an end, and Paul was taken back to his cell. + +When he again found himself alone, everything became unreal to him. It +seemed to him as though he had been dreaming a horrible dream. Every +actor in the grim tragedy which had been played seemed but a phantom of +the brain. Everything was intangible, even although he knew how +terrible the issues were. By and by, however, he was able to grasp +things more clearly, and to remember the events of the day, as well as +to call to mind the faces of the people who had been in the court. He +knew that the evidence had been very black against him; knew, too, by +the look on the faces of the twelve jurymen, that even although they +might not be convinced of his guilt, circumstances were leading them in +that direction. All the same, the thought of death was far away. He +could not believe that he, so young and strong and vigorous, full of +physical and intellectual life, would soon cease to be; could not +believe that those twelve commonplace unimaginative-looking men who sat +in the box could condemn him to die. It was so absurd, so foolish. +Then he remembered his little passage of arms with the judge, and he +wondered what Mary Bolitho would say. He did not realise her presence +at the time, but now it all came back to him. His words had been +polite enough, and yet his insinuation had roused a doubt concerning +the judge's impartiality. What would she say? What would she think? +He was sorry now he had spoken. Why could he not have remained silent? +If he had roused doubts, if he had made the jury see how absurd it was +to fancy that he could be guilty of this crime, the sleuthhounds of the +law would set to work to find the real criminal, and that was what he +wanted to avoid. Better bear anything than that the real truth should +come to light. + +He remembered his mother's face, too, as she came into the court, +remembered the look of agony in her eyes, remembered the unearthly +scream she had given. What did it mean? His mother was not a weak +woman, she was not given to hysterics, rather she was cold and grim and +hard to all the rest of the world. She was only tender towards him. +What did she mean by coming in such a way? What led her to cry out +with such intense pain? The thought had scarcely passed his mind when +he heard the key of the warder in his door, and a moment later his +mother came into his cell. For some time neither of them spoke. The +woman came towards him slowly, and then, throwing her arms round his +neck, held him close to her for a long time. Paul felt the quiver of +her body, and realised the intensity of her feelings. + +"Are you better, mother?" He was able to speak quite calmly by this +time, and was determined that neither by look nor sign would he say +anything of his suspicions concerning her. + +But she did not answer him. She still held him close to her, her face +pressed hard against his chest. + +"I saw you come into court this morning," he said, as though the matter +were the most casual thing imaginable. "You seemed frightened, mother. +Why was it?" + +Still she did not speak, but Paul knew by her quivering hands and by +her convulsive sobs that something had aroused her to the depths of her +being. + +"I hope you are better now," he went on. "It was very thoughtful of +you to let me know you had recovered. You mustn't trouble about me, +mother. I shall be able to manage all right." + +"Yes, yes," she gasped presently, "but you don't know, Paul! You don't +know!" + +"I think I know all that is necessary," he said, and then he stopped, +for he was on the point of mentioning the ghastly thought which had +been haunting him throughout the day. He believed he had read his +mother's motive in coming into the court, and that, but for her falling +down in a faint, she would have carried out her purpose. He felt sure +she had come there that day to tell of her own guilt, and thus to save +him. He imagined that she would have found it easy to gain admission +by telling the officials that she was the accused man's mother, and +that had she carried out her purpose he would by that time have been a +free man. + +"You must not give way to these feelings, mother," he said. "I am +abundantly able to take care of myself, and I am afraid neither of +judge nor jury." + +"The papers say you asked some awfully clever questions," she said, and +there was a mirthless laugh in her voice. "People are saying in the +city, too, that you've got something up your sleeve, and that +presently, when the right time comes, you will confound them all. But, +oh, Paul, Paul, my poor boy, my dear boy! I've come to tell you +something!" + +"Don't tell me, mother," he said. "I'm sure it will give you pain, and +there's not the slightest need. Everything is right and perhaps +there's truth in what the people say." + +He was still possessed with the idea that his mother was referring to +her own guilt, and he determined at all hazards to keep her from making +any confession. He did not quite know what the course of procedure +might be during the coming days, but he knew that according to English +law no prisoner accused of murder can be obliged to answer any +questions before a judge and jury. He had, during his preliminary +trials, evaded everything which might arouse the suspicions he feared, +but if his mother told him that which he felt sure was on her lips, he +did not know what he might have to do at some future period of the +trial. + +"But I must tell you, Paul. I must tell you. It will be terrible for +you. It will drive you mad. But you must know! You must! you must!" +Her voice rose almost to a shriek as she spoke, and he feared lest any +warder listening at the door might hear what she should say. + +"Speak low," he whispered, "or, better still, do not speak at all. No, +don't speak, mother. I know all there is any need to know!" + +"But you must hear. Yes, yes, I won't speak aloud, but you must know. +I must tell you. Paul, Paul, I--I----" + +"No, no, mother, be quiet!" His voice was low and hoarse. "I tell you +nothing matters. Everything will be all right. You needn't fear for +me, I'll be a match for them all!" + +"But I must tell you, Paul, even although it may drive you mad. It'll +alter everything, everything! I've found out something. To-day, +to-day----" The tones of her voice had changed, and there was a mad +intensity which he could not understand. She had grown calmer, too, +and her body had become as rigid as a stone. + +"Listen, Paul," she went on, "I've found your father!" + +"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" And although he was excited +beyond words, he also realised a great relief. + +"Yes, I've found your father." + +"My father! Who is he? You cannot mean it!" + +"Yes. Don't you know? Can't you guess?" + +His mind was bewildered, the blow was too stunning. After all these +years of unavailing search for the truth, to come to him like this +almost unbalanced his mind. + +"No, I can't guess," he said. "How did you do it, mother? How? Where +is he?" + +"The judge, the judge," she said hoarsely. She stood back from him as +she spoke, and the dim light of the room fell upon her face. She +looked years older now than she had looked when they spent their last +evening together in their home in Brunford. Her face was marked with +deep lines. Her eyes were sunken. Her hair had become dull, and her +hands trembled as though she had the palsy. + +"The judge, the judge!" she repeated. "He's your father, Paul." + +"The judge! What judge? Great God, you don't mean that--that----" + +"Yes, Judge Bolitho. That was not the name he gave to me. He said he +was called Douglas Graham. I expect it was only a ruse to deceive me. +I don't know how it would affect my marriage, Paul. You see, Scotch +marriage is so strange, and it may be that the change of name would +alter everything. And yet I don't see how it could. Do you, Paul? +But never mind. He married me! I told you about it, didn't I? Up +there on the wild moors, in the light of the setting sun, with only God +as our witness, he took me to be his wife. He promised to love and +cherish me, Paul. He told me I was all the world to him, and that he +would die to save me from pain. I told you about it, didn't I? And we +knelt down together, too, on the heather, and it seemed as though God's +angels were all around us as we knelt. And he prayed, Paul. He told +me he was a man of faith and took the Communion. And I believed him. +Oh, yes, we were married. And now he's your judge. My God, think of +it! You the criminal and he the judge, and he your own father!" + +"And he never told you his name was Bolitho?" He asked the question +mechanically, as though his mind were far away. + +"Never mentioned it. I never thought of it until--but never mind that. +Of course, you told me about Judge Bolitho, but at that time I never +thought of him as being the man I married. Why, he had been your +enemy. He sent you to prison, years ago. He fought you in Brunford. +Well, on the night of the--the murder, I--I--but there is no need to +talk about that now. I--I went into the court, and when I saw him, I +thought I was going mad. He has changed, yes, of course, he has grown +older, his face is fuller, but I knew him in a second. I could take my +Bible oath. I could swear a thousand oaths it is he, Paul. He is the +man who married me. He is the man who is your father, the man who you +swore that night on the Altarnun Moors should do me justice, the man on +whom you said you'd have your revenge. It is the man whom I have hated +and whom you have hated, Paul. When I saw him first, I thought I was +going out of my mind. It seemed as though everything became as black +as night. Only his face was plain. He did not look at me. I do not +think he saw me at all, but, oh, I saw him, and then--and then--but you +know what happened after that, Paul. Throughout the day I have just +wandered, and wandered, and wandered, thinking and thinking. At first +I thought I dared not tell you. I could not, it was too terrible. But +at last my feet were dragged to you. I could not help myself. I came +here and gained admission. Of course, they could not keep me out. I +am your mother. Paul, Paul, what are you looking like that for? You +don't hate me, do you? You understand?" + +Her words brought him back to the reality of the situation. At first +he seemed utterly confounded by the blow. He forgot all about the +murder now. It did not seem to exist, or if it did it was somewhere +far back in the background, and everything was altered. He had dreamed +of the time when he would find his father for himself--thought, too, of +what he would say to him, painted pictures of their first meeting. But +now everything seemed shattered. Nothing was real! Everything was +real, terribly real! + +Even yet he could not understand the whole bearings of the case. His +brain was confused. Every issue seemed involved, but he did not doubt +his mother's words. It seemed to him the key of the puzzle which had +been haunting him for years. Judge Bolitho his father! Yes, his +treatment of him had been a part, a natural part, of the whole history. +What wonder that he who had deceived and betrayed his mother should +also be the enemy of his son! He understood his feelings now, +understood why when he had first seen this proud, clever man he had a +feeling of instinctive hatred towards him. He had been cruel to him in +the examination when he was tried years before for the part he had +taken in the riot. As the counsel for the prosecution he had seemed to +delight in fastening all the guilt upon him, his son. He remembered +the look of satisfaction upon his face when the justice committed him +to six months' imprisonment in Strangeways Gaol. Yes, he had hated him +then, for that matter they had hated each other. Then came the +election at Brunford. Every incident of the fight came back to him. +He had felt then that this man Bolitho was fighting him unfairly, using +devil's tools to beat him, allowing his mother's name to be dragged in +the mud, in order to gain the victory, while all the time he--he---- + +"Don't speak, mother, don't speak for a minute. Let me try to +understand." + +He walked around the cell like one demented, his face set, his eyes +flashing. Again and again he dashed his hand across his forehead as if +to sweep away the shadows which rested upon his brain, as if trying to +untangle the skeins of his life. + +Yes, he had defied him even to the very last. When the votes were +counted, and when his father, his enemy, had won the victory, he had +defied him. He had told him before the surging mob that they would +meet again, and always to fight, yes, and they would, too. He had a +new weapon in his hands now! + +What would the world say if it knew? He almost felt like laughing at +the thought. What would the world say if it knew that the judge and +the man accused of murder were father and son? How the tongues of the +gossips would wag! What headlines there would be in the newspapers! +What a sensation it would create throughout the country! + +He laughed aloud, a half-mad laugh. His brain reeled at what his +mother had told him. Even yet he did not realise fully the issues of +her momentous communication. That would come later! The thing which +appealed to him now was that he had found his father, and his father +was the man who was sitting in judgment on him! + +Never did he hate him as he did at that moment. This man had deceived +his mother, blackened her life, allowed her to remain in loneliness, +misery and disgrace. Because of him a shadow had rested upon his own +life, a shadow which nothing had been able to lift. Yes, he hated him. +He thought of the cross-examination that day. This man at the +beginning of the trial had pretended to act as his friend, had advised +him to accept counsel, had told him that he might defend himself and +ask questions. And, utilising the power which he possessed as a judge, +had himself asked the witnesses questions, on the pretence that he was +trying to do the prisoner justice! + +And what questions! To his excited and poisoned mind he had simply +supplied the deficiencies of the counsel for the prosecution. Every +word he had uttered was only meant as another nail in his scaffold. He +was glad he had said what he had said now. He had made both jury and +court feel that the judge was unjust because of his prejudice against +him. But that was nothing to what he could do, nothing to what he +would do. Why, supposing on the next day--yes, and he could do it, +too--supposing on the next day of the trial he, the prisoner, were to +proclaim before the court, before the twelve jurymen, before the eager +counsel, before the gaping, excited crowd, that this Judge Bolitho, +this man who assumed an immaculate air, was one of the most damnable +villains that ever crawled upon the earth, that this man, who looked so +virtuous and spoke of the majesty of justice, had foully deceived a +poor, ignorant, innocent girl, dragged her name in the mire, left her +to die, as far as he was concerned, in disgrace! He, the judge, had +done this, and all the world should know it. Yes, all the world. This +man should be pilloried before all England, and every healthy, +clean-minded man in the nation would shudder at his name. + +Yes, he saw his revenge now. + +"No, mother, do not speak yet," he cried, as he stamped around the +cell. "Do not speak yet. I've got it!" + +He hugged himself with delight, for at that moment Paul Stepaside was +possessed of the devil. He was filled with unholy joy. "It makes one +believe, after all, that there's a God in the heaven. 'Vengeance is +Mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' Yes, I've heard a man read that +in the old chapel down at St. Mabyn, in Cornwall. 'Vengeance is Mine; +I will repay.' And I will repay too." + +Never had he realised that such vengeance would be possible. Why, it +some mighty wizard had been scheming to place a weapon in his hands +whereby he could avenge his mother's wrongs, avenge his own wrongs, and +punish the man who had been his enemy even before he was born, he could +not have placed a more powerful weapon than this. He seemed to possess +the very genius of victory. He did not care one iota about the murder +now, did not trouble as to what verdict any jury might find. The +evidence which might be adduced against him was as nothing. He held in +his hands the sword of justice, which should surely fall on the head of +the man who had that day sat as judge. + +He laughed aloud again. "Thank you, mother," he said. "You did right +in coming to me. Yes, it makes everything right--everything, +everything. And to-morrow I'll do it. To-morrow shall be my day of +victory. Dead or alive, it shall be my day of victory. Right shall be +done, justice shall be done, and this scheming, hypocritical villain +shall be dragged in the dust and disgrace and infamy!" + +The words had scarcely passed his lips when he came to a sudden stop, +and he gave a low, terrible cry. + +"What is it, Paul?" The mother was startled by the look in his eyes, +by the mad agony expressed in his face. + +"Mary!" he said. + +Oh, the world of sorrow, of defeat, of terror, which seemed to be +expressed in that one word. Yes, he would rejoice, rejoice beyond +words at his father's ignominy and shame. But what of her, the woman +who believed in him, trusted in him against all evidence, the woman who +had defied all conventions in coming to see him, the woman whom he had +held to his heart, and whom he loved more than life? Every blow struck +at her father was also struck at her. His shame would be her shame, +his ignominy would be her ignominy. + +It seemed as though the foundations of his life were being broken up. +Why, then, too, if that marriage up on the Scotch hill-side were legal, +as he believed it was, and thus all stain were wiped away from his +name, what of Mary's name? If Judge Bolitho had married another woman +while his mother was alive, then he would not only be a bigamist, but +Mary's name would be tarnished--Mary, whose happiness was to him the +most precious thing in the world. But even that was not all. He +understood now what his mother meant when she said he would be driven +mad, understood why she was afraid to tell him. Mary was his own +sister! His sister! + +"Forgive me, Paul, for telling you;" and his mother looked at him with +hungry, beseeching eyes. "Forgive me, I could not help it. You +see--well, it was necessary that you should know." + +"And I for the moment felt like believing in God," he said, like one +talking to himself. He thought he was going to fall on the hard stone +floor. His head was whirling, his limbs were trembling. He seemed to +have lost all control over himself. + +"My sister!" he said. "Great God! My sister! And I love her as a man +loves his wife!" A new passion, a new force had entered his life now. +His longing for revenge was conquered by another feeling, a nobler +feeling. Love for Mary Bolitho was stronger than a desire to be +revenged on his father. At all hazards she must not suffer. +But--but---- No, he could not grasp it. His brain refused to fasten +upon the real issues of the case. His thoughts were as elusive as a +mist cloud. His brain swam. Everything was real, terribly real, but +nothing was real! What could he do? + +Never, surely, was man placed in such a horrible position. He had +thought a few nights before, when he had fought his battle between love +for his own mother and the desire to keep disgrace and death from her, +and the love for his own life, a life which could be made bright and +beautiful, that the great struggle was over. It seemed to him then +that he had fought his last battle and had won it. Duty had overcome +self-love. But it seemed as nothing compared with the issues which now +stared him in the face. + +"My sister! My sister!" he repeated. "The same father, although not +the same mother. Do I love her the less? Does my heart cry out for +her one whit the less because we are children of the same father?" + +No. Why, he could not understand, but she seemed even more to him than +ever. The new link which bound them together seemed also, if possible, +to strengthen his love and to make him more than ever long for her +happiness. + +"He's your father; you believe that?" said the woman, who had been +looking at him as though she would read his very soul. + +"Yes," he replied. + +"And she is your sister." + +"Yes." + +"Then if your birth is honourable, hers is base," said the mother +passionately. Even at that moment the longing to do justice to her son +was uppermost in her mind and heart. "I am his true wife; remember +that! He married me. I can't be robbed of that, Paul, can I?" + +He saw what her questions meant, knew the thought that was burning in +her brain, realised her mad desire to proclaim her right as a wife and +as an honourable mother. + +Paul Stepaside loved his mother, and never more than then. All those +feelings of filial affection which had been aroused in his heart by the +remembrance of her sad story were intensified at that moment. Yes, she +was his mother, and she must have her rights. But if she had them? + +That was the question, the supreme question. His desire for revenge +had lost its power now. A new motive force was at work, a new set of +circumstances clamoured for recognition. + +Oh, what a muddle life was! Who could explain its mystery? Who could +unravel the entanglement? + +The steps of the warder were heard in the corridor outside, and Paul +knew that his mother's visit must come to an end. + +"What will you do? What will you do?" she asked. + +"I must wait--I must think," was his reply. "Of course, you have told +nothing to anyone else?" + +"No, Paul. How could I?" + +"And that man has no suspicion?" + +"No; he did not see me." + +He could not see a ray of light in the darkness anyhow. He saw no +means whereby he could solve this great puzzle. Everything was mad +confusion. + +He heard the key turning in the lock. + +"I must wait; I must think, think, mother. Meanwhile, do nothing." + +The door opened, and a moment later his mother left the cell, leaving +Paul alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MAN AND WIFE + +A number of men were dining in the principal hotel in Manchester. They +all belonged to the legal profession, and had been drawn thither by the +assizes which were being held. Most of them were men who had won a +position in the realm of the law, and were now visiting Manchester +because their profession had called them thither. They were attached +to the Northern Circuit, and were doing their best to make their stay +in the smoky metropolis as pleasant as possible. A few there were who +were as yet hungry for briefs and could not get them, but who deemed it +a privilege and an honour to be invited to dine with their more +successful brethren. + +Perhaps there is no profession in the land which offer greater +possibilities than that of the Bar. On the other hand, there is no +calling more fraught with disappointment. Many there are who, after a +brilliant University career, and having adopted the Bar as a +profession, have to wait year after year without even earning the +salary of a four-loom weaver. Proud, sensitive men as some of them +are, to have to wait around on the chance of getting a brief must be +exquisite torture. Yet such are the chances of the Bar that many +undergo the ordeal in the hope that by and by success will come. There +were some of these at the gathering which I have just mentioned. They +had accepted the invitation to dine with their successful brethren, not +without hope that some crumbs might fall from the rich man's table and +be enjoyed by them. Added to this, Judge Bolitho, who had won such +renown while practising as a barrister on the Northern Circuit, and now +appointed judge at the High Court of Justice, was also present. Some +of the younger men regarded him with a certain amount of awe, and they +wondered whether the time would come when they, who now depended upon +the goodwill of their friends, might aspire to the heights which he had +reached. After all, it was not impossible, for the Bar, like every +other profession, was a gamble. + +It had been a merry gathering. They had dined well. The hotel was +noted for its cuisine and for the quality of its wines, and the best +which the great establishment afforded had been placed at their +disposal. Many good stories were told. Those who were now at the top +of the tree related incidents of their younger days, when they, like +the young fellows who now listened to them so eagerly, were hungry for +briefs. Mr. Bakewell, in particular, the man who that day was the +counsel for the prosecution in Paul Stepaside's case, was an utterly +different man from what he had been when he appeared in court. Then he +was solemn, pompous, and almost lugubrious; now he cracked a joke with +the best, and told humorous stories with infinite gusto. The judge, +too, while naturally patronising and unable to throw aside in entirety +the dignity of his office, so far unbent as to be the best of +companions. + +Naturally, the case which had excited the whole country loomed large on +the horizon. Indeed, it gave rise to most of the stories which had +been told that night. More than one barrister related incidents of +some murder trial in which he had been engaged, and tried to trace +connections between them and the one which was now being tried. + +If the issues were not so momentous, moreover, the way they discussed +the question would have been amusing. Paul's life or death was to many +of them a mere secondary consideration. To them he was a case, and +they judged of the merits and demerits of the case as if it were some +purely imaginary or academical affair especially manufactured for their +delectation. It is true the judge did not look at it in this light, +but he was not in a talkative humour that night, although he added a +certain share to the conversation, and his presence gave a kind of +eclat to the proceedings. They had reached the stage of nuts and wine, +and most of them were in great good humour. + +"I am inclined to think," said one, "that Stepaside has something up +his sleeve. The fellow is as sharp as a needle, and although he hasn't +yet offered anything like a defence, one can't believe that he was +guilty of such a thing." + +"I don't know," said another. "Of course, circumstantial evidence has +often been proved to be false, nevertheless, a jury has to go upon such +evidence as is adduced in court, and the evidence is damning!" + +"Think of the point he made this afternoon when he cross-examined Mr. +Wilson." + +"I make nothing of that," said Mr. Bakewell rather pompously. "Of +course, he put it strongly, and for the moment made a point, but that +kind of thing is not going to save him!" + +"Do you think, then," asked a member of the local Bar, "that the jury +will find him guilty?" + +"I do indeed," said Mr. Bakewell. "Even although he had a man like +Montague Williams or Russell to defend him he would stand no chance. +You see, the thing is a perfect chain of reasoning, because there is a +perfect chain of events." + +"Yes, but how can one think of such a man as Stepaside, keen as a +surgeon's knife, cool as the devil himself, as watchful as a +sleuth-hound, and having everything before him in the way of a career, +so far committing himself as to use the knife known to belong to him, +and then to leave it in the body. Why, the thing is absurd!" + +"Exactly. But then the cleverest and most daring criminals in the +world have been known to have done similar things. Why, think of that +Blackburn murder in which I was engaged years ago. It was almost +identical with this affair, and there was not the slightest doubt that +he was guilty. Why, he confessed it to the chaplain afterwards. You +must remember that Stepaside was in a mad passion at the time. +Besides, you see, he's never accounted for those hours between midnight +and six in the morning!" + +"Yes, but no prisoner charged for murder is obliged to account for his +time." + +"Exactly, but a jury has to give its verdict upon evidence. And +remember this, too," and Mr. Bakewell would not perhaps have spoken so +freely had his tongue not been unloosed by the generous wine he had +been drinking. "Remember this, too, and, of course, we are all friends +here, and what I say will not go beyond this room--but the evidence +to-morrow will surprise you!" + +"In what way?" + +"Well, one of the witnesses to-morrow will swear that he saw him not +half a mile from Howden Clough, in a state of excitement, about five +o'clock on the morning of the murder, that is to say, about half an +hour after it took place, according to the doctor's evidence. You see, +we have the servants' testimony that they heard him come up to the top +storey of the house; that he stood at their bedroom door and then went +down again; that they, wondering what had happened, followed, and saw +him go out into the night alone. Of course, on the face of it, it does +seem unlikely that a clever fellow such as Stepaside undoubtedly is, +with a great career possible for him, should have done the deed so +clumsily. But, don't you see, everything points to him, and unless he +brings some extraordinary witnesses on the other side, which he isn't +trying to do, mind you, the jury have no alternative but to find him +guilty." + +"My own belief is that he's hiding something in his sleeve, and that if +he's hanged it'll be a miscarriage of justice." + +A waiter then came into the room bearing a slip of paper, which he took +to Judge Bolitho. The judge received it calmly and unfolded it, +talking meanwhile to his neighbour at the table. After reading a few +lines, however, a puzzled expression came on to his face, which was +followed by a look almost amounting to terror. More than one who +watched him thought he saw his hands tremble somewhat; nevertheless, he +held himself in check, like one who was trying to appear to be calm, as +he read it the second time. The men who were at the bottom of the +table went on with their stories, but Judge Bolitho evidently did not +listen. His mind was far away. His cigar had gone out, too, but he +did not seem conscious of it. + +"I wonder what is in that letter?" asked a man of his neighbour, as he +watched the judge's face. + +"Oh, there's no knowing. Fellows in Bolitho's position are always +getting queer missives." + +"He looks mighty uncomfortable, anyhow." + +The judge took a wineglass in his hand and began toying with it, but it +was evident that he did not know what he was doing. + +"I say, Bolitho"--it was a county court judge who spoke to him--"Did +you notice that woman's face who fell down in a faint this morning? It +was positively ghastly when she looked at you." + +Evidently Judge Bolitho did not hear. He took not the slightest notice +of the remark. He was still toying with the wineglass. + +"I say, Bolitho, aren't you well?" + +And still the judge's face was rigid, and his eyes had in them a fixed +far-away look. The other caught him by the sleeve. + +"Aren't you well, Bolitho?" + +The judge gave a great start. + +"What's that?" he asked. + +"Aren't you well? You look deathly pale. Have another glass of wine, +my dear fellow." + +But the judge rose to his feet. + +"No; I'm not very well," he said. "I think I must ask you to excuse +me." + +By this time the attention of all present was drawn to him, and there +were general expressions of sympathy. But of these Judge Bolitho +seemed unconscious. + +"Good-night, gentlemen," he said. "I am sorry to be obliged to leave +you, but I don't feel very well." + +"There was something in that letter," was the general whisper. +"Something that disturbed him!" + +But the fact was almost forgotten as soon as he had left the room. + +The judge found his way to his own apartment. + +"Where's Mary, I wonder?" he said. But Mary was nowhere visible. He +knocked at her bedroom door, but received no answer. He went into all +the rooms set apart for their use, but she was nowhere to be seen. + +"She did not tell me she was going out, either," he reflected. But it +was evident he had very little interest in her whereabouts. He acted +more like a man in a dream than one in full possession of his +faculties. He threw himself into an arm-chair and again carefully read +the letter which had been sent to him. When he had finished, he looked +around the room as though he were afraid he were being watched. + +"No; no one is here," he said. "No one knows." + +For fully five minutes he sat holding the letter in his hand, staring +into vacancy. + +"What can it mean? What can it mean?" + +He put on a heavy ulster and left the hotel. "I don't think anyone +noticed who I am," he reflected. And then he made his way down past +the Free Trade Hall, towards Deansgate. + +"Twenty-five Dixon Street," he kept on repeating to +himself--"twenty-five Dixon Street, off Dean Street." + +He did not seem to know where he was going. More than once he hustled +someone on the sidewalk and then passed on as if unconscious of what he +had done. Presently he reached Dean Street and walked along it some +little distance; then, turning, he found himself in a network of short, +dark streets, evidently inhabited by a working-class community. He +looked at the numbers carefully as he passed along. After some little +time he stopped. He knocked at one of the doors and was immediately +admitted. + +A second later the light fell on the form of a woman. Her face was +pale and haggard. In her eyes was a look of madness. The gaslight +also shone upon Judge Bolitho's face. He had placed his hat upon the +table, and his every feature was exposed. + +The woman came close to him and looked at him steadily, while he, like +one fascinated, fixed his eyes upon her face. + +"Douglas Graham," she said, "do you know me?" + +For a few seconds he did not speak, but looked steadily at her. Then, +as if with difficulty, words escaped him. + +"Jean!" he gasped. "Jean! Then you're not dead!" + +"You know me, then, Douglas Graham? I have waited a long time for this +night. Sometimes I thought it would never come. Year after year I've +watched, all in vain, and then suddenly I learnt the truth!" + +She did not seem like one in a passion. Her voice was low and hard. +Her hands were steady. Her eyes burnt with a mad light. It seemed as +though all the passion, all the hatred, all the despair of more than +twenty years were expressed in them just now. + +"What do you want of me, Jean?" + +He did not seem to know what he was saying, and the words escaped his +lips as if in spite of himself. + +"Want of you? Want of you? Can you ask that? Your memory is not +dead. You know, and I know---- Why, I am your wife! Do you remember +that day up among the Scotch hills, when, before God, you took me, you +swore you would be faithful to me? Do you remember the promise you +made on the day you left me? 'I will soon come back to you,' you said, +'and make our marriage public.' And I have never seen you since, until +to-day! But now my hour has come!" + +Usually Judge Bolitho was a man of resource. He seldom lost possession +of his power to act wisely. He was seldom taken at a disadvantage. He +was cool and daring. But now he seemed to have lost the _sang froid_ +for which he was so noted. + +"Jean! Jean!" he said again and again. + +"Yes, Jean," replied the woman. "The girl you deceived! The girl you +married and then deserted! The woman whose life you have blighted and +ruined! I had almost given up believing in God; but now--now--faith +may come back to me; but it's only a faith inspired by hatred!" + +"You hate me, then?" he said. + +"Is it possible to do anything else?" she replied. + +"Wait a minute," he said. "Let me think. I shall be able to speak +connectedly presently. For a moment I've lost hold of things. Yes, +yes; I don't deny anything; but wait a minute! What have you done with +yourself all these years, Jean?" + +"Done with myself? What could I do? I was almost without a penny. A +few months after you left me my father drove me from home. I was in +disgrace, and only hell seemed to gape at my feet!" + +"But you're here," he said in a dazed kind of way. "You're well +clothed. This cottage, though poor, shows a degree of comfort. You're +not penniless, then? Have--have you married--again?" + +The woman started back from him at these words, and lifted her hand as +if to strike him. + +"Douglas Graham," she said, "do not drive me too far!" + +"But how have you been supported all these years? What have you done?" + +"You know! You know!" she almost screamed. + +"I know nothing," was his reply. "Where have you lived? Where do you +live now? Is this your home, or are you only staying here temporarily?" + +He seemed to be trying, in a confused sort of way, to understand how +things stood. Evidently the shock of meeting her, after all the long +years, had wellnigh unbalanced his mind. + +"But don't you know? You must know! No; it may be that you don't," +and the woman laughed like one in glee. "Then I will tell you," she +said. "I am Paul Stepaside's mother, and Paul Stepaside is your son!" + +The man gave a gasp as if for breath. His body swayed to and fro as +though he found it difficult to stand upright. Then a hoarse cry +escaped him: + +"Paul Stepaside my son!" + +"Ay, your son," replied the woman. "Yes, I have read what the man said +this morning. It was in the evening paper, so I know that you know all +about it. I had no name, so he was given the name of the hamlet where +I was lying when they found me, thinking I was dead. They took me to +the workhouse, where Paul was born, and because I refused to give them +my name they called him Stepaside. But he's your son, don't you see? +Your son! Your son!" + +And the woman laughed harshly. + +He seemed to be trying to understand the full meaning of her words. + +"My son! My son!" he repeated again and again. + +"Yes, your son! And he's accused of the murder of Ned Wilson, and you +are the judge who is trying his own son! Truly, the ways of the Lord +are as a deep sea. Yet he's a God of justice, too! I never believed +in it as I believe in it now." + +"But tell me more," he said presently; and his voice was hoarse and +unnatural. + +"What is there to tell?" replied the woman. "You deserted me, and Paul +was born--born in a workhouse, reared in a workhouse, educated in a +workhouse. He was called a 'workhouse brat' by the people. He lived +on the rates for years--your son! And I have only to speak and all the +world will know of it. Have you nothing to say for yourself?" And she +turned to him just as a caged lioness might turn to a keeper with whom +it was angry. + +He stood with bowed head and never answered her a word. He seemed to +have forgotten everything in the thought that Paul Stepaside was his +son and he was accused of murder, and that he, his father, was his +judge. + +"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" continued the woman. "Oh, +it'll be a beautiful story to tell to the world! I've been hearing +many things about you through the day. I'm told you speak at great +religious meetings, that you're a prominent religious leader, that you +advocate sending the Gospel to the heathen, that you're very particular +about attending to all religious observances. I've been reading what +you said about Paul being an atheist. You declared that men who had +given up faith in God were not to be trusted. When I tell my story, +won't the world laugh!" + +He made no answer. He still stood perfectly motionless, with bowed +head. The woman's words did not seem to reach him. + +"You know my Paul's story," she went on. "Therefore, I needn't repeat +it. He came to Brunford, and was falsely accused in this very city, +and you--because you were well paid and because I think your conscience +smote you and you felt an instinctive hatred towards him--you did your +best to get him a heavy punishment. Through you he was sent to +Strangeways Gaol for six months, he an innocent man! Then you fought +him at the election. You told all sorts of lies about him, and you +besmirched my name; he your son, and I your wife, the woman you +promised to love and cherish, and then deserted. Do you understand? +Do you understand?" + +"Yes, I understand," he said; but still it did not seem like Judge +Bolitho's voice at all. + +"But mind," and here her voice rose somewhat. "But mind, I'm your +wife. You married me. I'm your true lawful wife. You don't deny +that?" + +"Jean," he said, "you don't know; you cannot know. But you'll forgive +me, won't you? I do not know myself, that is---- No, of course I +can't expect you to forgive me." + +"Forgive you?" said the woman, and there was a world of scorn in her +tones. "Forgive you, when I've suffered twenty-five years of disgrace +because of you! Forgive you, when my son has been lying in gaol +because of you! Forgive you, when, but for you, he might be free now! +But there's a God in the heaven." + +"And Paul Stepaside is my son, my son!" + +The thought seemed to have a kind of fascination for him. He repeated +it over again and again, as though he took a certain pleasure in doing +so. He remembered all that had taken place, remembered that ever since +they had first met there had seemed to be a kind of fatality which +caused them to feel antagonism for each other. He remembered Paul's +words: "Mr. Bolitho and I will meet again, and always to fight, always +to fight!" And he was his son! He had never dreamed of this. Often +during the years which had elapsed since he last saw the girl he had +married, he had wondered what had become of her, but never once had he +dreamed of this. It seemed to him as though the foundations of his +life were taken away from him. His brain refused to act. His eyes +refused to see. A great blackness fell upon everything. He who was +usually so keen witted, so clear sighted, could not grasp the meaning +of all he had heard, could not understand the issues. He only knew +that he was enveloped in a great black cloud, and that he could not see +which way to turn or what to do. + +"Oh, my God, forgive me!" + +The woman turned to him as he uttered these words. "God forgive you!" +she cried. "How can God forgive you? I would cease to believe in Him +if He did. What, you! who basely deserted me; you! who married me +under a false name; you! who during the years have never taken a step +to try and find out what had become of me; you! who have hunted my son +as though you were a sleuthhound; you! who have dragged him to prison. +God forgive you! Tell me, why did you do it?" + +There seemed no logical sequence between her last cry and the words +which had preceded it. She was a creature of passion, and seemed +incapable of thinking coherently. + +"Let me sit down," he said presently. "I think perhaps if I do I may +be able to see more clearly. At present I hardly know where I am, and +my mind is almost a blank; but, my God, what a blank!" + +The woman looked at him grimly. "Yes, you are suffering," she said. +"That's what I meant. No, I'm not going to do you any bodily harm. I +needn't do that. I needn't do anything to punish you except to tell +the truth!" + +Judge Bolitho sat down in an arm-chair which, had been placed close to +the fire and tried to understand what he had heard. He had no doubt +about the truth of everything. It was impossible to fail to recognise +the woman who stood before him--the very incarnation of hatred and +vengeance. He knew by the look in her eyes of what she felt concerning +him. There was no suggestion of tenderness in her face, no thought of +pity in her heart. Well, it was no wonder. The secret which he had +hidden for so long could no longer remain a secret, and his name, the +name of which he had been so proud, would be blackened before all the +world! How long he sat in the chair, with bowed head and aching brain, +trying to understand, he did not know, but presently he was drawn to +look at her. He had no thought of denying what he had done. It had +never entered his mind. He had made no defence; that did not come +within the realm of his calculation. He was simply stunned by what he +had heard, by the revelation which had shaken his life to the very +foundations. But presently he was led to look at her, to study her +features, and as he did so he called to mind the face of the young girl +whose heart he had won a quarter of a century before. Yes, she was +beautiful still, even although her face was drawn and haggard and the +hair which he remembered so well was lustreless. It needed but +happiness to bring back all the winsomeness of her girlish +days--happiness! Yes, he had loved her, and he had promised to cherish +her. He knew he had taken her to wife as truly as if their marriage +had been attended by all the pomp and ceremony which might attend the +marriage of a king. She had come to him trustful and innocent, and +he--he---- No, he did not attempt to deny it; he would not. What the +future had in store for him he did not know, he did not care. But that +was not the great thing that oppressed him, that crushed his power of +thinking, that made the heavens black with the thunder of the clouds of +God. It was that Paul Stepaside was his son! He had always admired +him, even while he was angry with him; and he was his son! That very +day he had sat in judgment upon him--that very day even he had helped +to forge a chain which would bind him to the scaffold--and he was his +son! Presently he spoke aloud, and his voice was almost natural again. + +"And so you have lived at Brunford," he said, "and kept house for him? +I've heard it is a beautiful home." + +"Ay, my boy always loved me--always!" + +"And, of course, you hate me, Jean?" + +"How can I do otherwise?" she asked. "Nay, that word is too weak to +express what I feel towards you! How can it be otherwise?" + +"I quite understand," said Judge Bolitho. + +"Are you going to make no defence?" said the woman. "Are you going to +bring up some little tale to excuse yourself? Are you going to try and +manufacture a few lies?" + +"No," he replied. "None of these things. I can't think to-night, +Jean. You must think my conduct very strange. I simply can't think! +It will be all real to me in a few hours. You know what these +Manchester fogs are, don't you? You know that sometimes you get lost +in them. You cannot recognise the street in which you were born and +reared. Everything is blotted out. Then presently, when the fog has +rolled away--everything becomes clear. Perhaps that is what it will be +with me by and by, but now I simply cannot think. I do not blame you +in the slightest degree. It's just that you should hate me! It's just +that I should suffer! Is there nothing more you wish to say to me?" + +"Not now," said the woman. + +"I do not ask you to forgive me; you cannot do that. It's not to be +expected." + +"But what are you going to do?" she asked. + +"I do not know. I cannot tell yet. When my mind gets clear I shall +understand. But I seem to be falling and falling and falling into a +bottomless abyss just now." + +"You don't expect me to keep quiet?" + +"I expect nothing." + +"You do not ask me to be merciful to you?" + +"I do not ask anything. I've no right to expect anything or to ask +anything. I think I will leave you now--that is, unless I can do +anything for you. You do not need money, do you?" + +He did not know what he was saying. His bewildered brain was +expressing itself in an inconsequent sort of way. He was just a +creature of impulse, and that was all. + +"Money!" snarled the woman. "Money! when my son is lying in a prison +cell waiting for the hangman!" + +"Yes," he said, and his voice seemed as the voice of one far away. "In +a prison cell, my son! my son! It is right that I should suffer, but +surely he ought not to suffer!" + +He rose to his feet and walked unsteadily towards the door. + +"May I go now? You know where I am staying. If I can be of any +service to you, let me know." + +"And that's all? You have nothing more to say?" + +"What can there be more?" he said. "You can do what you will; I will +deny nothing." + +"But what are you going to do?" she asked again. + +"Do? What is there to do? I cannot tell; I am just in the dark, Jean, +but perhaps a light will come presently." And then, without another +word, he found his way along the narrow passage into the dark, +forbidding street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +TRAVAIL + +For more than an hour Judge Bolitho tramped the streets of Manchester, +unheeding whither he went and as little knowing. He was vainly trying +to understand what he had heard, trying to bring some order out of the +chaos of his thoughts and feelings. Everything was confused, +bewildering. He was like a man in a dream. The experiences through +which he had passed refused to shape themselves definitely. A mist +hung before the eyes of his mind, and yet he knew it was no dream. It +was all real, terribly real, and presently everything would stand out +before him with a ghastly clearness. Even now one thing was plain +enough, one fact impressed itself upon the tablets of his brain--Paul +Stepaside was his son. The interview he had had with the woman he +deceived was in the background; even although past memories had been +roused and the deeds of his youth had been brought before him with +awful clearness, they were as nothing compared with this fact of facts. +He did not know he had a son; he never dreamt of such a thing. During +the long years which had elapsed since he parted with Jean at the +lonely inn near the Scottish border he had often wondered what had +become of her, wondered, too, whether those past days would ever be +resurrected; but the thought that he had a son had never occurred to +him. And now the knowledge overwhelmed everything else. + +Little by little things shaped themselves in his mind. He saw them as +others would see them. The events of the past few years, since he had +first met Paul, began to stand out with clearness. He remembered his +own impressions on the day when Paul was first brought before him, +accused of rioting and of inciting others to deeds of violence. He +remembered, too, that he had a kind of pleasure in obtaining a hard +sentence for him. He recalled the fact that both Mr. Wilson and his +son Ned had spoken of him as an evil-dispositioned fellow, who deserved +the utmost penalty of the law, and he had fallen in with their ideas, +and had taken a kind of grim pleasure in doing so. It was a strange +business altogether. For the moment he seemed to be a kind of third +party considering a curious phenomenon. He seemed to have no direct +connection with it at all. But as he remembered after events, when he +called to mind the fact that he fought Paul at the election and failed +to condemn those who made use of slanderous gossip, then he was more +than a spectator. He realised all too vividly against whom he had been +fighting. And it had come to this: this man whom he had always +disliked, and against whom there seemed to be always a feeling of +antagonism, was revealed to him as his own son! His treatment of Jean, +bad though it was, took a second place; indeed, at that time he +troubled very little about it. He felt as though he could deal with it +later on. Everything was centred upon the situation, which was summed +up in a few words: He had a son, his son was accused of murder, and he +was the judge! + +Presently he found himself in Oxford Road. He did not know how he had +come there. He had no recollection of passing through the streets +which led him there, but as he noticed the gables of Owens College he +realised where he was. He remembered some time before being an +honoured visitor at this centre of education. The principal of the +college had sought to do him honour. The professors made much of him. +He was strangely interested in the fact. Why should it be? Owens +College was nothing to him. It was simply the centre of one of the +newer universities. Why, then, did it interest him? Then he +remembered that Paul had been a student there. He had travelled all +the way from Brunford so that he might attend certain classes--and Paul +was his son! + +Always this! Always this! In whichever direction his mind travelled, +it always came back to this point--Paul Stepaside was his son! + +Slowly he trudged back towards the city again. Presently he found +himself outside Strangeways Gaol. He looked at the grim, +forbidding-looking building. He thought of the creatures who lay +there, some awaiting trial, others suffering the penalty of their +misdoings. During the very assizes which he was now attending he had +committed several to suffer there; but it was not of them he thought. +What were they?--merely the off-scourings of Lancashire life. The only +one who mattered was his own son, and he lay there in a dark cell, +waiting for the morrow. He did not ask himself whether he was innocent +or guilty. At that moment it did not seem of importance. Paul was his +son! He, Judge Bolitho, was his father. He, who had never realised +that he had a son, suddenly woke up to the fact that his son lay there +in Strangeways Gaol, while he, his father, was the judge. + +If he could only go to him, talk with him, it might help him to clear +his mind, help him to understand. But he could not do that. He had +been too long a servant of the law to so far transgress against the +most elementary usages of the law. No judge was allowed to see a +prisoner alone while his case was being tried. But if he could--if he +could! + +He called to mind Paul's face as he had seen it through the day. Even +when he sat on the Bench he remembered being struck by it. It was so +calm, so proud, so unyielding. He had felt angry that this man, +accused of murder, had seemed to treat his accusers, as well as his +judge and counsel, with a kind of contempt. Now he felt almost proud +of him. Paul Stepaside was no ordinary man. And he was his son! + +Again he looked at the gloomy, grim pile. Of what was his boy +thinking? He lay in a black prison cell, with the shadow of death +hanging over him. What were his feelings? During his career Judge +Bolitho had been brought into contact with some of the darkest +characters in the land. He knew something of what men suffered for +their crimes. And at that moment he realised what Paul was suffering. + +"Oh, if I could only go to him!" he repeated to himself--"if I only +could!" + +He did not know why it was, but he felt a change coming over him. He +realised that he had a wondrous interest in this man whom he pictured +lying in Strangeways Gaol. He knew that the anger and scorn which he +had felt for him were passing away. A kinder feeling was coming into +his heart. It seemed as though old bitternesses were being removed, +and he began to long with a great longing to do something. The young +girl whom he had met as a boy, and who was Paul's mother, was for the +moment forgotten. That stormy interview did not possess his mind at +all, only in so far as she had revealed to him the relationship between +him and the prisoner. Then, suddenly, it seemed to him as though the +barriers around his heart were broken down. He loved, as he never +realised that he could love, the prisoner who lay waiting for the next +day's trial. He wanted to go to him with words of comfort. He wanted +to kneel before him and beseech his forgiveness. He wanted to tell him +that all the strength of his being were given to him. It seemed to him +as though he had become a new man, capable of new feelings, realising +new emotions. His knowledge had swallowed up everything else. He no +longer regarded the prisoner as a case, or even as one with whom he had +had associations in the past. He was everything to him--his son, his +only son! + +But he could not go to him. Even the warders would not allow him. +They knew their duty too well for that. He was the judge and Paul was +the prisoner. But, oh! how his heart went out to him! How he longed +to go to him! + +"I wonder what he would say to me if I went to him, supposing I defied +all law and all usage?" he asked himself. "Supposing I found my way +into his cell, what would he say on seeing me? What would he do?" + +And then into Judge Bolitho's heart came a great, haunting fear. He +knew that his son must hate him, even as Jean hated him. Paul had +heard her side of the story. He knew only of his mother's wrongs, her +years of loneliness, the unworthy betrayal! The punishment seemed +almost too hard for him to bear. Whatever Paul had suffered, whatever +his mother had suffered, Judge Bolitho was sure that neither of them +suffered as he did at that moment. + +Slowly his mind asserted itself more and more. His vigorous intellect, +strengthened by long years of training, caused him to grasp the whole +situation more and more clearly. He began to take a practical view of +everything, and to form plans as to what must be done in the future. +And even as he did so the grimness of the tragedy faced him. +Throughout the day he knew that he had, to a large extent, prejudged +Paul's case. His own inherent dislike of the man had caused him to +feel sure he was guilty. Of course there were difficulties, and of +course a clever counsel would mercilessly riddle the evidence which had +been adduced. Nevertheless, he had felt convinced that the jury would +find him guilty. There was a perfect chain of circumstantial evidence, +and he, with his long experience, knew what juries were. They could +only judge according to evidence. He went over the points one by +one--the years of enmity between Paul and the murdered man; the threats +he had made; the injuries which the murdered man had persistently done +to the accused; the knife which was known to belong to Paul, and which +could only have been in his possession; the quarrel on the eve of the +murder; the fact that Paul had left his own house at midnight and had +not returned till just before dawn; Wilson found not far from his own +house with Paul's knife in his heart; and the evidence which would be +surely adduced that Paul had been seen not far from Howden Clough that +same morning, acting in a most strange and distracted manner. Added to +this was the fact that Wilson was respected in the town; that he was +not known to have an enemy in the world but Paul. No, no! Unless Paul +could bring evidence of the strongest nature, the jury would find him +guilty. + +Then the terror of it seized him. His own son would be hanged! + +He lifted up his hands to heaven like a man distraught. + +"Great God, forgive me and help me!" he cried. But it seemed to him +even then as though his prayer were a mockery, as though the black, +cloud-laden sky were filled with doom. + +Almost mechanically he turned his face towards his hotel. + +"I must think this out," he said to himself. "Besides---- Oh, my son! +My son!" + +He had not walked far towards his hotel when he suddenly stopped in the +middle of the pavement. His intellect, which had wakened from its +torpor, awakened something else. He began to realise his own share in +this tragedy. It was not Paul who was guilty of murder at all--it was +he, the judge. If long years before he had done his duty, if he had +not listened to the voice of self interest, if he had been true to the +pleadings of his own heart and openly confessed to having married the +girl whose love he had won, then Paul would have grown up honoured, and +this deed would never have been committed. He, he, Judge Bolitho, was +guilty. But he could do nothing; how could he? + +A few minutes later he found himself back at the entrance to the hotel, +and the porter saluted him respectfully. Judge Bolitho had often +spoken to this man in a friendly sort of way, and the man was proud of +his notice. + +"A dark, dreary night, my lord?" + +"Yes; a dark, dreary night," repeated the judge. + +He found his way to the suite of rooms which he had engaged, and as he +divested himself of the heavy ulster he had worn he planned a kind of +programme for the night. He had no thought of going to bed. During +his early days at the Bar, whenever a complicated case presented itself +to him, he had always written out a kind of resume, or synopsis of the +whole situation, so as to have everything clear before his mind. After +that he had been able to classify and to arrange with precision and +accuracy. He made up his mind to do this now. But on entering the +room where he intended to work he was startled to find that his +daughter Mary was awaiting him. + +"Not in bed, Mary?" he said. "It's very late!" + +"No, father. I've been waiting for you." + +"Why?" he asked; and there was something almost suspicious in his +voice. He had a kind of feeling that his daughter knew something of +where he had been that night. + +"I could not go to bed," said the girl. + +"But why, my child? By the way, did you go to the Gordons? I was glad +when I heard that they had asked you, because I had to attend a dinner, +and I did not like the idea of your being alone." + +"No; I did not go to the Gordons'," she replied. + +"What have you been doing, then?" + +"I have been sitting alone all the evening, part of the time in my +bedroom, part of it here." + +"What have you been doing?" + +"Thinking. Father, I was at the trial to-day." + +"I am very sorry," he replied. "Such places are not for you." + +"Why? There was no one so interested as I." + +"Of course you are naturally interested in the murder of Ned Wilson," +he replied. "All the same, it is unhealthy and morbid, this desire to +be present at murder trials. But good-night, Mary. I want to be +alone. I have a great deal to do." + +"Not yet, father," she said. "I want to talk with you about this +trial. Of course you do not believe him guilty?" + +"Why not?" + +Somehow the presence of his daughter had made him cool and collected +again, and he had a kind of instinctive feeling that she must be kept +in the dark concerning what had happened. He was so far able to +control himself, too, that he spoke to her quite naturally. + +"You do not believe him guilty, father?" she repeated. + +"Don't you?" And there was something eager in his voice as he uttered +the words. + +"Why, father, how could he be? It is madness to suppose such a thing!" + +"I cannot discuss it with you," he said; and his voice was almost +harsh. "Go to bed, my child. Good-night." + +She looked at him searchingly, and for the first time in her life she +felt almost afraid of him. His face was drawn and haggard, and in his +eyes was a look she never saw before. + +"You do not believe him guilty, do you?" + +"My God, I don't know," he replied hoarsely. "I would give--I would +give----" And then he ceased speaking. + +"I tell you he's innocent," replied the girl. "And I am going to----" + +But Judge Bolitho did not hear her. "Go to bed--go to bed!" he said; +and taking her by the arm he led her from the room, and, closing the +door, turned the key. A moment later he had unlocked the door and +called her back. + +"What is that you said about--about something you were going to do?" he +asked. + +"Surely, father, you do not believe him guilty?" was her reply. "I +know that the evidence is black against him; but he could not do it! +He could not do it!" + +As the judge looked at his daughter's face, a ray of hope shone into +his heart. If the trial had impressed her in this way, might not the +jury also be led to doubt the evidence given? He knew that many men +had been hanged on circumstantial evidence, but it might be that they +would refuse to accept the evidence in this case as sufficient. + +"You see," persisted the girl, and he noticed that her lace was full of +anguish, that her eyes shone with an unnatural light--"he could not do +it, father." + +"Do you mean to say that you regard the evidence as insufficient?" + +It was utterly unlike him to talk with her about any trial in which he +was engaged. Such things, he had always maintained, were not for +women. They had neither the training nor the acumen to give an opinion +worth considering. But now he caught at the girl's words like a +drowning man might catch at a straw. + +"Oh, I know the evidence is terrible enough," she replied. "But that +doesn't convince me a bit. Father, you cannot allow them to hang him." + +He stood still looking at her steadily, and as he did so the horror of +the whole situation seized him more terribly than ever. He knew what +she did not know. His mind was filled with thoughts of which she was +in utter ignorance. + +"I can do nothing, my child," he said, "nothing! It is a case for the +jury. They have to hear the evidence, and then they pass judgment +accordingly. If they condemn him as guilty, I must pass judgment of +death, I cannot help myself. I am as helpless as the hangman. If the +jury says 'Guilty,' I must pronounce death, and the hangman must do the +horrible thing!" + +"But, father, don't you see? He has refused to have counsel, and you +would have to sum up the evidence. And when you are summing up you +could say how inconclusive it was, how terrible it would be to hang a +man because a set of circumstances seemed to point in a certain +direction." + +He was silent for a few seconds. The old numbness had come over his +mind again. But he determined to let his daughter know nothing of it. + +"You see, Mary," he said, "a judge can do so little, even in the way of +summing up, and he must do justice. A judge sits on the bench as a +representative of justice, and all he can do is to analyse the +evidence. And you know what the evidence is!" + +"But he could not do it," said the girl. + +"Think," went on the judge, and he spoke more like a machine than a +man. "Think of the terrible train of events: the long years of +personal enmity between them; the injuries which the prisoner suffered +at the hands of the murdered man; the blow struck on the night of the +murder; and then--don't you see, Mary? Besides, there is something +else, something which has never come to light, something which must +never come to light. Wilson had been, as you know, spoken of as your +fiance, and you know the letter I received from Stepaside. He asked +that you might be his wife, and he would be jealous of Wilson. Don't +you see? Don't you see? Mind you, this must not come to light. It +must not be spoken of at all. Nobody guesses that Stepaside cared +anything about you. But what am I saying? Drive it out of your mind, +Mary--it's of no consequence at all, and you must not consider it for a +moment. Oh, my God, the horror of it! Don't you see, Mary? The +horror of it!" + +Evidently she did not understand altogether what he was thinking. She +did not realise that Paul was her half-brother, and therefore could not +altogether understand her father's cry of anguish. + +For a moment the two stood together, silent, each looking into the +other's face and trying to read each other's thoughts. + +"Father," she said at length, "I want to tell you something. I have +been to see Paul." + +"Been to see Paul! Where? When?" + +"I went to see him in prison." + +Her father seemed to be staggered by the thought. + +"You went to see the prisoner?" he said. Even yet he could not call +him by the name that was so dear to him. The legal formulae were +almost a habit with him. + +"I went to see Paul," she said. + +"Why?" + +"I went to tell him that I loved him," she replied simply. "I knew +what he must be suffering, and I know that he loves me, because he told +me so. And I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to assure him that all +would be well." + +The judge started back as though someone had struck him. "You love----" + +"Yes," she interrupted. "I told him so, too. I never loved Mr. +Wilson, father. You know I didn't. I had not thought that I really +cared for anyone until, until----" + +"But you love Paul Stepaside?" + +The words came from him as if mechanically. Indeed, he had no +knowledge that he had uttered them. + +"I do," she replied. "And when he's at liberty I shall be his wife." + +For a moment the judge rocked to and fro like a drunken man, and then, +staggering towards a chair, fell into it, and covered his face with his +hands. + +"Father!" cried the girl. "Did you not guess?" + +"Oh, my God, that I should suffer this too! I never thought, I never +dreamt----" + +"I know that Paul is shielding someone," went on the girl presently. +"He did not do this. He could not do it. He is utterly incapable of +it! You see that's why I am so certain. And I'm going to find out who +did it. Do you understand, father? That's why I wanted to speak to +you to-night. You must give me time. You can make the case last for +days, if you want, and I'm going to find out who did it. He's hiding +someone." + +The judge lifted his head, and in his eyes was a gleam of hope. + +"You believe this, Mary?" he said. + +"I am sure of it!" she replied. "You can do this to help me, can't +you?" + +"But, my child, don't you see the utter hopelessness of it? You must +not love Paul Stepaside. You dare not! Why--why----" + +"But I do dare," replied the girl. "This charge is nothing to me. He +is not guilty, and I love him. Don't you see, father? And I'm going +to save him. And you must give me time. Make the case drag on, +father. Of course, it will be suffering for him, but I cannot help +that. When I'm ready I'll let you know." + +The judge sat for some minutes as though in deep thought. Confused and +bewildered as his mind was by the events of the night, there was +something in his daughter's demeanour that gave him hope for the future. + +"I must think, Mary," he said. "I've had a trying day, and I do not +think I'm very well. I want to be alone a little while, and +then--well, perhaps in the morning I shall know better what I can do. +Good-night, little girl!" + +He rose to his feet as he spoke and kissed her. Then he led her out of +the room again. + +"Oh, my God!" he said. "My punishment is greater than I can bear. For +that one deed of wrong, of cowardice, must I suffer this?" + +He went into the dressing-room and bathed his head in cold water. It +seemed to him as though his brain were on fire. A few minutes later he +felt better. He could think again. He sat in an arm-chair beside the +fire and reviewed the past. His mind went back to the time when he, a +free-hearted lad, went on a walking tour with some other fellows among +the English lakes, and then on to Scotland. He had been full of good +resolutions, and his heart was light and free. He had meant no harm +when he made Jean Lindsay love him, but he had never dreamt of what +would follow. And then, then all the ensuing events passed before his +mind in ghastly procession. What must he do? + +In spite of everything, Judge Bolitho believed himself to be a +religious man. He had identified himself with religious movements, had +professed himself a believer in prayer. In one sense he was a man of +the world, keen as far as his profession went, eager for his own +advancement. But in another he had held fast to the faith of his +childhood. He had had a religious training, and while both his father +and mother had died when he was young, he had never forgotten their +teaching, and had never been able to shake himself free from early +associations. + +Almost like a man in a dream, he knelt down by the chair and tried to +pray. What must he do? Life was a tangle, but he entangled it yet +farther himself. He, by his own act, had made everything difficult, +terrible, tragic. His conscience was roused within him, and as he +prayed he seemed to see, as though in a vision, the road he ought to +take. + +"No, not that!" he cried. "Not that! Great God, not that! I could +not do it! I could not do it!" + +He rose from his knees and began to pace the room. His mind was clear +enough now, for God had spoken. + +"But I cannot do it," he said. "If I do what seems right, I shall +bring pain, disgrace on so many. No, I cannot do it! It cannot be +right to do right! It cannot!" + +And still he paced the room, struggling, fighting, and sometimes +offering wild, inarticulate prayers. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE DAY OF JUDGMENT + +On the morning of the second day of the trial Paul Stepaside woke from +a troubled sleep. Throughout the night he had been living again in his +dreams the scenes of the trial. They had been confused and bewildered; +but one fact dominated everything else: the man who was his judge was +his father! When he woke, that was the first thought that appeared +clear in his mental horizon. Before he had gone to sleep he realised +that he hated his father with a more intense hatred than when his +mother had told her story on the Altarnun Moors. No thought of +tenderness came into his mind. No feeling of affection entered his +heart. It seemed to him as though all the darkness of his life, all +the pain he had ever suffered, all the wrongs he had ever endured, were +because of the man who, his mother declared, was his father. And he +hated him! It was through him he lay in prison. It was through him +the shadow of the gallows rested upon him. He realised, too, even +although his heart refused to assent to the finding of his brain, that +he must no longer love the woman who was dearer to him than his own +life. His sister? His heart made mockery of the thought! No man +loved a sister as he loved Mary Bolitho. Only a half-sister, it is +true, but they were both children of the same father. Oh, the bitter +mockery, the terrible irony of it! And this man, who stood for +justice, who represented the majesty of the law, who had risen to one +of the highest places in the realm of the law, had been in reality a +criminal ever since he came to manhood. And this man had made it, as +it seemed to him, a sin for him to love the woman who was all the world +to him. His sister! His sister! He had some idea that the English +law did not forbid a man marrying his own stepsister, but something in +his heart revolted against that. And yet, and yet---- But what did it +all matter? He lay there in Strangeways Gaol charged with murder. The +first day of the trial had gone black against him, and, although he +knew no more as to who murdered Ned Wilson than the veriest stranger, +he realised that he stood in the most imminent danger. And the man who +was really responsible for everything, the man who was at the heart of +it all, was the judge! What should he do? If he did what was in his +heart, he could make him a byword and a hissing through the whole +country; but that, again, meant disgrace for Mary, and he had sworn +that she must suffer nothing. The warder brought him his morning meal, +which he ate silently. He was thinking what the day would bring forth. +He wondered how long the trial would last, and what the jury would say. +He could not see his way through the tangle of his life. But as he +thought of everything a grim resolve mastered him. He would not die; +he simply would not! He would fight to the very last. He would tear +the evidence which had been adduced in fragments. He would proclaim +his innocence, and not only proclaim it, but prove it. He was sadly +handicapped, for whatever else he must do he must see to it that no +suspicion would attach to his mother. But without allowing anyone to +think of her in such a relation, he would make it impossible for the +jury to condemn him. + +When breakfast was over, he tramped his little cell, thinking, +thinking, considering a score of plans, and discarding them, yet all +the time fighting his way towards his course of action. + +He laughed as he reflected on the irony of the situation. The judge +would not know what he knew, but sitting there in all his stately +dignity, arrayed in his robes of office, he would not realise that the +man charged with murder was his son. He wondered how he could let him +know it, wondered how he could bring his own villainy home to him. He +had not one tender thought for his father, not one--only scorn, +contempt, hatred was in his heart when he thought of him. And yet he +was his own father--father, too, of the woman he loved, the woman whom +he had held in his arms and who had expressed her infinite faith in him. + +Not long before the hour of the trial the chaplain again paid him a +visit. But Paul was in no humour to receive him. + +"I am afraid you only waste your time coming to me," he said. "I +appreciate the fact that you are a kind-hearted man, but see, I haven't +an atom of faith, not an atom. I do not believe in the value of your +religion. I am an atheist." + +"You believe nothing?" said the chaplain. + +"Nothing as far as your profession is concerned," said Paul, "nothing." + +"Would nothing convince you?" said the chaplain. + +"Nothing," replied Paul grimly. And then he laughed. "I am wrong, +though," he added. "Yes, I think one thing would convince me. You +remember the story I told you yesterday--or shall we call it an +incident, and not a story?" + +"I remember. I suppose it had something to do with your own life?" + +"You have heard the miserable stories, then?" said Paul. + +"I have heard a great many things about you," replied the chaplain. + +"Well, then," said Paul. "Let me say this to you: I think this would +convince me that there might be something in religion if my father +confessed his wrong, publicly confessed it, mind you, and sought to do +right; if he proclaimed his ill-deeds before the world, and did all in +his power to rectify the wrong he had done. Then I might believe." + +"And nothing else would convince you?" said the chaplain. + +"Nothing else," said Paul. + +"But who is your father? Where is he?" + +"Ah," said Paul. "But it's no use thinking of it any more. The whole +thing is hopeless, and life is just a great mockery." + +The chaplain left him with a sad heart. He was a kind man, and sought +to do his duty, and Paul had interested him strangely. + +The court that day was, if possible, more crowded than ever. The +morning papers had been filled with reports of the previous day's +trial. The wildest of rumours had been afloat. Descriptive articles +had been written about the young Member of Parliament who was accused +of such a terrible crime. His every word had been commented on. His +appearance had been discussed. The evidence given had been the subject +of thousands of gossiping tongues. And so the court that day was +simply thronged with an intense, eager crowd. Moreover, the inwardness +of the trial had seized upon the imaginations of the people. It was +more real, more vivid to them than it had been the day before. And +when Paul entered the dock, accompanied by two policemen, a great +silence fell upon the court, while every eye was fixed upon him. + +"He looks as hard and proud as ever!" + +"Yes, there's not much sign of repentance!" + +"I wonder if the trial will close to-day?" + +"There's no knowing. I've heard as 'ow several witnesses will be +brought into court which was never thought of at the beginning. Will +Ashley says as 'ow he saw Paul about half-past five on the morning of +the murder not far from Howden Clough. Will says as 'ow there was a +look in his eyes like the eyes of a madman." + +"But Will never appeared before the coroner's inquest?" + +"No; I suppose he wanted to be kept out of it. But he 'appened to tell +his missis, and his missis told it to somebody else, who told it to one +of the policemen, and that's 'ow it came about." + +In another part of the court, not far from the barristers' seats, two +ladies discussed Paul. They, too, had been brought there by morbid +curiosity aroused by this trial. + +"Did you know that Judge Bolitho's daughter was here yesterday?" + +"No. Was she?" + +"Yes. I watched her face during the trial. It was as pale as death. +I wonder how she dared to come." + +"Why, what do you mean?" + +"Oh, you know she was engaged to young Wilson." + +"I've heard that was denied." + +"Well, anyhow, there's something about it in one of the Brunford +papers, and there's no doubt Wilson was in love with her." + +"Then no wonder she was pale." + +"Mrs. Jackson told me she saw her smile on the prisoner." + +"She must have been mistaken. It's terribly interesting, isn't it?" + +"I wonder when they will commence. It's five minutes past time." + +This was true. Five minutes had passed away since Paul had been led to +the dock, and still the trial had not commenced. The reason for this +was evident--the judge had not yet appeared. The jurymen were in their +places, conversing in low whispers one with another. More than one was +anxious and pale. A number of barristers were also present, eager for +the commencement of the day's trial. They were wondering what new +factor would be at work that day. To most of them it was a case that +was deeply interesting, one which they wished to study and which might +help them in days to come. Newspaper reporters sat busily writing. +Each was trying to vie with the other to produce a sensational +description. Presently, as if by magic, a great silence fell upon the +court. It was now ten minutes past the time when the trial should +commence, and still the judge had not appeared. Each seemed to be +wondering what was the matter. The air was tense with excitement. +Could anything have happened? What did the judge mean by being late? +And still they waited and watched, until at last the silence became +almost painful. + +Presently a deep sigh rose from the crowded seats. It seemed as if the +spectators wanted to give vent to their feelings. A curtain at the +back of the hall was drawn aside, and Judge Bolitho, with bowed head +and staggering footsteps, found his way to his accustomed seat. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE DAY OF JUDGMENT (_continued_) + +The attention of all present, which had been directed towards Paul, was +now diverted to the judge. It seemed for the moment as though Paul +were no longer the centre of interest, nor indeed did he occupy the +chief place in the great drama of life which was played before him. It +was no longer Hamlet who held the stage, but the King. + +There was little wonder at this. He fell into his chair as if he were +unable to support himself, and everyone saw at a glance that something +of terrible import must have happened to him. His eyes were bloodshot; +his face, usually so healthful looking and florid, was pale and +haggard; his cheeks were baggy; and he was bowed down as if by some +great calamity. Everyone felt this, although no one spoke. All eyes +were riveted upon him; everyone took note of his slightest movement. + +For a few seconds he sat with bowed head, apparently looking at the +papers before him, but really seeing nothing. He seemed to be +pondering what to do, what to say. More than one noticed that his +hands trembled. The clerk of the assizes mentioned something to him, +but the judge took no notice; the man might not have spoken at all. + +At length he seemed to gather himself up as if by a great effort. +Twice he essayed to speak, and twice he failed. It might appear as +though the power of language were gone. + +If the silence had been intense when he had entered the court, it was +more than ever so now. People seemed afraid to breathe. The jurymen +looked towards him in wonder, and barristers who were _habitues_ of +courts of law, and who had grown callous even with regard to the most +interesting cases, watched him with an eagerness that they had never +known before, while the spectators seemed to be afraid to breathe. + +And yet nothing had been said. From the casual observer's point of +view the case was to recommence in the ordinary way, save that the +judge was a few minutes late. But everyone knew something was about to +happen. The very air they breathed was tense with emotion. + +"Gentlemen," said the judge presently--and it did not seem like his +voice at all, it was so hoarse and unnatural--"Gentlemen, I wish to +make a statement which is of the utmost importance. I wish to say that +I can no longer sit in judgment on this case, and that therefore, to +all intents and purposes, the court is dismissed." + +No one moved or made a sound, save that the reporters at their desks +were busily writing. Their pencils, as they swept over their +note-books, made quite a noise, so tense was the silence which +prevailed. More than one of these reporters declared afterwards that +they did not know what they were writing. They were simply like +automata, acting according to custom. + +Although the judge had dismissed the court, no one moved. As if by +instinct, all felt that there was something more to be said. What had +prompted Judge Bolitho to make this statement they did not know, they +could not conceive; but they felt rather than thought that something +tremendous was at stake. Old, habitual theatre-goers declared to each +other in talking about the matter afterwards that no drama they had +ever witnessed had ever been so exciting as the scene that day. But +nothing had depended upon what was said. The words of the judge were +few and simple, but the very place seemed laden with doom. + +"In abandoning all associations with this case," went on the judge, and +his voice was more natural now, "I wish to make a further statement. +Perhaps there seems no sufficient reason why I should do so, +nevertheless I must. I can no longer sit in judgment upon the prisoner +for the gravest of all reasons----" Again he stopped. He did not know +how to proceed. Perhaps such a thing was almost unprecedented in the +history of trials. Up to that moment Paul had been like a man in a +dream. On entering the dock and finding that the judge was not present +he fell to wondering at the reason of his lateness, and presently could +not help being affected by the influences which surrounded him. He, +too, felt there was something in the air which, to say the least of it, +was not usual. He had come there with his heart full of bitter hatred, +with a feeling that the man who was to sit in judgment upon him, even +although he were his father, was his enemy. In a vague way he wondered +what would happen through the day, wondered whether he should be able +to keep his knowledge to himself, wondered whether, at some moment when +the judge manifested some particular injustice to him, he might not +yield to the passion of the moment and proclaim the relationship. +Outwardly he was still cool and collected, although his face was very +pale and his eyes burned like coals of fire. + +When the judge entered the court he, too, was much moved by his +appearance. He saw that he had been suffering terribly, and into his +heart came a kind of savage joy. There seemed something like poetical +justice in the thought of this man's suffering, and he wondered whether +he had in some way learned the truth. + +When Judge Bolitho opened his mouth to speak, Paul's heart seemed to +stop. So intense was his interest in what he would say that, for the +moment, he forgot his own position. The shadow of death was somehow +removed from him; that grimness and the horror of the trial had lost +their meaning. That "Gentlemen, I wish to make a statement which is of +the utmost importance. I wish to say that I can no longer sit in +judgment on this case . . ."--what did it mean? A thousand wild +fancies flashed through his mind. He wondered whether Mary Bolitho had +been at work, whether this was the first step in her endeavours to +prove him innocent. He did not know how it could be, but, like +lightning, his mind and heart flew to her. + +He gave a quick glance around the court and turned towards the spot +where he had seen her on the previous day. Even then he realised that +all attention was turned from him to the judge, realised that everyone +waited with breathless interest for the next words that should fall +from his lips. But he could not see Mary. Again his eyes swept over +the crowded benches which held the spectators, but she was not there. +He wondered why. In a sense he was glad. At least she no longer +looked upon his ignominy and shame. And yet he felt the loss of her +presence. The day before she had cheered him in spite of himself, +strengthened him to bear the brunt of the battle; but now he was alone. + +Again the judge spoke, and Paul listened to every word that passed his +lips. Like the other spectators, he was eager to know what would +follow. + +"I cannot continue to sit in judgment upon the prisoner," went on the +judge; and every word was clearly enunciated. "And my reason for this +is all-sufficient--I cannot sit in judgment upon him because I have +learnt that he is my own son!" + +Paul's heart gave a leap as he heard the words. It seemed to him as +though the atmosphere of the court changed as if by magic. There was +something electric in it, something that seemed to alter the whole +state of affairs and change the current of events. His heart beat with +a new hope and burned with a strange joy. He had not yet grasped what +it meant. He could not yet read the thoughts that were passing in the +judge's mind, but he felt their consequence, felt that, in spite of +everything, the sky was becoming brighter. + +The effect on the court, as may be imagined, was tremendous. The +barristers sat in their seats open-mouthed. Never in all their +experience had they witnessed such an event. The jury seemed incapable +of moving, but many of the spectators, unable to restrain their +emotions, sobbed hysterically. + +"I wish to say," went on the judge, "that I have had no communication +in any form with the prisoner, neither did he know of what was in my +mind as I came here to-day. I have not seen him during the trial +except in this court. Realising our relations as judge and prisoner +this was impossible. But no sooner did I learn of the relationship +which existed between us than I realised the impossibility of my +continuing to sit on this case." + +For the moment he stopped, as if he had said all that he intended to +say. Perhaps he felt that it was not for the jurymen to know, or for +that gaping crowd to know the real thoughts that were in his heart. +But no one made a movement as if to go. Men and women sat there, +hungry to hear more, eager for the continuance of the exciting scene +which had aroused them to the very depths of their nature. One man who +was there has told me since that he forgot, just as others had +forgotten, that Paul Stepaside was being tried for murder. It was +rather some great drama of life which was being acted for their +benefit, and which held them all spellbound as if by some magician's +power. They could not understand the why and the wherefore. Their +minds were too bewildered and excited to realise what lay behind it +all, but all felt that there was something momentous, tragic. + +Presently the judge lifted his head as if to speak again. That he was +suffering terribly, and undoubtedly that he was under the influence of +mighty emotions all were sure. Many there were who, forgetful of all +else, pitied him. But the prevailing feeling was that of wonder and +eager expectation of what might come next. + +"I need not say," went on the judge, "that the proceedings of yesterday +are nullified by my action to-day. I need not say that another of his +Majesty's judges will have to sit in my place, that a new jury will +have to be sworn, and the case will have to be re-tried from the +beginning. But with that I have nothing to do, and for the moment, +although it is not in accordance with any law or usage, I want to say +what is in my heart. It was only late last night that I learnt of the +relationship between the man who is known as Paul Stepaside and myself, +and therefore I could not make known my intentions before; but this I +do wish to say, here, in the presence of all who have gathered together +to witness this trial--Paul Stepaside is my lawful son, and, +unknowingly, I have sinned against him grievously and greatly. His +mother is my lawful wife--how and where she became so it is not for me +to tell you or for you to know--but such is the truth. Concerning the +fact itself, however, I wish it to be made known--as it will be made +known--that his mother is my lawful wife, and that he is my lawful son, +and that I do here and now confess the wrong which I have done to him, +even although that wrong was to me largely unknown. In a sense there +is no need that I should make this explanation in this way; but I do it +because my conscience compels me to do so and because I wish here and +now to ask my son's forgiveness." + +He still spoke in the same slow, measured tones, his voice somewhat +husky, but every word reaching the ears of all present. And as he +spoke, Paul seemed to feel as though the foundations of the world were +slipping away from under his feet. His thoughts of revenge were being +scattered to the winds. He had never dreamt of this; never in the +wildest of his imaginings had he thought Judge Bolitho would have made +such a confession. Even now he could not understand it, much less +realise it; but he felt it to be the most tragic moment of his life. +He felt as if the world could never be the same to him again. And yet +he hated the judge. Why it was he could not tell; but even as he +spoke, even as he made this most momentous confession, his heart +steeled against his father. In spite of his humility, in spite of his +suffering, in spite of what it must have cost him to have spoken the +words to which he had just listened, he still hated him. The man had +wrecked his mother's life, robbed her of her girlhood, sent her away +into loneliness and sorrow, allowed her to bear her disgrace in +solitude. He had robbed him also of his boyhood, of his name. He had +ever been his enemy. From the first time they had met he had sought to +crush him; and he wondered, even now, with a mad wonder, whether there +were not some kind of ulterior motive prompting him to say these things. + +The effect, however, upon the spectators, was entirely different. +Although his words seemed commonplace enough, there was something +pathetic in them. All present realised something of the inwardness of +that to which they had just been listening. Although it was no +distinct thought in their minds, all realised what it must have cost +him to make such a confession. When he said that he had made it in +order to ask his son's forgiveness, a great sobbing sigh swept like a +wave over the court. + +Still the judge spoke on in the same slow, measured tones, although all +felt that he was a man in agony. + +"Of the rights and wrongs of this trial," he went on, "it is for me to +say nothing. Whether I believe Paul Stepaside, my son, to be guilty of +the murder of the late Edward Wilson I must not say. It will be for +another to listen to the evidence. It will be for another to advise +the jury concerning their verdict. I am simply the judge who has been, +and therefore can say nothing except this--that if Paul Stepaside is +guilty of the murder of Edward Wilson, I am not innocent. If he struck +him the blow which has been described, a measure of the guilt belongs +to me. If I had done my duty to him as a child, as a youth, and as a +young man, he would, in all probability, not have been here. And +therefore, although technically and legally I know nothing of the +murder, if he is guilty I must share in his guilt. This I say that the +truth may be understood and realised." + +Again he ceased speaking. It seemed now as if he had said all he +intended to say--much more than any of the spectators thought a man in +his position could have said; but still they sat in silence, except for +an occasional sob, or the hoarse breathing of some woman who could not +control her excitement. The pencils of the reporters were still. They +were waiting eagerly for the next word that should fall from the +judge's lips should he speak further. They realised by now the +tremendous possibilities of the case. No murder trial on record ever +gave such an opportunity for a descriptive journalist as this, and they +knew what effect their report would have upon the excited public. + +The judge rose to his feet. + +"That is all I think I need say," he said. + +He turned as if to leave the court, then paused, and his eyes moved +towards his son. For a moment the two men stood looking at each other. +Paul, pale, erect, tense, almost overwhelmed by what he had heard, yet +strong in his mastery over himself and wondering what it all might +mean; the judge bowed, haggard, with bloodshot eyes and trembling +limbs. For several seconds they stood looking at each other, while the +crowd, forgetful of where they were, sat watching, waiting, listening. + +"Paul, my son, can you forgive me!" said the judge. + +But Paul made no sign, and then Judge Bolitho, like a man who had +received his death warrant, staggered out of the court. + +Immediately the whole place was in confusion. So affected was everyone +by what had taken place that they even forgot the presence of the +prisoner. Each talked excitedly with his neighbour concerning the +revelation which had been made. No attempt at keeping order was made. +Ushers, barristers, jurymen, spectators were all eagerly discussing +what they had heard. + +"Never heerd owt like it!" said one weaver to another. He had come all +the way from Brunford that morning to be present at the trial. "They +can never hang him after this!" + +"Nay," said the other. "But, after all, it's got nowt to do with th' +murder. Either Paul killed him or he didn't; and if he killed him +he'll be hanged for it." + +"I'm noan so sure," was the reply. "Why, the king would interfere. +I've heerd as 'ow Judge Bolitho is very friendly with his Majesty, and +he would never let his son get hanged." + +"Nay, king or no king, people'll cry out for justice. If Paul +Stepaside killed Ned Wilson, no matter if he is the son of a thousand +Judge Bolithos, he'll swing." + +"But did'st ever hear owt like it? I wouldn't have missed it for a +month's wage. Just think on it! The judge gets up and says as 'ow he +canna go ony further 'cause the murderer is his son!" + +"I never liked th' chap before," was the response, "but I canna 'elp +liking him now, a bit 't ony rate. It must have cost him summat to get +up in t' court like that." + +"But just think on 't!" said the other. "If what he says is true, the +woman as we have known as Mrs. Stepaside is Judge Bolitho's wife! Weel +then, canst a' see? Judge Bolitho must be a bigamist. His daughter is +in the town at this very time, and he must have married her mother +while Paul's mother was alive. I tell thee, there'll be rare doings." + +"Ay," replied the other; "but I expect they'll patch it up. These +lawyer chaps can do onything. I heerd one on 'em say once that all law +was a matter of interpretation, and you may be sure that they'll +interpret it to suit theirsen." + +"Nay; I'm noan so sure," replied the other. "But it's a rare business. +By goom! All t' preachers i' Lancashire will have this affair for a +text!" + +In another part of the court the two ladies who had been discussing +Paul on the previous day were now discussing his father. + +"Did you ever dream of such a thing?" + +"Well," was the reply. "When I come to think of it, there is a +resemblance between them." + +"How can you say that? The prisoner is tall, dark; he has black hair +and black eyes, while Judge Bolitho is florid and has light hair." + +"No; but their features are the same. Do you know, after all, there's +something in blood. No one can help seeing that Stepaside is a +gentleman." + +"Why, I thought you said before that his common blood showed itself." + +"My dear, you misunderstood me. See the way he has risen in the world. +I am told that Judge Bolitho comes from one of the oldest families in +the West of England, and family tells, my dear, family tells!" + +"But just think of it! Would you have believed that a proud man like +Judge Bolitho would have stood up and made such a revelation to a +gaping crowd like this?" + +"Conscience, my dear, conscience!" + +"Yes; but what about his conscience during the years? I tell you we've +not seen the end of this business yet. Can't you see the +complications?" + +"Do you know, I've often been tempted to invite Stepaside to my house. +I wish I had now; he must be an interesting man." + +"They'll never hang him after this. Do you think so?" + +"I don't know. If these things had come to light a few days ago, +before the trial commenced, they might have hushed it up; but I don't +see how they can now." + +"But wasn't it tremendously exciting. I wouldn't have missed it for +anything. I felt a shiver down my back all the time the judge was +speaking. What a splendid scene for a play!" + +And so they continued talking. The real deep issues of the case were +as nothing. To them it was an event which interested them beyond +words. It fed their love for excitement, and promised to be a subject +of conversation for many days to come. + +Meanwhile the barristers had gathered together in excited groups. They +discussed the matter in an entirely different way. To them the case +was everything, and they fastened upon all the legal difficulties which +might arise. More than one wondered, too, whether out of such a +maelstrom of events work would not be bound to fall to them. + +"Who will be appointed judge, I wonder?" said one. + +"Oh, Branscombe, I expect." + +"I wonder whether Stepaside had some inkling of the truth. Perhaps +that was the reason he refused to engage counsel." + +"Do you think Stepaside knew all the time?" + +"There's no knowing; he's such a secretive fellow. Did you notice the +expression on his face all day yesterday when he looked at the judge? +And this morning I couldn't help noticing it. I tell you, Stepaside +knew a great deal more than we imagined, and he's had something up his +sleeve the whole time. There'll be an interesting _denouement_ to all +this." + +"Will he be hanged, think you?" + +"Ask me another! As far as circumstantial evidence goes, the man's +dead already, unless he has something to fire forth at the last." + +"I see now," said another. "That was the reason Bolitho was so excited +last night. Don't you remember how he trembled when that note was +brought to him, and how he left the room like a man in a dream? That's +it. There was some hint of this in the letter he received. Then he +went out and made certain." + +"But how could he do that?" + +"Who knows? The fact remains that he didn't know till last night. He +said as much just now. Anyone can see he didn't have a wink of sleep +last night." + +"Yes, that was plain enough. He must have suffered the torments of the +damned!" + +"All the same, it was a plucky thing to do! Would you have done it if +you had been in his place?" + +"A man doesn't know what he would do under such circumstances. All the +same, we can't help admiring him. You see, Bolitho always had a strain +of religion in him, and although he was as hard as nails in many +respects, he possessed the remains of an old conscience." + +Slowly the court emptied itself, and the people found their way into +the street, still eagerly discussing every phase of the question, still +asking and answering questions. + +"I tell thee what," a rough collier was heard to say. "God Almighty's +been to work, and when God Almighty gets to work wonderful things +happen! When I get back to Brunford I'm going to our minister straight +away and ask him to call a meeting for prayer. We mun pray, I tell +you. We mun!" + +During this time Paul was led back to his cell. The warders would far +rather have remained in the court and talked the matter over with the +others, but still the influence of discipline was upon them, and they +had to do their duty. As a consequence, Paul was soon away from the +noise of the excited crowd, and a few minutes later was alone in his +cell. As may be imagined, if the scene that morning had caused such +excitement among the spectators, it had aroused his nature to the very +depths. Everything was so unexpected, so unthought of. In all his +calculations Paul had never thought of this. He had wondered in what +way Judge Bolitho, whenever the truth became known to him, would meet +the difficulties which arose, but he had never dreamt he would stand up +in a crowded court like that and make such a confession. Paul knew him +to be a proud man, knew, too, that he was sensitive to the least +approach of shame, knew that he valued the name he owned--one of the +oldest in England. One part of the judge's speech remained in his +memory. He repeated the words over again and again to himself as if +trying to understand their inwardness: "In a sense there is no need +that I should make this explanation in this way, but I do it because my +conscience binds me to do so and because I wish, here and now, to ask +my son's forgiveness." + +In spite of himself he was moved. He realised what it must have cost +the judge to utter such words; realised, too, the battle which he had +fought during the night, before he had decided to make such a +statement. "Because I wish, here and now, to ask my son's forgiveness." + +Even yet he hated his father, and fought against the kinder feelings +which surged up in his heart. He could not forget the dastardly deed +which the man had committed before he was born: the base betrayal, the +almost baser desertion, and those long years when his mother suffered +in silence and solitude. For himself he did not care so much, but his +mother he loved with all the strength of his nature. And a few +lachrymose words could not atone for the misery of a lifetime. Still, +they had their effect upon him. He called to mind, too, the look in +the judge's eyes as he left the court, the simple words he had spoken: +"Paul, my son, can you forgive me?" + +He wanted to forgive him. A thousand forces which he could not +understand seemed to be pleading with him. All the same, his heart +remained adamant. The shadow of the gallows was still upon him, the +weary weeks he had been lying in a dark cell, covered with ignominy and +shame. His portrait had appeared in almost every scurrilous rag in the +country. His name and history had been debated among those who always +fastened upon every foul bit of garbage they could find. And in a way +Paul traced everything to this man, Judge Bolitho; why, he did not +know, but he could not help it. + +Still, the happenings of that morning impressed him. They seemed to +change his intellectual and spiritual whereabouts. They broke the hard +crust of his nature. They appealed to him in a way which he thought +impossible, and he wondered with a great wonder. + +Everything was bewildering, staggering! Where was his mother? he +wondered, and, more than all, where was Mary? The thought of the +relationship between them almost drove him mad. He could not bear to +think that he and Mary were children of the same father. It outraged +something in his heart and mocked the dreams which he still dared to +dream. Somehow, the battle for his own life which he had determined to +fight more passionately than ever had sunk in the background now. It +was not the only issue at stake. Other forces were liberated, other +interests overwhelmed him. + +Still, as he sat there, brooding and planning and dreaming, one thing +became clear to his mind and heart--he would not die! He would not +betray his mother, but he would fight for his own life. He was a +prisoner, and he had refused, and would still refuse, to engage counsel +to defend him or lawyers to gather evidence. He knew too well the +danger of that. No, no, whatever happened to him, no breath of +suspicion should fall upon his mother; but he would fight for his own +life step by step, inch by inch. He would tear the circumstantial +evidence to pieces. He would convince the jury that it was impossible +to condemn him. Whatever else must be done, that must be done--he owed +it to Mary. + +Directly he thought of her his heart grew warm and tender. She +believed in him. She had declared her faith in his innocence in spite +of circumstantial evidence. She had laughed at it; she would laugh at +it; and he would prove himself worthy of her faith. That at length +became the dominant thought in his mind, the great motive power of his +life. + +Outside, the city of Manchester was stirred to its depths. Like +lightning the news had passed from one lip to another of what had taken +place that morning, while the reporters rushed to their various offices +to transcribe their notes and to prepare copy for the papers. In an +almost incredibly quick time the evening newspapers appeared. Newsboys +were rushing through the streets shouting excitedly, and there was a +mad scramble among the people to buy. The printing presses could not +turn them out fast enough; the machinery was insufficient to meet the +demands of the excited crowd. "Great murder trial!" shouted the boys. +"Wonderful revelations!" "Judge Bolitho confesses that he is the +prisoner's father!" "Tremendous excitement in court! Many women +fainted!" and so on and so on. Factories became emptied as if by +magic. At every corner crowds gathered. Business was at a standstill. +The members of the Manchester Exchange had forgotten to think of the +rise or fall of cotton. Everything was swallowed up in the news of the +day. + +Every telegraph office, too, was filled with eager people, and the +means of communication from one part of the country to another was +taxed to its utmost. Some few months before the Prime Minister of the +country had come to Manchester to speak on a question which was +exciting not only England but the whole Empire, but even then the +telegraph wires had never been so congested with news as on that +morning. In a little over an hour after the judge had left the court +the London papers were full of it. Stirring headlines were on the +placards of all the evening papers, and people bought them with almost +the same avidity as they had bought them in Manchester. In a sense +there seemed no reason why so much interest should have been aroused, +but in another there was. Such a confession on the part of the judge +was almost unprecedented, and as both Judge Bolitho and Paul Stepaside +were so largely in the public eye, their sayings and doings seemed of +the utmost importance. There was something romantic in it, too. A +father sitting in judgment upon his own son, and not knowing until a +few hours before that he was his son! + +But Judge Bolitho was unconscious of all this. He never thought of it. +When he left the court that morning he retired for a few minutes into +the judge's room; but he could not remain there--he was too excited, +too overwhelmed. He must do something. For now that he had made his +confession the whole case appeared to him in a different way from what +it had appeared to the public. They, in their wonder at the revelation +of the facts which Judge Bolitho had made known, had almost ceased to +think of the possible doom of the prisoner. But that became of supreme +importance to him. In a way which no man can explain, his heart had +gone out to his son. Nature had asserted itself. Years had become as +nothing, past events seemed to lose their force, in the thought that +Paul Stepaside was his son; and he feared for his future, he was in +danger of his life. When the new judge was appointed, whoever it might +be, he knew that he would consider this case impartially on the +evidence given. Young Edward Wilson was murdered, there could be no +doubt about that, and all the evidence pointed to Paul Stepaside. + +When he reached the street he got into a cab, and was driven to his +hotel, and there he thought out the whole case again. On the previous +night, during the long hours when he was sleepless, it was a difficult +battle he had to fight. It was then for him to make known his son to +the world. Perhaps it had been a quixotic, almost a mad thing to do; +but, although the suffering it entailed was horrible, he could not help +doing it. He had fought a long battle over what he conceived to be his +duty, and duty had won. Now that was over, and he had done his duty, +the other problem faced him: how could he save his son? But again his +mind refused to work. Nothing seemed clear and definite to him. The +great feeling in his heart was hunger for his boy. He wanted to be by +his side--nay, he wanted to kneel at his feet, to plead with him, to +beg for his love. + +He had not been long in his room before a look of determination came +into his eyes. He had yielded to the overmastering feeling in his +heart, and a few minutes later he was in the street again, on his way +to Strangeways Gaol. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +FATHER AND SON + +Daylight was now dying, although it was only a little after three +o'clock. The sky was murky and smoke-laden, the air was utterly still. +All round the centre of the city the people still discussed the events +of the morning. Outside the Town Hall, in the Square, outside the +Hospital, all down Market Street, along Corporation Street, the people +stood in excited groups; and although the intense feeling which had +been aroused in the morning had somewhat subsided, there was only one +subject which was of paramount interest. Strange as it may seem, +however, the district round Strangeways Gaol was comparatively +deserted. The Assize Courts were no longer the centre of interest, +even although they were the source from which everything emanated. + +By this time Paul Stepaside had become almost in a state of torpor. He +was suffering a reaction from the intense feeling which had possessed +him that morning. When he had at first returned to his cell his mind +was intensely alive, and a thousand plans were flashing through his +brain, a thousand questions occurred to him which demanded an answer. +Now, however, that numb, dull feeling which ever follows such +experiences possessed him. After all, what mattered? Mary Bolitho +could never be his wife, and if Fate had decided upon his death, die he +must. Indeed, he did not seem to care very much. It seemed as if, for +the time being, his nature had become almost paralysed. Of course, the +experiences through which he was passing were only transitory. +Presently his strength would assert itself again, and everything would +become vivid and vital. And so he lay in a semi-comatose condition on +the comfortless couch which had been provided for him, and the +realities of the situation seemed far away. He had been lying thus for +perhaps an hour, and was on the point of falling asleep, when there +were footsteps in the corridor outside, and the door of his cell opened. + +At first he felt almost annoyed at the intrusion. Why could they not +let him rest? After all, everything was hopeless, and he did not very +much care. Still, he turned his eyes towards the door, and when he saw +that it was Judge Bolitho who entered, he started to his feet. His +nerves grew tense again, and his mind active. The judge waited while +the door was closed, and then turned to Paul. The older man looked +around the little room like one trying to take in the situation, noted +the light of the dying day as it penetrated the prison window, let his +eyes rest upon the little couch where Paul had been lying, and made a +survey of the items of the room as though it were his business to care +for the prisoner's comfort. + +Neither of them spoke for some seconds. Paul was silent because, in +spite of everything, there seemed an insurmountable barrier between him +and the man who had come to visit him; the judge, because he almost +feared the son whom he had come to see. + +Presently their eyes fastened upon each other's faces, and each +scrutinised every feature as if trying to read the other's mind. It +was Paul who spoke first. + +"Why have you come here?" he asked. + +"Surely you can guess?" was the reply. "I could not stay away. There +was but one place to which I could go." + +"You must know that I have nothing to say to you, even as you have +nothing to say to me." + +"You are wrong," replied the judge. "I have a great deal to say to +you. How can it be otherwise? Have you no pity, my boy?" + +Paul looked at him angrily. "Pity!" he replied, and there was a world +of scorn in his voice. + +The judge stood with bowed head. "Yes, I understand," and he spoke +almost in a whisper. "I understand, and I deserve your scorn. I +deserve it a thousand times over. But do not think I have not +suffered, Paul." + +Paul gave an impatient shrug and took two steps across his little cell. + +"I am afraid I cannot give you a welcome befitting your lordship's +position," he said. "As you will see, my _menage_ does not suggest +very great luxury, and I think my servants are in a state of +revolution. But will you not be seated?" + +"You see," he went on, "when a man is being tried for murder, even +although the English law says that every man must be regarded as +innocent until he has been proved to be guilty, it does not provide any +luxuries!" + +"Paul, my boy, do you not know? Do you not understand?" said the +judge. "Yes, I have been guilty of all those things of which you are +thinking. I deserve all the contempt and all the anger you feel for +me, but I come to you as a suppliant." + +"For what?" + +"For your forgiveness, your love. I am no longer your judge. If I +were I could not be here. That's over now. Another will take my +place. If I can do anything to atone, my boy, I will do it, if you +will let me know what it is. Do you not see? Do you not understand?" + +There was a world of pleading in his voice, while in his tired eyes was +a look of yearning and longing that Paul could not understand. + +"If you will tell me what you wish," said the younger man, "if you will +explain to me your desires, perhaps--although, as you see, I am so +curiously situated--I will do what I can to meet your wishes." + +His voice was still hard, and there was no look in his eyes which +suggested yielding or pity. + +"I deserve nothing from you," replied the judge. "How can I? And yet +I could not help coming. After all, you are my son!" + +"How did you learn it?" asked Paul. + +"Last night I went to see your mother," he replied. "She is staying at +a little house not far from here. I received a letter asking me to go +to a certain number in Dixon Street. It was couched in such language +that I could not refuse. I went there, and I saw your mother. I had +thought she was dead--at least, I had no reason to believe her alive. +There I learnt everything. Since then there's been only one thought in +my mind, only one longing in my heart----" + +"And that?" said Paul. + +"The one thought in my mind," said the judge, "has been that you are my +son; the one longing in my heart has been that you would forgive me and +love me. It took some time to shape itself, but there it is, and I +have come. I cannot put my feelings into words properly. Words seem +so poor, so inadequate! Can't you understand?" + +The picture of his mother's face rose up before Paul's eyes as his +father spoke, and with it the remembrance of the long years of pain, +sorrow, and loneliness. + +"Do you not understand?" asked the judge again. + +"I understand my mother's sufferings," said Paul. "I understand how, +when she was a young girl, forsaken, disgraced, she suffered agonies +which cannot be put into words. I understand how she tramped all the +way from Scotland to Cornwall, the home of her mother's people. I +understand what she felt towards the man who betrayed her, especially +when her only child was born in a workhouse, a nameless pauper! I +understand that!" + +The judge stood with bowed head. He might have been stunned by some +heavy blow. He rocked to and fro, and for a moment Paul thought he was +going to fall. + +"Yes," he said presently, "I deserve it all. Even the circumstances +which I might plead do not extenuate me." + +"What were they?" asked Paul. + +For a moment he had become interested in the past. He wanted to know +what this man had to tell him, what excuses he had to make. + +"You won my mother as Douglas Graham. Whence the change of name? I +suppose you masqueraded in Scotland as Douglas Graham because you did +not wish your true name to be known? You're a villain, and you thought +if you called yourself Bolitho that villainy could not be traced. I am +not one who quotes rag-tags of religious sentiment as a rule, but there +are two sayings which occur to my mind just now. One is, 'Be sure your +sin will find you out,' and another, 'Though the mills of God grind +slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.' It may be all nonsense in +most cases, but just for the moment it seems as though there were +something in it!" + +"Paul," said the judge, "as I have said, I know I deserve nothing at +your hands save the scorn and contempt which you evidently feel for me, +but is there no means whatever of bridging over this awful gulf? I +would give my life to do so!" + +"No," said Paul. "I am no theologian, and yet I cannot close my eyes +to the fact that sin and penalty go together--only, the injustice of it +is that the penalty not only falls on the head of the one who sins but +on the head of the innocent." + +"Then you can never forgive me?" said the judge, and there was a world +of pleading in his voice. + +"If your lordship will just think a moment," said Paul. "You have +asked me to try and understand you; will you try and understand me? I +am here in a prison cell, accused of murder. Possibly I shall be +hanged--although I mean to fight for my life," this he added grimly, +with set teeth and flashing eyes. "I am twenty-five years of age, and +it is not pleasant to think that one's life shall end in such a way! +Let me remind you of something, Mr. Justice Bolitho, and, in reminding +you of it, perhaps you will see that I have no reason to play the part +of the yielding and affectionate son. I was born in a workhouse. My +only name has been the name given to me because my mother was found +lying near a little hamlet called Stepaside. I was educated a pauper. +The parish paid the expenses of my learning a trade. When I was +seventeen my mother told me the story of her life, told me of my +father's villainy. What such a story would do for most men I don't +know, but this it did for me: it robbed me of everything most dear. It +killed in me all faith. It destroyed in me all belief in God and +Providence. When I went out into the world it seemed to me that the +only legacy I had was a legacy of hatred for the man who had robbed my +mother of her youth and of her honour, and me of my boyhood and of all +the things that make youth beautiful. I need not tell you my story +since. You know it too well. But, if I am hard and bitter, you have +made me what I am. Consciously or unconsciously, yours has been the +hand that has moulded me. Do you wonder, then, that I cannot respond +to this appeal for filial affection--that I cannot clasp my arms round +your neck like a hero in a fourth-rate melodrama? When you rob a man +of his faith in human nature and God, you rob him of everything, you +dry up the fountains of tenderness." + +For a moment there was a silence between them, and then Paul went on: +"But where's my mother now? You say you saw her last night. What did +she tell you? What did you tell her? Do you know what has become of +her?" + +"I scarcely know what I did tell her," replied the judge. "I was so +overwhelmed when she told me that you were my son that I was scarcely +capable of thinking. Besides, she seemed in no humour for asking +questions. She felt very bitterly towards me, naturally, and my mind +was numbed; I could not think." + +"Perhaps you will tell _me_?" said Paul presently. + +"I will tell you everything that you ask, my boy." + +"Then tell me why you masqueraded in Scotland under a false name? Tell +me why you left my mother on the day you married her." + +"Douglas Graham was my name," he replied. "I had no thought of +masquerading." + +"Then why have you become Bolitho?" asked Paul. "My mother told me +that on the night of your wedding day you read a letter which had been +given to you which seemed to surprise you very much. Tell me the +meaning of it." + +The judge gave no answer, and again he rocked to and fro in his misery. +"Paul, my son," he said. "I cannot!" + +Again the two men looked at each other steadily. Paul's mind was +active again now. + +"You know what your confession meant this morning," he said at length. +"You declared to the court that I was your son, your lawful son; that +my mother was your lawful wife. But what of Mary? Tell me that. You +know what I wrote to you concerning her. I asked you to allow me to +try and win her as my wife, not knowing of the relations which existed +between us--not knowing anything. You know, too, the cruel reply you +sent to me--a reply which contained an insult in every line, in every +word. But let that pass. If my mother is your lawful wife, what of +Mary's mother? Will you answer me that?" + +Still the judge stood with bowed head. It seemed as though he had been +struck a death-blow. More than once he essayed to speak, but no words +passed his lips. It seemed an eternity to Paul before the judge spoke +again. + +"At least I tried to do you justice, Paul," he stammered. "I tried to +do--that is, I tried to proclaim to the world that your mother was a +lawful wife." + +"Yes," cried the young man, and his voice was hard with anger. "And do +you not see what it means? It means that Mary's name is tarnished. +For your sin and your punishment I do not care so much; but what of +her? Think of the stories which gossiping tongues will be telling +about her just now! Think of the sneering lies, the scornful gibes +which will be uttered about her! My disgrace did not matter so much; I +had become used to it. But what of her?" + +"Stop, stop, Paul! In pity stop! Great God! Yes, it's true; but I +did not realise this." + +"Then the name of Bolitho is assumed," said Paul. "It is not your true +name at all. Will you tell me the meaning of this?" + +"I cannot," said the judge. "I know what you must be thinking, Paul, +but I cannot do it." + +"Then," cried the young man angrily, "it was cruel to her to make the +confession you did this morning. I would a thousand times rather +suffer myself--ay, and see my mother suffer, too--than see her suffer. +And this is what you've done. Had you not better go away and leave me +alone? Had you not better recant what you said this morning, and say +you spoke while your mind was unhinged?" + +"Paul," said the judge, "will you let me sit down on your couch here? +I realise the truth of every word you have said, although you have +spoken cruelly. Perhaps I did wrong in coming to you; but I could not +help it. Believe me, my son, much as you have suffered, it is nothing +to what I suffer at this moment." + +There was no whine in his voice, no appeal to pity. It was a simple +statement of fact, and for the first time Paul had a feeling in his +heart which he could not understand. After all, the man before him was +his father, and his haggard face, his bent form, his bloodshot eyes, +all told of the agony through which he was passing. + +"Son," said the judge, "some time, at all events, I hope I may be able +to make known the things which you have asked, but I cannot trust +myself to try and do so now. Will you let me be quiet for a few +minutes, my boy? I want to think. And will you try and forget this +part of the story?" + +The judge sat down on the couch, while Paul, leaning against the prison +wall, watched him. Minute after minute passed away, and then the judge +spoke again. + +"Paul," he said. "Are you guilty of this murder?" + +"I would rather not discuss it with you," said Paul. + +"My son," said the judge, "you do not believe what I have told you. To +you my words are a mockery. But I love you like my own life. Even +now, if I could die in your place I would be glad. At any rate I may +be able to help you. Mary doesn't believe you are guilty. She told me +so last night. I can speak freely of this now, for I am no longer the +one who shall sit in judgment on you, and I want to help you." + +Paul looked at his father and wondered what was passing in his mind; +wondered, too, how much he knew. He could not tell him of his +suspicions, could not even hint at the fact that he believed his mother +was guilty of the murder for which he was accused. He knew of Judge +Bolitho's reputation; knew, too, that he would eagerly fasten upon +everything he learnt and follow it to its logical sequence. + +In spite of everything, however, a change seemed to be coming over +their relationship. The feeling of half an hour before had somewhat +passed away. The sensations caused by their first meeting had become +less powerful. + +"Whatever else I can do, Paul," said the judge, "I want to help you in +this. Can't you trust me?" + +Paul was silent. He was afraid to answer directly, afraid lest the +haunting fear in his heart would become known. Then, in a way he could +not understand, he found himself talking with his father more freely, +found himself telling something of his life in Brunford, until by and +by he realised that he had been subjected to a close examination. It +seemed to him as though it had become a battle of wits between him and +his father; and although he was angry with himself afterwards, he knew +he had disclosed many things which he had sworn should never pass his +lips. Still, he had said nothing definite. He had never even hinted +at the possibility of his mother's guilt. + +"If you could only trust me!" said the judge at length. "If you would +tell me exactly what happened, I might even yet be able to save you." + +"Do you not believe me guilty, then?" said Paul. + +"Mary does not," replied the judge. + +"I know that," was Paul's answer. "And for her sake I mean to fight +for my own life." + +"Even although you did this thing?" + +"Even _if_ I did it!" + +"But have you any evidence to add that shall tell in your +favour--anything that will destroy the impression which has been made?" + +"Do you believe they will hang me if I don't?" + +"I mean to say, as far as circumstantial evidence is concerned, the +case is terribly black against you, and the jury must act upon evidence +given. And, oh, Paul, Paul! Can't you realise? Can't you understand +what I feel? If I must tell the truth, one of the reasons I decided to +say what I did this morning in the court was that I might be free to +try and save your life. Will you not tell me what is in your mind?" + +Paul shook his head. "You have wormed a great many things out of me," +he said, "which I did not mean to tell; still, I think I have been a +match for you." + +"Don't you realise, Paul, what your life is to me? Can't you +understand what the knowledge that you are my son means to me? Don't +you believe that I would give everything I possess, everything I am, to +bring you happiness? Oh! I know what you feel, and I do not wonder at +it. I know, too, what you must be thinking about me now, and I cannot +help myself. But, Paul, if there's a possibility, let me save you. +Tell me the truth--the whole truth!" + +"You would not thank me for doing so," replied Paul grimly. + +For a little while there was another silence between them, then the +judge seemed to change his tactics. + +"I think you do wrongly, my son, not to employ counsel. I do not doubt +that your brains are quite as good as anyone's you might engage to +defend you; but you cannot understand the methods of cross-examination +as a trained barrister can. You do not know the hundred weapons he can +use in your defence." + +"I think I know," replied Paul. + +Both of them had become calm by this time, and each talked in an almost +unrestrained manner. The judge was no longer almost overwhelmed by +that through which he had been passing, and Paul had seemingly, to a +very large extent, forgotten the bitterness which he had felt at the +beginning of their interview. + +"May I come to see you again?" asked Judge Bolitho. + +"To what end?" asked Paul. + +"Because I love you, my son. Because I long to be near you. Because I +want to win your love; to hear you say you forgive me. I have sinned +against you; but, believe me, I have done all in my power to atone. I +must go now, but I shall be thinking for you, hoping for you, working +for you, praying for you." + +There was something so humble and so sincere in the tones of his voice +that, in spite of the past, Paul could not longer repel him. + +"Won't you shake hands?" he said. "Won't you tell me that you will try +to forgive me?--only _try_, Paul!" + +But Paul stood as still as a statue. He felt himself yielding to his +father's pleadings, and he was angry with himself because of it. And +yet he could not destroy the tender feelings which were coming into his +heart. + +"Will nothing move you, my son--nothing?" + +Still Paul did not reply. He was afraid to speak. He felt as though, +if he uttered a word, it would end in a sob. They had been together +more than an hour, and in the near distance a clock began to chime. + +"I must go now," said the judge. "But I shall come again. I shall +never cease coming until I have won your love. Paul, I cannot live +without it now! Look into my eyes, my son; can you not see? Can you +not understand?" + +In spite of himself Paul did as his father had told him, and realised +how the proud man was humbling himself. He saw the lines of pain upon +his face, saw, too, the look of infinite yearning and tenderness in his +eyes; and he felt that his own were filled with tears. But still he +hardened himself and made no sign. + +The judge threw his arms round Paul's neck. + +"Paul, my son, my son! Forgive me!" he said, "and love me!" + +And Paul did not repulse him, even although he did not yield to his +father's entreaties. + +There was a sound of footsteps in the corridor, the noise of the key +turning in the lock. A minute later Judge Bolitho had left the cell; +and then Paul threw himself on the couch, while his frame shook with +mighty sobs. + +Judge Bolitho left Strangeways Gaol without speaking a word. In spite +of everything he felt his visit had not been in vain. There was a joy +in his heart for which he could not account. + +"Some day he will know," he said to himself. "Some day he will know, +if he lives! And I must save him. I do not believe he is guilty--he +cannot be. He is hiding something from me. He is shielding someone. +I must find out." + +It was quite dark by now, and it was some time before he found a cab. +A little later, however, he was back in his hotel again. It seemed to +him as though his powers of action were coming back. He was no longer +bewildered and overwhelmed as he had been. + +"Is Miss Bolitho here?" he said to a servant who answered his call. + +"No, my lord. She left this morning." + +"Left this morning?" + +"Yes, my lord." + +"Did she leave no message?" + +"No, my lord." + +He remembered what she had said, and began to realise. + +"All right," he said. "Will you bring me a cup of tea?" + +A few minutes later he was in the street again. This time he used no +conveyance, but walked rapidly towards Deansgate. Ere long he found +himself in the region where he had been on the previous night, and, +finding his way into Dixon Street, he went to the house where Paul's +mother had met him. When he knocked at the door, however, it was +answered by a stranger. + +"Is Mrs. Stepaside in?" + +"No; she left here to-day." + +"She's coming back again, I suppose?" + +"No; I do not think so." + +"Did she say where she was going?" + +"I think she has gone back to Brunford, but I cannot tell." + +"She left no message concerning her intentions?" + +"No, she left nowt." + +He was about to turn away when evidently a thought struck him suddenly. + +"Had she any visitors to-day?" he asked. "Has a young lady been to see +her?" + +"Ay; a young woman came this morning about ten o'clock." + +"Did you know her?" + +"Nay, she was not from these parts. She was dressed i' furs and all +that sort of thing." + +"I see," said the judge. "Thank you very much." + +He returned to the hotel, and began studying a timetable. + +"Yes, I think I understand," he said to himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +MR. JUSTICE BRANSCOMBE + +For some days after Judge Bolitho had made his confession in court no +further steps were taken in the trial of Paul. Another judge had to +sit upon the case, and this meant delay. What took place in certain +judicial circles I have no knowledge. It is for me simply to relate +what actually resulted. Undoubtedly, the judge's unprecedented +confession caused some stir in the realms of legal authority. Many +forms had doubtless to be complied with, and, as a consequence, Paul +had to wait one weary day after another without anything publicly +taking place and without any knowledge of what was being done. + +During this time not one of the three people whom he expected again +came to see him. After the interview which I have tried to describe in +the last chapter the judge, in spite of what he had said, failed to +seek admission again to Paul's cell. As for Mary Bolitho or his +mother, he had no knowledge concerning them. No word was sent to him, +and as a consequence day succeeded day in the dull, dreary monotony of +a Lancashire prison. + +Not that he was without visitors. Two lawyers who had been friends of +his came to see him, and each tried to change his mind in relation to +the conduct of his own defence. They felt sure, they said, that they +could do better for him than he had done for himself, and each pleaded +with him to allow them to prepare his case and to place it in the hands +of some leading counsel. But Paul persistently refused. He knew that +if he trusted in them he must state certain facts which, although they +might release him, would throw suspicion of the strongest nature upon +his mother. He wanted to live in spite of everything. But even +although the worst came to the worst, he would rather suffer the +extreme penalty of the deed of which he was accused than that the +mother who had suffered all for him and done all for him should be +dragged before the eyes of the world as it had been his lot to be. The +interviews with these lawyers were long and trying, and while he did +not yield to them in the slightest degree, they were not without +advantage to him. They helped him to arrange his plans with more +clearness, and they let drop many hints which he felt sure would be of +service to him. When he had entered upon the trial everything had been +confused; he could not decide upon any method of procedure. But now +things began to take shape. He felt as if he had had some experience, +and that he would not enter upon the fight for his life without some +knowledge of the weapons he had to use. + +Presently the news came to him that his re-trial was to come on, and +one morning he was taken from his cell, as in the first instance, +accompanied by two policemen, who led him into the prisoner's dock. + +His experiences had left their mark upon him. He was still +scrupulously precise about his dress, and every detail of his person +was attended to as carefully as if he had arranged to make a set speech +in the House of Commons. But no one could help remarking on the change +which had passed over him. He looked thin and haggard; in his eyes was +an expression of weariness; his skin was grey and almost +parchment-like; and, instead of seeming to be without nerves, as on the +previous occasions, his hands trembled as they rested upon the rail in +front of him. But no one could suggest that he asked for pity. There +was still the same proud look upon his face, the same expression of +defiance. He stood perfectly straight and upright, too, and seemed to +regard both judge and jury with a feeling of contempt. In addition to +all this there was something in his square jaw and set teeth which +denoted a grim determination. Here was not a man who was going to +deliver himself over to the butcher without a protest. Everyone felt +that he would fight, and fight to the very last. + +Although he had been told that it would be so, he did not realise until +that moment that the trial would have to commence _de novo_. He looked +at the judge with keen interest, and noted the difference between him +and the one who had last sat there. He could not help remembering, +too, what had taken place. The things he had heard had shaken his life +to its very foundation; he who had regarded himself as fatherless had +found his father, and this fact had altered everything. Perhaps, too, +Judge Branscombe, who from his elevation looked at Paul, felt this. In +any case, it was evident he had a keen interest in him. He noted his +every movement, marked his every feature, and formed his impressions +concerning the man who was there for trial. + +Judge Branscombe was utterly different from his predecessor. As we +have said, Judge Bolitho was florid, somewhat heavy featured, in spite +of the fact that his face was cast in a classical mould. He was fresh +coloured, too, and suggested a _bon vivant_. Judge Branscombe, on the +other hand, was a little man, with small, watchful eyes and +sharp-pointed features. He was a lawyer to his very finger-tips, keen, +penetrating, and a master of detail. He was a judge who did not deal +with broad issues. He dealt with facts, hard, incontrovertible facts, +rather than what might lie beyond them. What might be called "internal +evidence" had little weight with him. What any prisoner might be +likely to do under a given set of circumstances had little or no weight +with him. It was what the prisoner had been known to do that he +fastened upon and held to with the tenacity of a terrier. Not a cruel +man by any means, but in a sense a little man; a man of keen intellect +but of narrow outlook; a man who followed out a certain set of +circumstances to their logical issue regardless of all other +probabilities which might appear. Such was the judge who sat to hear +Paul's case that day. Such was the man who in time would have to +advise the jury concerning their verdict. + +Paul was not long in summing up the nature of Judge Branscombe, and he +felt sure that under his guidance the trial would more than ever rest +upon circumstantial evidence. This man was not a reader of character, +not one who studied probabilities, therefore he felt his battle would +be hard to fight. + +The court was again crowded to its utmost capacity, and the excitement +which had prevailed at the first trial had not lessened in the +slightest degree. Everyone there knew of what had taken place and +realised the reason for the change of judges. All sorts of rumours had +been afloat concerning what had become of Judge Bolitho, what had been +said in high places, and what the result would be in his future career. +The whole affair had been the talk of the country. People had come +from afar to witness the outcome of this strange case, and, as on the +previous occasion, the atmosphere was tense with excitement and keen +with expectation. + +Again the clerk of the assizes rose and read the indictment, and again +the judge turned to Paul and asked him whether he were guilty or not +guilty. + +"Not guilty, my lord," he replied. + +Everyone noted that there was a tone of defiance in his voice which +they had missed on the first occasion. He found himself examining the +jurymen. As far as he could judge, they were of the same +calibre--unimaginative, commonplace, and, to a large extent, +self-satisfied men. He thought, however, that they looked toward him +with an expression of sympathy which he had not noted before. Perhaps +they, too, had been influenced by the happenings of the previous trial. + +Then Mr. Bakewell rose and said, "I am for the prosecution, my lord." + +"Who is for the defence?" asked the judge. + +And again there was deathly silence. + +"Have you not engaged anyone to defend you?" said Judge Branscombe, +turning to Paul. + +"No one," replied Paul. "I wish to defend myself." + +The judge uttered an exclamation of surprise. It might seem as though +he knew nothing of the previous trial. He was a lawyer of the very +strictest class. What had been was nothing to him. He was there to +begin the trial at the beginning, and he would act as though nothing +had taken place and as though he were utterly ignorant of what had been +discussed throughout the whole land. + +"I strongly advise you to accept the service of someone to undertake +your defence," he said; and he mentioned one or two names of those whom +he felt sure would be willing to act for him. To Paul this seemed like +a repetition of a formula. It was all artificial, unreal. + +"No, my lord," he replied. "I intend to defend myself." + +"Then you will know," said the judge, "that you have the right to +cross-examine the witnesses." + +"Thank you, my lord." + +Again Mr. Bakewell rose for the prosecution. His speech was very +nearly a repetition of the one he had delivered on the previous +occasion, but for some reason or another it did not have the same +effect as during its first deliverance. The jury were acquainted with +the facts that had been discussed a hundred times in a hundred +different ways during the last few days. Still, there could be no +doubt about it, the case looked very black for Paul when it concluded. +The long feud which was known to exist between Paul and the murdered +man; the many threats which had been uttered; the quarrel which had +taken place on the night when Paul was elected member for Brunford; the +open insults which the murdered man had hurled at the prisoner; the +scene which had taken place on the night before the murder, and the +threat he had made to avenge the injury. Mr. Bakewell also dwelt upon +the excited state in which Paul was when he returned to the house, as +would be proved by the evidence of the servants; of his going upstairs +to the landing outside the servants' quarters at midnight; of his going +out into the night alone; of his return early in the morning, pale and +haggard; then, as the crowning evidence of all, the knife, which was +known to be Paul's, which had been lying in his office--an office which +was always locked when the owner of it was not present--the sharp, +murderous weapon was found in the body of the murdered man, struck from +behind. + +All these things Mr. Bakewell described, and spoke with telling +emphasis on the main features of the case. Possibly he knew the +character of the judge to whom he addressed himself, and he had so +arranged his speech that the chain of evidence was apparently complete. +When he sat down a great pent-up sigh arose, not only from the jurymen, +but from the excited spectators. Although during the early part of +what he had said the emotion was not so great as during the first +trial, yet, as he summed up the case for the prosecution, fastened one +link to another of the chain of events, and declared in solemn tones +that the witnesses he had to call would prove everything he had said to +the minutest detail, it seemed as though they expected the judge to put +on the black cap and to utter the terrible words which have to be +uttered on every condemned prisoner. + +Paul, however, was not greatly moved by Mr. Bakewell's speech. He +listened keenly, attentively, to all he had to say, made a note, and +that was all. + +It is not my purpose to follow the trial step by step. Those who care +to do so can turn up the files of the Manchester papers, where they can +find it in every detail; but in this history I do not purpose dwelling +at length upon the many examinations that were made and on the +voluminous evidence given. As far as Paul was concerned, he did not +endeavour to cross-examine many of the witnesses. As far as he could +see, their evidence was in the main true. They had given a statement +of facts, and he felt that it would be utter waste of time to deal with +details which might show discrepancies, but which were, as far as he +could judge, of but little importance. He wanted to fasten upon the +main features of the case, and then, without in the slightest degree +hinting at anything which would connect his mother with the murder of +Ned Wilson, to prove how utterly improbable, if not impossible, it was, +that he should be guilty of the deed of which he was accused. + +Still, he did cross-examine some of the witnesses, and it was evident +by the look in the judge's eyes that he appreciated the cleverness of +the cross-examination. Indeed, so successful was Paul that on more +than one occasion he made this keen-minded lawyer--more lawyer, indeed, +than man--realise that circumstantial evidence might be false, and that +a jury would assume tremendous responsibility in passing judgment of +death upon anyone upon such evidence. Especially was this true in the +case of the examination of the murdered man's father. He, as on the +opening day of the first trial, was the most important witness, and +after Mr. Bakewell had elicited from him practically the same +admissions as had been given on the previous occasion, Paul rose to +cross-examine him. + +"Mr. Wilson," he said, "you have stated more than once that beside +myself your son had no other enemy. Do you still adhere to this?" + +"Certainly." + +"Do you mean to say that during his life he has never gained the +ill-will or the enmity of anyone besides me?" + +"Not that I know of." + +"You insist on this?" + +"Yes. That is, no enmity of importance." + +"What do you mean by importance?" + +"I mean any enmity that would lead anyone to murder him." + +"I want to ask you further questions about this. One of the witnesses +who gave evidence concerning the quarrel between your son and myself on +the night prior to his death is called Scott, is he not?" + +"Yes." + +"John Scott?" + +"Yes." + +"John had a son called Nick; is that not so?" + +"Yes." + +"Some three years ago he had a quarrel with your son?" + +"Yes." + +"It ended in Nick Scott being sent to prison. Is that true?" + +"It is true that Nick Scott was sent to prison, but it had nothing +whatever to do with his quarrel with my son. That was about a very +trivial affair." + +"But did not Nick Scott say that he'd pay your son out if he had to +swing for it?" + +"There was some such rumour, I believe. I paid no attention to it." + +"I am taking this line, my lord," continued Paul, "because of the +witness's evidence. He says that his son had no enemy in Brunford. I +am going to prove to you that he had." + +The judge nodded, while Paul again turned to the witness. + +"You still adhere to the fact, then, do you, that your son had no enemy +beside myself?" + +"I did not think of Scott, because he was not in the country; besides, +it was of no importance. Men often utter threats like that." + +"It pains me to bring up another case," said Paul. "But please +remember I am here accused of murder. Do you know a woman named Mary +Bradshaw? She lives in Clough Street." + +"I have heard of such a woman; yes." + +"Your son was once very friendly with her. Had that woman no reason to +hate him?" + +"That was years ago." + +Paul asked many questions concerning this woman which I will not set +down here, because they were necessarily of a sordid nature, but which +went to prove that although in neither case could these people have had +anything to do with the murder, Ned Wilson was not universally beloved, +as his father had stated, but bitterly hated. + +"You have admitted to me," went on Paul at length, "that he was +believed to have wronged two people, and that both of them had reason +to bear him enmity. Might there not have been others of whom you never +heard?" + +"Of course my son was thirty years of age, and he lived his own life. +At the same time it is universally admitted that he was respected in +the town and beloved by practically everyone." + +"With the exception of these people, who, as you have admitted, uttered +dark threats against him?" + +At this the witness was silent. + +"We will now go on to the question of the knife," said Paul, +"concerning which you have made so much." And he dealt with this +question in a similar way to that with which he had dealt with it on +the previous occasion. The tendency of his questions was to show how +unlikely it was that he, whom the witness still called a clever, +scheming, cold-blooded villain, should use a knife known to be his, a +knife that had been seen on his office desk, and leave it in the +murdered man's body, knowing that all the time it could be traced to +himself. + +"There is still something more important," said Paul. "From the +evidence given it is known that I parted from your son at twilight on +the night before the murder." + +"Yes." + +"On that occasion he struck me down when I was walking away from him. +The blow almost deprived me of my senses, and I lay stunned for some +seconds." + +"Yes." + +"When I rose I made no attack on him." + +"No." + +"But I uttered a threat that I would be even with him." + +"Yes. I regard your words as practically a threat of murder." + +"Do you know what your son was doing between that time and the time +when he was supposed to meet with the person who murdered him?" + +"No; I cannot tell." + +"You say he came into the house where two letters awaited him; those +two letters he read, and then threw them into the fire. Do you know +what was in those letters?" + +"No; I have no idea." + +"You saw the envelopes. In what handwriting were they--that of a man +or a woman?" + +"I did not take particular notice, but I thought one was written by a +man and the other by a woman." + +"Just so! and he threw these letters into the fire?" + +"Yes." + +"Did he seem to be pleased at seeing them?" + +The witness was silent for a second, then he said: "It is difficult to +tell." + +"That is not an answer to my question. Did he not show anger, or at +least annoyance, as he read one of these letters?" + +"Well, perhaps he did." + +"Thank you. Now then, I want to ask you this: You say he went out +after dinner that night. Did he tell you where he was going?" + +"No. I thought he was going to his club." + +"You know, too, that he did not go to his club. That has come out in +the evidence." + +"I am told that he was not seen there." + +"Now then for the question that I regard of such importance. Do you +know of any woman likely to write to your son and ask him to meet her?" + +Again the witness looked confused. "I think the question unfair," he +said. "One might have all sorts of suspicions, but it would be wrong +to give expression to them, as I have no definite knowledge." + +"I must insist on the question, my lord," said Paul, turning to the +judge. + +"Certainly," replied the judge. "It has a strong bearing upon the +case." + +"Then I must repeat the question," said Paul, turning to the witness. + +Whereupon Mr. Wilson admitted that he had more than once seen his son +in company with a woman whom he did not know. + +"Might it not have been her letter that night?" + +"Of course, I cannot tell," replied the witness. "Everything I say +upon the question is pure surmise, and I can substantiate nothing." + +"Was the writing on the envelope that of an educated woman?" + +"No, I should say not; but it might have been disguised." + +"Thank you," said Paul. "You say you saw your son in company with this +woman. Where did you see them?" + +"At some little distance from the Coal Clough Golf Links." + +"Did they seem on good terms?" + +"I cannot say. I should not think so." + +"Was the woman angry with him?" + +"She might have been." + +"You judged that she was?" + +"Yes; I thought she was." + +"Now to return to the night of the murder. You say that your son did +not tell you where he was going?" + +"No." + +"That you thought he was going to his club?" + +"I thought it probable; yes." + +"Don't you think it probable that he went to meet this woman?" + +"I don't know." + +"You see how important the question is. You say your son left the +house at ten o'clock that night, and that he was not seen until the +following morning, when he was discovered by the policeman, murdered. +According to the doctor's evidence he had been dead some little time +before that. Thus there are several hours to account for. Have you no +idea where he was during those hours?" + +"None at all beside what I have told you." + +This part of the examination continued for some time; though beyond +what I have written nothing of importance was elicited. But the +evidence given created an impression which could not be gainsaid. + +Paul had made it abundantly evident that the murdered man was not +without enemies, as had been so strongly insisted, and he had also +raised doubts concerning what he had been doing between the hours when +Wilson left his father's house and the time of the murder. + +In this cross-examination, however, Paul was much handicapped. He +dared not refer to the conversation which had taken place between +himself and Ned Wilson during their quarrel, for fear of in any way +bringing Mary's name into evidence. Up to the present, no one thought +of connecting her with the matter in any definite way, and Paul was +determined that, whatever took place, this must be avoided. Neither +could he remove the difficulty of the knife without connecting it with +his mother. As we have said, she was in his office on the morning of +the day of his quarrel with Wilson, and was, as far as he could see, +the only one who could have obtained possession of it. Still, he had +made the most of his opportunities, and although on this murderous +weapon the issues of the trial seemed largely to rest, he made more +than one juryman feel that he was not the kind of man to use it in such +a fashion and then leave it as evidence against himself. + +During his cross-examination of the next witness, too, he further +destroyed the statement that Wilson was a man without enemies. + +John Scott was one of the two men who had witnessed the quarrel between +himself and Wilson. Mr. Bakewell examined him very closely. + +"You say," he said, "that you saw the prisoner and the murdered man +together?" + +"Yes." + +"You heard angry words pass between them, but you could not tell what +they were?" + +"No." + +"You saw the prisoner walk away, and as he was doing so, saw Mr. Edward +Wilson strike him with a stick?" + +"Yes; he knocked him down." + +"Will you tell us what followed?" + +"I saw Mr. Stepaside get up, and I thought he was going to attack +Wilson. There was a look of murder in his eyes, as I thought, but he +didn't do owt. He simply said that he'd pay him out for this, or +summat of that sort. And I said to my mate, 'Stepaside'll kill Wilson +for that.'" + +This evidence, which was given in the rough Lancashire dialect, was +nevertheless very impressive. The witness and Mr. Bakewell made the +jury see, as if in a picture, the two men quarrelling, Wilson striking +an angry blow, and Paul breathing out murder against him. + +"John Scott," said Paul, when he rose to cross-examine him, "you've +known me a good many years?" + +"Ay; I've known you ever since you came to Brunford." + +"You know the kind of man I am?" + +"Ay; I think so." + +"You say you saw me walk away from Wilson, who lifted his stick and +struck me down?" + +"Ay, I did." + +"After I had been stunned for two or three minutes I rose to my feet?" + +"Ay." + +"We were in a lonely place at that time, and you say I was unaware of +your presence?" + +"Yes; that is so." + +"Do you not think if I meant to murder Wilson that I should not have +done it at the time when my anger was aroused, rather than wait several +hours?" + +"Weel, I should think so; but there's no knowing." + +"Just so. Now I want to ask you another question. As you know, it has +been stated many times that the murdered man had no enemy in Brunford +beside myself: would you say that was true?" + +"No, I shouldn't. My Nick hated him like he hated the devil. He were +a kind-hearted lad, but Ned Wilson treated him terribly bad. Nick is +out of the country now, but there's no doubt he has a grudge against +Wilson." + +"Do you know of any others in Brunford who have a similar feeling +towards him?" + +"Weel, I know that there was no love lost between Ned Wilson and lots +of people." + +This led to many more questions and answers which went to destroy the +illusion that the murdered man had been universally popular. And for +some time after that the trial seemed to go in Paul's favour rather +than against him. + +Then it seemed as though a bolt came from the blue. A man was called +into the box who had not appeared in the previous trial. He was a +collier, who appeared in a great state of nervousness. + +"You were returning to Brunford on the night of the murder, and had to +pass near Howden Clough?" + +"Ay; I wur." + +"What time did you pass near Howden Clough?" + +"It must have been about five o'clock in the morning. But I'm noan +sure, and it wur dark." + +"What were you doing there?" + +"I had been to see my lad, who lives over Rakes Royd. He wur married +twelve months ago, and his missis sent me word that he were very +poorly. I stayed wi' him most o' th' night, and then walked back so's +to be in time for my wark." + +"And you say you think it was about five o'clock when you passed Howden +Clough?" + +"Ay, it wur." + +"Tell the jury what you saw." + +"Well, I were going along th' road, when I thought I heerd somebody +moaning. I wondered what it could be, and I stopped still. I wur in +the lane not far from the big 'ouse, and I heerd footsteps." + +"Was it a man's voice or a woman's voice you heard?" + +"I thought it were a man's voice." + +"Well, go on." + +"I had not been standing still above 'aaf a minute when I see'd a man +coming toward me. He come close to where I was, and then he stopped +still." + +"Did he see you?" + +"Nay; he couldna see me, for I was standing close t' th' edge, and he +was looking straight on." + +"Did you recognise who it was?" + +"Ay, I did. It were Maaster Paul Stepaside." + +"You are certain of this?" + +"Ay, I'm certain." + +"But you said it was dark, just now. How could you be certain who it +was in the dark?" + +"Well, it was noan so dark as all that, and as I had been walking four +mile, my eyes had got accustomed to the darkness; and more than that, +there was a break in the clouds just then, and I think there must have +been a bit of moonlight. Anyhow, I can swear it were Mr. Paul +Stepaside." + +"Did he speak to you?" + +"Nay; he never spoke to me. As I told you, he never seed me, but were +looking straight on." + +"Did he seem calm, self-possessed?" + +"Nay; all t' other way. He looked like a man beside hissen." + +"Did you hear him say anything?" + +"Ay, I did. I heerd him say, 'My God! I never thought it would come +to this,' or summat like that. I won't be sure as to the exact words, +but it was summat like that." + +"Did he stand beside you long?" + +"Nay, not more than while one could count ten, perhaps. Then he rushed +off, and he were muttering to hissen; but what he were saying aw could +noan make out." + +"And that was all?" + +"Ay, that was all." + +"But you did not tell this at the inquest." + +"Nay; I didn't want to be dragged into it. Besides, I didn't know what +it meant; but I did mention it to my missis, and my missis mentioned it +to the wife of a policeman, who told it to her 'usband; and that's how +it come out." + +As may be imagined, the effect of this evidence was remarkable. It +supplied a kind of link in the chain. It was now proved beyond +question that Paul was in the vicinity of the murder very near to the +time when it actually took place. And in the face of it all, all that +had been said in his favour seemed to be as nothing. Not only was it +Paul's knife that was found in Wilson's body, but Paul, although he had +not been seen to strike the blow, had been seen close to the spot where +the murder took place almost at the time of its actual occurrence, and +he had been heard to utter words such as a guilty man would have been +likely to utter. + +At this time the court adjourned, and all felt that Paul's doom was +sealed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +PAUL'S DEFENCE + +The next morning the trial was resumed, and to the surprise of many it +did not come to an end that day. Many other witnesses were called +which at first were unthought of, and thus the case was dragged out to +what seemed to Paul an interminable length. On the third day, however, +the examinations were concluded, and Mr. Bakewell rose to address the +jury on the evidence which had been given. Some spoke of his speech +afterwards as one of the finest that had ever been delivered in +Manchester, while others declared it to be devilish in its cleverness, +but that, in view of the fact that the prisoner would have no one to +defend him, it was unfair. One eminent counsel, who would gladly have +taken Paul's case, said that it was the custom of counsel for +prosecution in the case of murder to seek to give absolute fair play to +the prisoner, and to suppress nothing which might tell in his favour, +but that it seemed to be the set purpose of Mr. Bakewell to secure a +sentence of death for Paul, just as he would try to secure a verdict in +favour of any client for whom he was trying to obtain damages. But +this was mentioned in private, and could, of course, have no weight +with the jury. Certain it is that he made a very strong case against +Paul. He opened his speech with the usual remarks about the +seriousness of the case before them and the difficulty he had in +approaching it in the right spirit. He also admitted that Paul was a +young man who bore a good character in the town, and had so far secured +public favour as to be rewarded with the highest measure of confidence +with which any town could reward him. But having said all that, it was +his duty to deal with the facts which had been brought before them, and +it was for the jury to say whether, in the face of that evidence, the +prisoner was not guilty of the terrible deed of which he was accused. +He referred to the fact that the prisoner had chosen to defend himself, +and as a consequence lessened hid chances of acquittal, but they had +also to consider the inwardness of that fact. What was the prisoner's +reason for being undefended? It was not that he could not afford to +obtain the most eminent counsel at the criminal bar, or because he was +not advised by the judge to secure such counsel. An innocent man had +nothing to hide. It was only the guilty who sought to shelter himself +behind silence. He would like to testify to the prisoner's ability in +cross-examination and of his power to nullify the force of certain +evidence which told against him. But they had not to deal with +sophistries. They had to deal with the hard facts which had been +submitted to them. These facts he enumerated one by one, dealing with +the evidence which had been given in support of them. He admitted that +there might be certain difficulties in their way, certain things hard +to explain, and which could only be explained by the prisoner. Still, +certain facts remained--facts upon which they would have to judge. +Presently came the summing-up of his speech, and it was here that Mr. +Bakewell justified the reputation he had won as one of the cleverest of +criminal lawyers. Everything in Paul's disfavour was set before them +in cold, clear, terse language. One point after another was emphasised +with terrible precision, and so great was the impression made that it +seemed as though both judge and jury could see only with his eyes. All +the things which appeared as difficulties were apparently removed. The +facts of the case pointed to one man as the murderer of Edward Wilson, +and that one man was Paul Stepaside. Mr. Bakewell seemed to be under +strong emotion, but that very emotion strengthened the impression which +he had made, especially when he spoke of the sacredness of human life, +spoke of the terrible responsibility of a jury in condemning a prisoner +to death. Nevertheless, he seemed to make it impossible for them to do +anything else. When he sat down it seemed as though the scaffold were +already erected, and the ghastly rope swinging from it. + +Of course, the court was again crowded almost to suffocation. Mr. +Bakewell had spoken for more than two hours, and during the whole time +the interest had been intense, the excitement almost overwhelming. +Whenever he paused it seemed as though they could hear the wings of the +Angel of Death fluttering over them. Women sobbed aloud, strong men +breathed forth quivering sighs. Even the barristers who sat watching +the case, and who as a rule regarded murder cases with an air of +nonchalance, could not hide their emotion. Everything seemed to be +prejudged. No evidence had been adduced strong enough to save the +prisoner, and each juryman, who sat with eyes fixed upon the eloquent +counsel, looked as though there were only one thing to do, and that was +to pronounce the word "Guilty." + +Paul had sat during the whole time of the delivery of this speech, +listening to every word with breathless eagerness. Never until that +day had he realised how near death was to him. Throughout the whole +trial he had never really believed that the jury could find him guilty. +Now, however, it seemed as though they could do nothing else. Never +had he felt his loneliness as he felt it then. The judge did not seem +to be a man, but merely a legal machine, uninfluenced by great +emotions, and considering his case only as a case. No one had been to +see him since the trial had recommenced under Judge Branscombe, save +the warders and the chaplain. In one way he was glad it was so, but in +another he longed for society, longed for comfort. Eagerly on each +morning of the trial had he looked around the court, dreading yet +hoping to see the face of Mary Bolitho, whom he still loved as a man +should love the woman he hopes to marry, even although he knew her to +be his sister. Each morning, too, he had longed to see the face of his +mother, although he hoped she would not be there. And while he still +declared that nothing could soften his heart against Judge Bolitho, he +felt as though the sight of his face would have helped him. + +What were they doing? he wondered, the man whom he had lately learnt +was his father, and his mother, and his half-sister--no, he could not +call her sister even now, and he wondered why it was. When Mr. +Bakewell had finished his speech he heaved a sigh of relief. At least +the worst had been told. All that could be done to hang him had been +done--at least, as far as evidence was concerned. And then there came +back to him the old determination to fight to the bitter end. At least +he had his chance to reply, and he nerved himself for the work he had +to do. He had no idea of time. He had never thought of it. He knew +it was at the beginning of the afternoon session when Mr. Bakewell rose +to address the jury, but he had no thought of the time which had +elapsed. He had been simply listening, listening, as if it were a +matter of life and death--as in reality it was--to the address which +had been made. He was expecting the judge to call upon him to make his +speech for his own defence, and was arranging his thoughts in order to +do so, when the judge turned towards him and asked him if his defence +would take any considerable time. + +"Yes," replied Paul, "it will." + +"Then we will adjourn the court until to-morrow." + +"Perhaps," added the judge, with a wan smile, "you will be glad of +this. It will allow you some little time to make your preparations." + +"Thank you, my lord," he replied. + +And then he was led away to his cell. + +When Paul entered the dock on the following morning he carried with him +a sheaf of papers, the result of the previous night's work. When he +returned to his cell he asked for writing materials, and then for +several hours worked steadily. A strange calm possessed him while he +was doing this, not without a certain sense of enjoyment, grim as the +circumstances were. He was fighting for his own life, and there was a +kind of intellectual pleasure in framing his arguments and in meeting +the statements which Mr. Bakewell had so forcibly expressed in his +final speech. He had always loved a battle of wits, and, terrible as +the circumstances were, the pleasure which an intellectual struggle +gave him was not absent even on this occasion. + +When he had concluded writing he was utterly exhausted, but here his +splendid physique came to his aid, and he slept several hours +peacefully. At least he had one satisfaction. Whatever might be the +issue of the terrible day which lay before him, terrible whatever might +happen, he was an innocent man. He had struck no murderous blow, and +he could go down to the grave with a clear conscience, knowing that he +had tried to do what was right under the circumstances. Sometimes a +shadow of doubt came into his mind as to whether his mother were really +guilty of the terrible deed of which he was accused, but as he reviewed +the circumstances, and remembered what she had said to him, it seemed +as though a cold hand had gripped his heart, and it convinced him that +it was she in spite of himself. Considering all the events, he could +think of no one else who was likely to commit the deed; and so, while +he determined to fight to the very last, he could at least do his +utmost to keep any shadow of suspicion from falling on her. + +Great as the excitement had been on the previous day's trial, it +seemed, if possible, greater now, or rather it was an excitement of a +different nature. Hitherto a sense of strangeness and wonder had +predominated; a morbid curiosity and a desire for sensationalism had +possessed the minds and hearts of those who had witnessed the trial. +But to-day another element was added--an element of terror. On the +previous days there had been a suggestion of a stage trial. Many, +although they had breathlessly followed the evidence given, did not +seem to realise that it might end in death. But that was all over now. +The inwardness of everything, the ghastly issues of the scene, became +tremendously real. All felt that now Paul Stepaside was indeed +fighting for his life. The shadow of the scaffold rested upon him. A +thousand unseen enemies seemed to be there trying to drag him to his +doom. And he, unaided and alone, had to meet not only the terrible +charge which was laid against him, but a kind of fiendish cleverness +with which that charge had been urged. Men held their breath as he +entered the dock; reporters forgot their duty as they watched his face; +the jurymen, bearing in mind the terrible speech which Mr. Bakewell had +delivered on the previous evening, and believing that nothing could +remove the impression of that speech, looked on him with gloomy +interest. Even the judge, legal machine as he appeared to be, showed +more than ordinary interest and seemed to be wondering what he had to +say for himself. + +To all appearance, indeed, Paul was the most self-possessed man in the +court. Pale he was, it is true, but upright, clear-sighted, +determined. Unversed as he was in the intricacies of the law and +possessing none of the experience which characterised the counsel for +the prosecution, Mr. Bakewell felt that here indeed was a foeman worthy +of his steel, and that had he been trained for the bar he would not +have long remained an obscure member of that learned profession. + +The formalities of the day were quickly gone through, and Paul rose to +address the jury. + +I cannot here give in detail the speech which he delivered, cannot +describe the intensity with which he spoke, although I watched the +trial from day to day. I can only convey a vague impression, not only +of the speech which he delivered, but of the effect of his words. Even +now I can see him standing in the dock, quietly arranging his papers +with firm, steady hands, and then pushing them away as if they could be +of no use to him. I can see the steady light in his eyes; the pale, +clear-cut face; strong, determined features, upright form. I can feel, +too, the tremendous emotion which seemed to overwhelm all present. But +these things cannot be conveyed in cold print; they can only be hinted +at. + +He commenced by saying that he stood there accused of the most serious +of charges. It had been urged that he was guilty of murder, and there +could be no doubt that a murder had been committed. It was not a +question of pleading for partial forgiveness. No question of mercy +could be considered. Either he was guilty of murder or he was not, for +undoubtedly the deceased man had been murdered. If he had been guilty +of that murder, then the jury would do right to pronounce that verdict; +if not, then they took upon themselves the responsibility of condemning +an innocent man to death. + +"The counsel for the prosecution," urged Paul, "has mentioned something +about giving me the benefit of a doubt. There is no matter of benefit +in it, and I decline to accept the term. It is only a matter of +justice. It is only justice I desire. My lord and gentlemen of the +jury, I have refused to enter the witness-box, not because I desired to +keep back anything in relation to the murder, for in truth I know +absolutely nothing, but because I might be, probably should be, asked +questions on matters on which I desire to remain silent. I appeal to +your understanding in relation to this. There are secret matters--ay, +and sacred matters--in everyone's life which one does not wish to be +discussed by the world at large, and it is for this reason, and this +reason only, that I have declined to go into the witness-box. If it +were simply a matter of dealing with my connection with the death of +the deceased man, I would gladly answer any question that may be asked, +because, as I repeat, I know nothing. + +"The learned counsel has also referred to my decision to be my own +defender, and has admitted that I may possibly suffer some disadvantage +because of it. I did so for more than one reason. The first I have +just suggested. No counsel could be of any value to me unless I gave +him my absolute and complete trust. Again I say, there are certain +matters utterly and wholly removed from the crime of which I am accused +which I do not wish to make known. Possibly this may tell against me; +but, gentlemen, when you think of the happenings of the last few days, +when you remember, my lord, the wonderful and unprecedented confession +which was made from the chair you now occupy, a confession which +vitally affects me, you can understand that there are other things in +my life--perfectly innocent, yes, and in a vital sense very +sacred--which I do not wish to confide to any man. More on that +question I will not say. The other reason I have for defending myself +is that while an abler man than myself might be obtained, a more +eloquent man, a far more learned man, I could secure no one who is so +certain of my own innocence as I am myself, and as a consequence no one +could plead with the same earnestness, albeit haltingly, yet no one can +plead with the same conviction that I can. For, my lord and gentlemen, +at the very outset of what I wish to say I must again urge that I know +absolutely nothing of this man's murder. I struck no blow, and am as +far removed from his death as the little children who were born in this +city last night! + +"Now, my lord and gentlemen, the whole weight of the accusation brought +against me depends entirely upon circumstantial evidence, and you, my +lord, who are so learned in the law, know full well the value that can +be attached to such evidence. You know that again and again it has +proved to be false. You know one particular case especially, when a +man, who was condemned to die on circumstantial evidence, was three +times brought to the scaffold, and three times the rope broke, and +then, because of what may be called the superstitious feelings of the +community at large, that sentence was reduced to penal servitude for +life. I say you know, my lord, that although that circumstantial +evidence seemed complete, when a renowned thief and murderer was +brought to his trial and condemned to die, he confessed to this very +murder. Moreover, you can see that when a man's life or death depends +upon circumstantial evidence, that evidence must be complete. No link +in the chain must be missing. If it is missing, then it would be a +crime, and worse than a crime, to take away the life of a man because +of it. And I shall show you, my lord and gentlemen, that not only is +the chain of evidence incomplete in this case, but that many links are +wanting in that chain, and therefore it has no strength whatever." + +Paul paused here, and for a moment seemed to have forgotten his line of +defence. He turned towards his notes, which he had placed beside him, +as if with the intention of refreshing his memory, and then, like one +angered at his seeming unreadiness, he appeared to make a mighty effort +to gather together his scattered thoughts and to concentrate them. He +gazed around the crowded court, watched the pale, set faces, not only +of the jury, but of the spectators, noted the strained attention of the +barristers and the steady scrutiny of the judge. He seemed for the +moment like a man put upon his mettle and determined to play his part +manfully. + +"I would like," he said, "first of all to refer to the question of +motive. The learned counsel has urged that I committed this murder +because of personal hatred. The evidence which he sought to deduce, +and upon which he dwelt almost to the point of tediousness, was that +there was a long-standing feud between the murdered man and myself. He +related incident after incident which went to show that, to say the +least of it, no love was lost between us. I have no word to say +against that evidence, no word to say against his methods of urging it +against me. It was his duty as counsel for the prosecution. But I +must ask you to examine this more closely. It is true that the +murdered man had been my enemy for years. But should I be likely, +because of his enmity, to murder him? Or, even if I belonged to the +class of criminals which he would make me out to belong to, should I +have chosen such an hour to commit that murder? Should I not have +committed it, not in my hour of triumph, but in my hour of defeat? + +"It has come out in the evidence that at the first election at Brunford +the deceased man did his utmost to ruin me. He not only tried to +tarnish the name of my mother as well as my own, but he did his best to +ruin me financially. This has been proved, proved beyond a doubt; and +as a result of what he did I lost that election. I say, if I had +intended to murder him, would not that have been the time when I should +have done it? Or again, would it not have been likely that I should +have done it while in the heat of passion? As far as I can remember, +the quarrel, which took place between us on the evening prior to the +murder, has been correctly described. When I left him he struck me +down. Gentlemen, I am not a weak man, but a strong man. If it was my +desire to do him bodily harm, should I not be likely to do it then? We +were there alone. As far as I knew, no eye was watching us, and +naturally my passions would be roused by the cowardly blow he struck +me; but I did nothing. I, so it was said, uttered a threat that I +would be equal with him for this blow which he had struck, and then +went away. Then, the learned counsel has urged, after I had walked +nearly two miles back to my own home, after I had dressed for dinner, I +waited until midnight, and then, with cool calculation, went out to +kill this man. Can anyone in his senses believe such a thing? +Besides, think of another thing. I was in a position to laugh at +Wilson's enmity. I had won an eminent position in the town of my +adoption. I had risen from obscurity to be a member of Parliament for +that town. I had made a speech in the House of Commons which had +attracted notice throughout the whole country. I was the subject of +leading articles in newspapers. What was Wilson's enmity to me? I +could have afforded to have left Brunford altogether. I could have +lived in London, where I need never have seen him. Was I likely, +then--not in a moment of mad passion, mark you--not in resentment for a +coward's blow which had been struck immediately before, but after seven +hours--was I likely to go out into the dead of the night to kill him? +Forgive me for urging this matter, but the question of motive must come +in, and to say that this deed was the outcome of a long personal feud +is, under the circumstances, preposterous. Is this link in the chain +strong enough to hold? Nay, is it a link at all? And does not the +chain break in consequence?" + +It was at this point that Paul held both judge and jury strongly. I +know I altogether fail to convey the impression he made. In cold +print, while his words may seem reasonable, and even forcible, they +only give a hint at their power when they were uttered as he uttered +them. + +The next point with which he dealt was with that of the knife. This +knife, known to be Paul's, was found driven through Edward Wilson's +heart, driven from behind. And it had been used with great skill by +the counsel for the prosecution. He had considered it from every +standpoint, and it had seemed, at the time, that no one but Paul could +have used it. + +"This," said Paul, "is the one definite thing urged against me. +Everything else is pure surmise, but the knife was known to be mine. +The knife was in my office, an office which is always locked when I +have occasion to leave it. Therefore, no one but myself could have +used it. Such is the counsel's argument. Again I ask you to consider +this carefully. Remember that no secret was ever made about my +possessing this knife. It had been sent to me by a customer from +abroad. It had been used as a paper-knife. It had been frequently +seen by those who visited me lying on my office desk. It was not some +secret thing, something about which the world knew nothing. It was +known to be mine by scores of people--please bear that in mind. Then +there is another thing-. It has come out in the evidence that I was +not in the habit of carrying it. It is a sharp, murderous-looking +blade, and it has been examined, my lord, not only by you, but by every +member of the jury. I admit that this knife is mine. I admit all that +my partner, Mr. George Preston, has said about it. But I want you to +consider the tremendous gap between the fact of the knife known to +belong to me, and the accusation that with this knife I murdered Mr. +Edward Wilson. Now, will you please think carefully. It has been +urged that I did this deed in cold blood. It was between three and +four o'clock in the afternoon when I had a quarrel with Wilson and he +struck me down. My servants have given testimony to the fact that I +came home, talked with my mother, went into my study, stayed there for +several hours. Then it is urged that I went out, carrying this knife +with me; and, mark you, they did not see the knife in the house, no one +saw me take it away from the office; but it is urged that I went out, +after several hours' cool and calculated thought, at midnight; that I +caught the murdered man unawares, drove the knife into his body, and +then ran away and left it there. Now, think of this, gentlemen, and +remember that my life or death depends upon the reasonableness of it, +depends upon this link in the chain of circumstantial evidence. It has +been urged again and again that whatever I am, I am not a fool, that I +am capable of careful and connected thought, that I commenced my career +in Brunford in a very small way, and that in a few years I have made it +to be what it is, large and prosperous. It has been urged that I am +far-seeing, careful, calculating, and that as a rule I am not a man who +acts upon sudden impulses. Now, my lord and jury, I ask you, would +such a man as I be likely to do this? I could have understood the +accusation if in the heat of the passion which I naturally felt when +the deceased man struck me a cowardly blow, I had, if I carried such a +knife with me, which I never did, seized it and struck the murderous +blow, and then in a state of panic rushed away for fear of the +consequences. But after several hours had elapsed, during which time I +should have time to think about it, and to realise the results of such +a deed, that I should then, in a cool and calculated fashion, seek out +a victim, strike the blow, and then leave the weapon in the body which +must be inevitably traced to me, is a deed of such madness that I can +only wonder that a gentleman with the erudition of the counsel should +have thought it worth while to mention it!" + +From this point Paul went on to deal with another matter, of which the +counsel for the prosecution seemed to have taken no notice, but which, +put as he put it, strengthened his case very considerably. + +"I want you to consider the circumstances connected with the accusation +again," he said presently. "It is known that I had only returned from +London the day before. It has come out in the evidence that I wrote a +letter to Wilson, asking him to meet me, and that Wilson replied +refusing to do so. It has also been proved that I waylaid him not far +from his own house, and that we had a quarrel. Concerning the nature +of that quarrel I am not going to speak, but a quarrel there was, this +I admit. Now, please bear in mind that I had only returned from London +the previous day; that I knew nothing of Wilson's possible whereabouts; +that I could have known nothing of his plans. It was impossible for me +to tell what he was going to do, or where he was going to be. It has +also come out in the evidence that I asked certain questions about him +on the afternoon of the day before the murder. I went from one place +to another where he had been, in order to find him--remember this was +not done in secret, but openly--therefore I must have been utterly +ignorant of his movements, or of his plans, except what I openly +gathered that afternoon. Then we had a quarrel. He struck me down, +and I, when I recovered from the blow, rose, said a few words to him, +and walked away. I went back to my own house, and, on the testimony of +the servants, was there the whole evening. I did not go out at all. +It is also admitted that no messenger of any sort came to me that +night, that no letters were received. Please bear these things clearly +in mind. Then I went out at midnight, on a dark night, with the intent +to murder 'him. Now think of the position. Would he not in all +probability be in bed, as far as I knew? Brunford is not a town of +late hours. Ordinarily, except when there is a social gathering, or +something of the sort, people retire to rest between ten and eleven +o'clock. But it is urged I went out with the intention of murdering +him, carrying the knife with me, and yet having no means of even +suspecting that he would be out; and that then I met him by chance, and +having the knife ready, killed him, and left the knife in his body. My +lord, and gentlemen, does not the chain of evidence entirely break? Is +there any connecting link here at all? Can you condemn a man upon such +evidence? Think of the tremendously long arm of coincidence which has +to be imagined before you can connect me with it! + +"With regard to the evidence which the counsel for the prosecution has +urged with so much effect: I admit it is true. I was worried and +perplexed that night. I did not utter the words which he has +mentioned, but I do remember walking along a lane at no great distance +from Howden Clough. I was troubled about a personal matter, and, if I +may so put it, a secret matter, a matter which I cannot discuss, but +which does not even by a gossamer thread connect me with the crime of +which I am accused. And if you condemn me on such an evidence, then no +man's life is safe. No man can be worried and perplexed without, under +similar circumstances, being accused of a crime of which he would never +dream!" + +Again Paul made the jury feel as he felt, see as he saw. The evident +sincerity of his tones, the force of his language, language which I +have utterly failed to reproduce, carried conviction with every word. +For the time being, at least, they felt that such an accusation +bordered on the edge of the absurd, and to say the least of it, there +was a tremendous gulf which had to be filled up, and that to fill it up +by the belief in the long arm of coincidence, and to commit a man to +the scaffold because of it, would be criminal indeed. + +"There's only one point more that I wish to urge," said Paul. "It is +this. It is plain to me that the deceased man was murdered. It is +plain to us all, therefore, that someone must have been guilty of the +deed. Who would be likely to be guilty? The statements which found +credence here in the early part of the trial, that the deceased man had +no enemy beside myself has been shattered and destroyed. It has been +shown that one woman, at least, had reason to hate him with a deadly +hatred, and that case alone throws a tremendous light upon the +character of the deceased man. Far be it from me to throw suspicion +upon any innocent person--I have suffered too much myself to think of +doing such a thing--but even the deceased man's own father has made +terrible admissions. Do these admissions mean nothing? Are they to +count for nothing? That woman whose name has been mentioned, and who, +from the evidence given, could have no connection with this crime, had +a thousand times more reason to hate him than I. May there not be +others? Nay, there must be others----" + +At this point Paul, knowing that he was drawing near to the end of what +he had to say, felt that he was indeed fighting for his life, and I +will not endeavour to describe his speech further. Possessing a mind +of more than ordinary clearness, having the gift of language to a +marked degree, and also having the strongest motive to make the most of +the facts which stood out clearly before him, he spoke almost like a +man inspired. With trembling voice, he was outwardly calm in +appearance. He again reviewed the evidence, showed its weakness, tore +the sophistries of Mr. Bakewell to pieces, and moved the hearts of all +present by his passionate appeal. More than once the spectators broke +in applause, while the barristers nudged each other with nods of +approval, as he made some special point in his defence. And presently, +when he sat down, everyone felt that Paul had saved his own life, that +he had fought a great battle and won it, that he not only did not +commit the deed of which he was accused, but that he was utterly +incapable of it, and that he would leave the court amid shouts of +triumph. Even to this day his speech is spoken of as one of the most +triumphant efforts ever made in the Manchester Assize Courts. + +But this was only for a time. It is true he had seemingly answered Mr. +Bakewell in every point. It is true, too, that it seemed a crime +beyond all description to pronounce the Verdict of guilty upon him, but +naturally it was an _ex-parte_ Statement, it was the speech of a clever +man fighting for his life, who naturally did the best with the material +at his disposal. He had been talking for nearly two hours, and during +that time all were under the spell not only of his words but of his +personality. + +When he had finished, the judge waited for perhaps a minute, and seemed +to be looking at his notes, and presently all eyes were transferred +from the prisoner's dock to the judge's chair. What had this keen +legal machine to say? Throughout Paul's speech he had listened with +close attention, and had evidently admired the points he had made. But +as we have said, Judge Branscombe was a lawyer, a lawyer to the finger +tips, and he was one who thought much of outward facts, and little of +what might be probable or not probable. Long associated with the law +as he was, he had known many cases where criminals had done the most +unlikely things, and where facts had scattered theories to the winds. +He had won eminence at the Bar because of this attitude of mind. He +cared nothing about probabilities. He cared little about theories, but +dealt with facts. + +He began his summing-up by speaking of the unusual way in which the +trial had been conducted. The prisoner had elected to be his own +advocate, and that, as a consequence, he, the judge, had not been so +particular about formalities as he would have been under different +circumstances. He had allowed matters to be introduced in the +cross-examination which were not strictly evidence. He also referred +in high terms to the prisoner's defence. He spoke of him as a man of +more than ordinary intellectual ability, who, with the gift of an +orator, had played upon the various emotions of the jury as a clever +musician plays with an instrument of which he is a master. And then, +little by little, he went back to what he called "the cold hard facts +of the case." From the pure lawyer's standpoint, his summing-up was +perhaps just, but from the standpoint of the prisoner it was deadly. +With a cleverness of which Paul did not believe anyone capable, he wore +away the effect of what he had said, until, as it seemed to him, his +speech seemed to be like that of another counsel for the prosecution. +And yet, as I said, no one could accuse him of being unfair. He +admitted the responsibility of the jury, spoke of the tremendous Issues +at stake, and seemed desirous of guiding them into right paths. For +nearly an hour he spoke, and then, amidst an excitement which was +painful in the extreme, the jury went away to consider their verdict. + +Minute after minute passed away, while everyone waited in painful +suspense for the jurymen to return. The old feeling of uncertainty had +come back to the spectators, the barristers, who had been so eagerly +listening to the case, discussed in whispers what the probable result +would be, and more than one woman had to be carried out of the court in +a state of collapse. Men sat with hard, set faces, scarcely daring to +move. How long they were away I do not know, but it seemed to all +present like an eternity. + +Presently the foreman of the jury appeared, and the judge returned to +his chair. + +"Gentlemen, are you agreed as to the verdict?" + +"No, we are not agreed." + +It was as though a mighty sob arose from the throats of all present. +The judge, who wore an uneasy look as he reentered the court, seemed +perturbed. A look of eager expectation was on the faces of the +barristers. As for Paul, he became instinct with new life. His case +was not hopeless--they were not agreed. The fiendishly clever speech +of Mr. Bakewell and the deadly summing-up of the judge had not secured +a verdict of guilty. He felt almost like a conqueror. Hope was in his +heart. He would live even yet. The judge looked at his watch, as if +in doubt what to do, but it was evident that he quickly made up his +mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE VERDICT + +"If you will tell me the points on which you are disagreed," said the +judge at length, "I may be able to throw some light upon them, and +also, perhaps, advise you." + +"The points are these," said the foreman of the jury. "First of all, +some among us are far from being convinced that the prisoner, if he +were the murderer, would be likely to leave the knife in the murdered +man's body. If he had struck the blow in a passion, and had then, +overcome by panic, run away for fear of the consequences of what he had +done, we could have understood it. But as we are dealing with +circumstantial evidence, it seems utterly unlikely that a man who had +premeditated a murder should have run away leaving a weapon which could +be easily traced to him. That, at least, is the feeling of some +members of the jury, and is one of the points which causes us to be +divided. + +"The second is this: there are some among us who feel very strongly the +point of the prisoner's remarks concerning the probability of his +knowing where the deceased was at the time of the murder. As he has +stated, he would probably have been in bed at the time when he was +actually killed. If the murder was premeditated, there are some who +feel the utter unlikelihood of the prisoner going out alone at midnight +on the chance of finding his victim. + +"These are the points, my lord, on which we are not agreed, and unless +further light is thrown upon them, there is no likelihood of agreement." + +The juryman spoke in a hesitating fashion. He was evidently labouring +under a very strong emotion, and was unable to control his voice or to +express his thoughts with anything like clearness. Still, what we have +just stated conveys a rough idea of the difficulties which faced them. + +Again an intense silence pervaded the court as the foreman of the jury +sat down. The suspense seemed almost too horrible to be borne. There +was not a man in the court who was not pale to the lips, and whose +nerves were not quivering with painful excitement. Again the reporters +almost forgot their duty. In their eagerness to know what would be +said they forgot to write. Suppressed sobbing was heard almost +everywhere. Even the judge looked exceedingly grave, and for the +moment seemed unable to decide what to say. + +As for Paul, it seemed to him as though his fate hung on a delicately +poised balance. The weight of a hair in either scale might decide +either his life or his death. It was one of those tragic moments which +seldom occur in any man's life, and it was only by a tremendous effort +that he remained outwardly calm. But pride came to his aid even now. +He had not shown weakness yet, and he would not show it now. He would +not break down before this gaping, excited crowd, but retain quiet +dignity even to the last. In spite of the intense excitement, too, he +was becoming almost callous. Nature has its own way of alleviating +pain, and the way she chose now to help Paul to continue to bear the +dreadful strain was to numb his feelings, and to make him almost +indifferent concerning what should take place. For the past few hours +every nerve had been at full tension, and so greatly had he been +wrought upon that he could not have remained in such a condition much +longer. And so kindly Nature had lessened the pangs he was suffering, +and made him able to bear to the end by her own anaesthetics. + +"I quite understand your position, gentlemen," said the judge, "and I +will do my best to help you. We will take the points in the order in +which you mention them. First, there is the question of the knife, and +in order to fully understand the sequence of this, we will again +consider it from the very beginning. We must remember that the +prisoner was very careful about locking his office. No one was allowed +to enter it when he was absent. He kept the key in his own pocket. We +have to remember, too, that his own partner declared that he knew of no +one who entered the prisoner's office that day, and even if anyone +entered the office, there was no one who, as far as he knew, would dare +to take that knife from the prisoner's desk. The fact remains, +however--and it is facts we must consider, gentlemen, and give them +their due significance--the fact remains that the murdered man was +found with this knife in his heart. Now, gentlemen, it is for you to +decide how that knife could have left the prisoner's office. Was there +someone who could have entered the office, and, with set purpose, take +it away without the prisoner's knowledge, and use it in the way +mentioned? Or, did the prisoner take it away himself and use it as has +been described by the counsel for the prosecution? I say you must +decide on this question because it is most vital. You have heard all +the evidence in relation to this matter, and it is for you to decide +now first whether any outsider obtained entrance into the prisoner's +office and took away that knife and used it for the purpose of murder, +or whether the prisoner himself took it away in the way described? +That is the first point to be considered in relation to the knife. Now +with regard to the ostensible difficulty which appears to you. From +one standpoint, it seems utterly unlikely that a man of the prisoner's +evident intellectual acumen should have used this knife, known to be +his, for the purpose of murdering an enemy, and then have left it in +his body in such a way that it would be inevitably traced to him. I +understand your difficulty, gentlemen, and I appreciate it, and it is a +point that you must keep clearly before your mind. There is, however, +another side which you must also keep just as clearly in view. It is +this. If the prisoner had made up his mind to do this, would not a +clever man, such as he undoubtedly is, probably come to the conclusion +that it would seem so absurd that he should leave the knife in the body +of his victim that he might do so as a mere matter of bluff? A clever +man, a far-seeing man will sometimes do things which a duller man would +not do, and it is for you to decide whether these things might not have +been in the mind of the prisoner when he decided to act in this way. + +"You have also to consider this. It is true it has been urged that the +murderous deed was uninterrupted, but we cannot be sure of this. Might +not the one who struck the blow have heard approaching footsteps at the +time, and then in a state of panic have rushed away? These things you +must carefully consider. But the real point at issue, the vital point +which you have to consider is: could anyone else have become possessed +of the knife in the first place? Did anyone else become possessed of +that knife? If not, then the difficulty in your minds is easy to +explain. + +"That is the first point. Now for the second. What you urge, and most +rightly urge, too--and I fully appreciate the evident thought and care +which you have bestowed upon it--is the unlikelihood of the prisoner +going out at midnight to commit murder, when he had no knowledge +whatever that the murdered man would not be in his own home. You say +that some of you feel that his going out under such circumstances, and +depending on chance as to whether he should meet him, was altogether +unnatural. I will admit that you have to consider this point +carefully, remembering that a man's life or death depends upon the +decision at which you arrive. But there is another thought which you +must keep clearly before your minds. You have no knowledge that the +prisoner was not aware of the murdered man's whereabouts. They had a +quarrel the previous evening. How do we know that the murdered man did +not tell the prisoner something of his plans, or where he intended to +be? He has not submitted himself to cross-examination, and therefore +we have not been able to hear from him. Consequently, we have no +knowledge that the murdered man did not, during the excited +conversation, say something of his intentions, or let fall some hint +whereby a man with the quick perception of the prisoner, might find out +what he intended to do. If this were the case--and while there is no +proof that it is so, it is not at all improbable--it would remove your +difficulty. If they met, it is probable that another quarrel ensued, +and then in the heat of passion the prisoner might have struck the blow +which resulted in his victim's death, and then rushed away and uttered +the words which the man Ashley overhead. This is all I can say on +these points, gentlemen, and you have to consider, in the light of the +evidence to which you have listened, whether this might be the case. +As has been repeatedly said, the whole case rests upon circumstantial +evidence, and it is for you carefully to consider the matter again, and +may Almighty God guide you in your momentous deliberations!" + +Again it was evident that the judge tried to be fair, but again his +elucidation of the points at issue was deadly, as far as the prisoner +was concerned. Rightly or wrongly, more than one felt that the judge +had made up his mind as to the guilt of Paul Stepaside, and speaking as +he did, in cold, calculated words, yet with all the authority of his +position behind him, many felt that each sentence strengthened the +chain of evidence which would hang the prisoner. + +Paul listened without moving a muscle or uttering a sound, nevertheless +his eyes were fixed upon the judge with a kind of stony stare. It +seemed to him that there was a kind of malignant cunning in the judge's +words, that the man was conjuring up possibilities in support of the +evidence which seemed to point to him. + +Again the jury retired, and a solemn silence reigned. This time there +was not even the sound of whispered consultations as to what the +verdict might be. It was a kind of ghastly waiting for the jurymen to +return. Slowly the clock ticked on, and it seemed to be numbering the +seconds of Paul Stepaside's life. And yet there were many who simply +could not believe that any jury could find him guilty. Standing there +alone in the dock, tall, erect, calm, his features refined by the long +weeks of suffering through which he had passed, thin and pale as a +consequence of his confinement and anxiety, many felt that it was +impossible he should be guilty of such a bloodthirsty deed. And yet in +face of the judge's summing up, in face of the terrible speech which +Mr. Bakewell had delivered, it seemed as if the gallows would surely +claim their victim. + +Minute after minute passed, until the waiting seemed unbearable. At +length, however, the door of the room in which the jury sat opened, and +one by one they returned. With strained eyes, all looked at their +faces, trying to read there what their decision was. It seemed almost +grotesque that these twelve, commonplace, unimaginative men, with no +ability out of the common order, with little or no knowledge of the +law, with minds unfitted to grasp the inwardness of the evidence which +had been given, should have to pronounce the verdict of life or death +upon the young man who stood in the dock. Under ordinary circumstances +Paul's voice, Paul's opinion, would have weighed more than all theirs +put together. Yet such was the case. They held in their hands the +issues of life and death. What they had decided upon would be final. + +"Gentlemen, are you agreed as to your verdict?" And as the listeners +heard the question asked it seemed as though their heart-strings were +strained, and as though they could not bear to hear the answer. + +"Yes." + +"Do you find the prisoner guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Guilty!" + +It seemed like a knell of doom in the court. The pent-up feelings of +the crowded spectators burst forth in a mighty sob. More than one +gasped, "No, no." The utmost confusion prevailed, and more than one +had to be carried out of the court, overcome by emotion. The jurymen +sat each in his place pale and evidently moved. The verdict had been +according to the best of their abilities. Perhaps had the judge's +summing up been different they would have given the alternative +finding, but the feeling was that the judge, who was far wiser than +they, believed in the prisoner's guilt, and they, carried away by his +weight and authority, and by his cold, yet telling, words, pronounced +the verdict of "Guilty." + +Paul, when he heard the verdict, reeled for a moment, and felt as +though his limbs were giving way under him; but only for a moment. His +resolution and his pride, which had borne him through the rest of the +trial, should bear him through this. He would not show any weakness. +His face was blanched, and his lips were white, but his eyes still +burned with a steady light, and in a few seconds he again stood erect +and calm, and looked at the judge's face. + +The judge communicated for a moment with the Clerk of Arraigns, who +went through the usual formula, and then the clerk, addressing the +prisoner in the dock, said to him: + +"Paul Stepaside, you have been found guilty of the wilful murder of +Edward Wilson. Have you anything to say why sentence of death should +not be passed upon you in due form?" + +Paul hesitated a moment as if undecided whether he should +speak--everything seemed to be pure mockery now. The end of all things +had come. He knew that when a jury pronounced a verdict of guilty of +wilful murder, especially as there were no extenuating circumstances +sufficient in any way to lessen the guilt, all hope was gone. And yet +he felt as though he must say something. It seemed like allowing +himself to be led as a lamb to a butcher if he uttered no word of +protest. + +"My lord and gentlemen of the jury," he said, "I feel impelled to say a +few words, even although I realise their uselessness. I have no +complaint to make concerning the motives which inspired the jury. I +have no doubt that each one has tried to do his duty. Neither do I +complain of the action of the counsel for the prosecution in doing his +utmost to fasten the guilt upon me. I suppose it was his duty so to +do, and he has done it. Neither, I suppose, ought I to complain of +your lordship's summing up, although it struck me as more like another +speech by the counsel for prosecution than the judicial analysis of +evidence by an impartial judge. But then my position has been of such +a nature that perhaps my own judgment is warped. Be that as it may, +however, and knowing that, whatever I may say, I cannot alter anything +that has been done, I wish to repeat that I am utterly and wholly +guiltless concerning this murder. My hand never struck the blow that +killed Edward Wilson, and I have no knowledge whatever concerning the +murder. In the course of events, I suppose I shall be hanged, but, my +lord and gentlemen, you will hang an innocent man, and by your finding +to-day, you will send a man into eternity who is not only altogether +innocent of the murder, but altogether unconnected with it! I shall go +into the great silence, into the land of forgetfulness, but of this I +am sure, you, my lord, and you, gentlemen of the jury, must for ever be +haunted by the thought that you have sent an innocent man to an +unmerited doom." + +The tones of his voice gathered in strength and condemnatory intonation +as he proceeded, and when he had finished it seemed to many as though +he were the judge and those to whom he spoke were criminals. More than +one of the jury, who had been unconvinced, but who had given way to the +opinions of others, felt as though his words were true. They shuddered +as he spoke, and it seemed to them that they were guilty, even as he +said they were. + +But the word had gone forth and could not be recalled. When once a +jury, after careful deliberation, has uttered the verdict of "Guilty," +that verdict is final. Even although the judge were convinced of +Paul's innocence, he could only pronounce sentence of death. In that +respect he was no more responsible than the hangman who had to fasten +the rope around his neck. Each would play his part in the grim +tragedy, and each would have to do so, because he had accepted the +responsibilities of his office. + +It was evident that the judge was greatly wrought upon. His hands +trembled, his face was haggard, and in his eyes was an expression that +looked like fear. He turned for a moment and saw that the chaplain was +standing behind him, a pale, cadaverous-looking man indeed, a veritable +death's-head. + +The judge put on the black cap. + +"Paul Stepaside," he said, "you have this day been found guilty of +wilful murder. The jury have, upon the evidence given, passed that +verdict upon you," he stopped. He had seemed on the point of saying +something else, but was unable to do so. Perhaps, as is often the +case, he was going to preach him a homily upon a wasted life, or upon a +career cut off in the middle, destroyed by an act of brutal passion, +but he did not do so. Perhaps there was something in Paul's face which +forbade him. Perhaps he almost feared the scornful smile which was on +Paul's lips, and the steady look in his eyes. + +A painful silence followed, a silence of nearly a minute, and then the +judge pronounced his sentence. + +"You will be taken from this place to the place from whence you came, +and from there to the place of execution, and there you will be hanged +by the neck until you are dead, and your body will be buried in the +precincts of the prison where you will have been confined after your +conviction, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul." + +He spoke the words in slow, measured tones, and with deathly +impressiveness. Although he was a little man, his voice was deep, +almost sonorous, and thus when the chaplain followed him with a thin, +piping voice, "Amen!" there was something so incongruous in the +contrast that many who had been wrought up to a high state of +excitement felt like giving way to hysterical laughter. Nevertheless, +the utmost silence prevailed, until Paul spoke again. + +"Thank you, my lord," he said. "I am an innocent man, and when my time +comes, I will meet death as an innocent man should!" + +For a moment he looked around the court, scanned the faces of those +present with an expression almost like curiosity. It seemed as if he +realised he was looking at them for the last time. It was a look of +farewell. He was no longer a prisoner, he was a condemned man. He +nodded to some of the people whom he had known in Brunford, and then, +with a proud smile, he left the box, under the vigilance of two +policemen, who led him to the condemned cell. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +PAUL'S MOTHER AND MARY + +When Mary Bolitho left her father on the night following the first day +of the trial, she was naturally much excited. She could not understand +the great change which had come over him. Never before had she known +him to be so much moved by any case with which he had to do. She +wondered why it was, and in the solitude of her room began to think of +reasons. Had he learnt something about Paul of which she was ignorant? +Had he discovered the real murderer? She had sat throughout the day's +trial, and no word had fallen, no argument of whatever sort had been +urged, that in the slightest degree shook her faith in the man she +loved. + +She quickly dismissed this from her mind, however. Whatever her +father's conduct might mean, she saw no sign that he believed in Paul's +innocence. Still, her conversation with him caused all sorts of +fancies to flash through her brain, and, sitting down before her fire, +she, for the thousandth time, tried to think of means whereby she could +save him. + +"I must save him; I must!" she said to herself. "Paul knows of +something which he refuses to tell me. He is shielding someone." + +Naturally she knew nothing of what her father had learnt that night, +had no suspicion of the revelations which, when they became known to +her, would destroy the thousand fancies which she had cherished and +revolutionise her life. The one dominant thought in her mind was that +the man whom, in spite of herself, she had learnt to love, was charged +with murder, and that unless something was done to nullify the evidence +which had been brought to court that day he would have to pay the +penalty with his life. Paul, for some reason unknown to her, would not +use the means she was sure he had in his power in order to save his +life. Of course it was pure surmise on her part, but she was perfectly +certain of it; and what he would not do she must do. + +Throughout the evening she had been reading the Brunford papers, in +which the whole story had been described. Paul's first appearance +before the magistrates; the coroner's inquest; and, again, the second +appearance before the local justices; and his final committal. No +detail of these reports had escaped her notice, and now, after her talk +with her father, she again set herself to consider the whole question, +determined, at whatever hazards, to save her lover. + +Finally her mind fastened upon two or three thoughts, and these +thoughts became the centre around which everything revolved. To begin +with, Ned Wilson was murdered. Next, Paul Stepaside, who was being +tried for that murder, was guiltless of it; that also was a settled +conviction in her mind. Who, then, was guilty? Someone must have done +the deed, but who? In whatever light murder could be considered, it +was something ghastly beyond words. The person who had driven Paul's +knife into the murdered man's heart must have had a terrible motive. +What could that motive have been? Who would be likely to do it? Who +had a motive sufficiently strong to commit such a crime? She thought +of one person after another, realising all the time that her imaginings +were vain. Yet she knew that it was in this direction that the truth, +if it were to be discovered, must be found. + +She went over the whole story of the knife, and remembered the deadly +words which the counsel for the prosecution had uttered about it. The +knife was known to belong to Paul. It was lying in his office, an +office which he always locked when he left it. She remembered that +Paul's partner had sworn that he knew of no one who would be likely to, +or, indeed, could, enter the office and take it away without Paul's +knowledge and consent. And yet someone must have done so, for she was +still certain that Paul had never done the deed. + +Presently she began to think of the question from another standpoint. +She had told Paul that he was trying to shield someone. She did not +attach much importance to it at the time, but now its consequence +became very real. If her surmise were true, then Paul would rather +suffer death himself than tell what he knew. She had pleaded with him, +only as a woman moved by a great love could plead. With her arms round +his neck and her eyes fastened on his she had besought him to tell the +truth, and he had been silent. Only the strongest of all reasons could +have kept him silent. + +Her heart gave a great leap. With that swift intuition of which only a +woman is capable her mind leapt to its conclusion. There was only one +person in the world besides herself whom Paul loved dearly, and that +was his mother. + +Like lightning she began to connect the evidence, and it seemed to her +that at last she had found the key to unlock the mystery. It was for +his mother's sake that Paul was bearing the shame and was suffering the +torments of a man accused of murder. She felt sure she had found the +truth, and she was at last in a position to save his life. Everything +fitted in with the thought which had so suddenly flashed into her mind. +Who would have free access to Paul's office? His mother. Why should +he refuse to engage a counsel to defend him? Because he feared to +incriminate his mother. Again she read the evidence at the coroner's +inquest, and noted each point. And she saw, or thought she saw, +evidence in every word he had uttered of his endeavour to keep all +thoughts from being directed to her. + +Presently, however, difficulties began to appear before her mind. What +motive could she have had to do this deed? Again her mind worked +swiftly. She was, according to all she had heard of her, a passionate +woman. She loved Paul with all the strength of her being. For him she +had toiled. For him she had suffered. And it was the gossip of the +town that Paul's mother loved her son with a wild and almost +unreasoning love. She knew of Ned Wilson's enmity towards Paul, knew +how he had persecuted him through the years. Possibly, probably, she +knew of her son's love for herself, Mary Bolitho; knew, too, that +gossip had connected her own name with that of Ned Wilson. Of course, +a great deal of it was surmise, but everything pointed to the one fact. +Besides, Paul, on his return home after his quarrel with Wilson, would +probably tell her about it. He would not be able to hide his wounded +forehead. The blood would be trickling down his face, and she would +ask him questions about it. Would not a vindictive, passionate woman +such as she was said to be, seek to avenge her son? And, of course, +Paul would discover everything. The evidence of the servants had +proved that Paul had left the house during the night. Why? Yes, that +was it. Of course, he would do everything to keep even a shadow of +suspicion from resting upon her. It would be like him to do so. +Paul's mother had come back, and he had discovered what she had done. +That would explain the mystery of the knife. Paul, even though he +might have so far yielded to the spirit of revenge as to kill his +enemy, would never leave a knife in his victim's body known to be his, +and which could be identified and traced to him. But a woman was +different, especially such a woman as Paul's mother. Of course, there +were motives which she could not understand, thoughts in her mind which +were yet hidden from her; but this was the key, this would unlock the +door of the mystery, and this would save her lover's life. No, no; +much as Paul might love his mother, much as he owed to her, she could +not allow him to suffer death in his mother's stead. It was too +horrible. + +She called to mind the scene she had witnessed that morning. She +remembered being startled by the face of the woman who found her way +into the court. She had seen the look of madness in her eyes as she +looked first at Paul and then at her father. After which she uttered +the scream of a maniac and then fell to the ground. + +Another thought struck her. Was Paul's mother sane? Would not this +account for the difficulties which, in spite of everything, she could +not explain away? If she were mad, and carried away by the passion +which had been aroused by Wilson's attack on her son, would she not, +regardless of consequences, commit this deed of which Paul was accused? + +Again and again she considered the circumstances, pondered over each +fact, weighed every scrap of evidence which had been adduced; and the +more she thought about it the more she was convinced that she had +arrived at the truth. By and by, however, the terror of the whole +tragic scene came home to her. What would Paul think of her if she +were instrumental in bringing his mother to the gallows? Even his love +could not bear that test. But she would do it. Rather than see Paul +die a thousand should die; for while a woman's love is the most +beautiful and the most holy thing on earth, it is also the most +merciless and the most pitiless. And at that moment no pity for others +entered the heart of Mary Bolitho. Her one thought was of Paul. + +No thought of sleep was possible. Every faculty was awake, every nerve +in tension. During the years in which she had been interested in her +father's work she had, out of pure curiosity, and because of her love +of intellectual problems, studied the cases with which he had been +connected, and her knowledge of the intricacies of the law and of the +value of evidence came to her aid now. All she had was laid at Paul's +feet. It was for him she must think, for him she must work. + +But she must do something. She must test her theories. Surmises, +however true they might be, would not save the man she loved; and save +him she would, at whatever cost. + +Her mind was made up at length. She saw her course of action, and she +believed, too, that she saw a way whereby the truth might be +demonstrated. + +"Paul, Paul, my love!" she cried. "Do not fear. I will save you, in +spite of everything." + +She threw herself beside her bed and prayed for wisdom, prayed for +strength. She cared nothing for the sacrifices she might be called +upon to make, or the sufferings which she might have to endure. She +only asked God to help her to save the man she loved. + +The following morning Mary Bolitho left the hotel and found her way to +the assize courts. Early as it was, she found some of the officials +present. One of them, who had seen her the day before and had been +informed who she was, touched his hat respectfully. + +"I've been wondering," said Mary, smiling at the man, "whether you +could help me?" + +"I'm sure I will if I can, miss," he replied. + +"You were here at the courts all day yesterday?" she asked. + +"Yes, miss, I was, and a sad business it was too, wasn't it? Ah, miss, +it's not all fun being a judge, as I've no doubt you know very well. I +was saying to my missis only last night as 'ow I wouldn't like to be in +your father's place. T'other day, afore th' assizes were opened, and +people saw his lordship coming into the city, they thought what a grand +thing it were, but they don't realise what he's got to do." + +The man was of a friendly, garrulous disposition, and seemed pleased at +the opportunity of talking to his fair visitor. + +"Are you interested in this case?" she asked. + +"Ay, miss, who isn't? I heard Mr. Stepaside speak in the Free Trade +Hall here once, and I cannot believe he is a murderer. It were a grand +speech he gave. There were a Cabinet Minister who spoke before he did, +and people thought he were doing grandly, but when young Stepaside got +up he took the wind out of his sails completely. As the manner of +saying is, he made the people stand on their heads. It's noan for the +likes of me to pass opinions, but I can never believe as 'ow Mr. +Stepaside is guilty." + +"Did you notice the woman who came into the court yesterday morning?" + +"What, the one as fainted? Ay, but that were Mr. Stepaside's mother. +She fair made me shiver. Well, it was no wonder. Fancy a mother +seeing her son in the dock. I heerd as 'ow she was going to be called +to give evidence." + +"Is she staying here in Manchester, do you know?" + +"Ay, she is. I hear as 'ow she's been here a week, waiting for her +son's trial to begin. I know where she's staying, too--25 Dixon +Street, just off Strangeways. An old man and an old woman live there, +and th' old man is very deaf. I hear she's practically got the house +to hersen." + +This was what Mary had come to find out, and she was glad that she had +been able to obtain her information without ostensibly asking for it. +A little later she found her way towards Dixon Street, and with a +trembling hand knocked at the door of the house which had been +mentioned. As she heard footsteps in the passage her heart almost +failed her, for she realised the object which she had in mind, and she +believed that she would soon be face to face with the murderer of Ned +Wilson. Still, she was not to be shaken in her purpose, as she had +determined the night before, no matter who might suffer, Paul must not +suffer. A pale, near-sighted old woman opened the door to her. + +"Is Mrs. Stepaside in?" asked Mary. + +"Ay, she is." + +"I would like to see her, if I may." + +"Who might you be?" + +"If you will take me to her I will tell her who I am." + +The woman looked at her suspiciously. + +"Has it got anything to do with the murder?" she said; and then added: +"Nay, the likes of you can have nowt to do with that!" + +"Will you please take me to her?" said Mary. + +"I don't know. She's noan so well this morning. Last night I left her +i' th' house alone. Me and my old man went over to Crumpsall to see +our lass. She said as 'ow she didn't mind being left alone, and so we +were away several hours. But I was sorry afterwards that we went, for +she was in a fair way when we come back. She looked just like a +corpse. You see, she's brooding over her son. Ay, but it's a terrible +business!" + +"Will you please tell her a young lady wishes to see her?" urged Mary. + +"She's in the little room behind, having her breakfast," said the +woman. "Ay, I s'pose I may as well." + +She led the way and Mary followed her, and a minute later entered the +room where Paul's mother was. + +"Here's a young woman come to see you." + +Paul's mother rose as the woman spoke, and looked at Mary intently. + +"I've something to say to you," said Mary, "something very important." + +"What is it about?" + +"I'll tell you when we are alone," was Mary's reply. And then, at a +nod from Paul's mother, the owner of the cottage left them together. + +For a few seconds there was a silence between them, as each looked +steadily at each other. In Mary's eyes were wonder and a sense of +horror. She was speaking to Paul's mother, the mother of the man to +whom she had given her heart. She was speaking, too, to the woman whom +she believed guilty of the crime for which Paul would be again tried +that day. The other met her gaze steadily, and looked at her +searchingly. She seemed to be trying to read her thoughts, trying to +understand her heart, for she knew, as if by instinct, who Mary +was--knew that she was looking at the maid whom Paul loved. She did +not know that Mary had been to see her son, knew nothing of what had +passed between them, knew nothing of what Mary had confessed. For the +moment she seemed to think of her only as the girl to whom Paul had +given his heart. + +"Do you know who I am?" asked Mary. + +"Yes, I know. Why have you come here?" + +The girl was silent. She could not answer the question. Determined to +save Paul as she was, she could not, at such a moment, make the reply +which she longed to make. + +"Has your father told you anything?" + +"Told me anything? I do not understand." + +"Ah!" replied the older woman, and she knew that Mary knew nothing of +what had taken place between her and Judge Bolitho in that very room +the night before. + +"Let me look at you," she said presently. "Come here to the light," +and taking hold of Mary's arm, she led her to the window, and +scrutinised her face slowly. + +"You're the lass that my Paul loves," she said, after some seconds. +"You know he loves you, don't you? Of course you do. He told me about +it himself. Oh, my laddie, my laddie!" + +Mary did not speak. She seemed to be fascinated by something in the +woman's eyes, while the tones of her voice thrilled her. She felt now +how she loved her son, realised how deep was the passion which filled +her whole being. + +"He's in prison, accused of murder--you know that? He's to be tried +again to-day." + +Still Mary was silent. There seemed nothing for her to say. + +"You love my lad, don't you? Ay, I see you do. Trust a mother to +know. Yes, you love him, and he would die for you, willingly. Do you +know that?" + +"Yes," said Mary. + +The interview was turning out altogether differently from what she had +expected. This woman was leading her into paths she had not dreamt of. + +"I'm his mother," went on the older woman, "and he's everything to me, +everything! And I would stop at nothing to make him happy. I'd lay +down my life, willingly, to bring joy into his heart. But do you +understand? Do you know the truth?" + +"What truth?" asked Mary. "I do not quite understand you. Do I +believe Paul guilty? No, I don't. He could never do such a thing. +He's too great, too noble." + +"Do you say that? You?" + +"Yes," replied Mary. "I am sure he never did such a thing. He's +simply incapable of it. You know it, too, don't you? Of course you +do." + +"Then you take no notice of the evidence?" + +"What's evidence?" asked the girl. "The one thing I'm sure of is that +Paul never did what he is accused of. He simply couldn't." + +"And you're _his_ child!" said Paul's mother. "_His_ child. Let me +look at you again." She scrutinised Mary's face feature by feature. +She seemed to be looking for something. + +"You're a good lass," she said presently. "And you love Paul, don't +you?" + +"Yes," replied the girl, "I do." There seemed nothing incongruous in +the confession, nothing strange in making it to the woman to whom she +was speaking for the first time. And yet the interview was +bewildering. Her thoughts, as she found her way along the grimy +street, were clear enough. Now they were being scattered to the winds. +Neither could she adhere to her resolution. How could she accuse this +woman of such a terrible deed? + +"What have you come here for?" asked Paul's mother presently. + +"Need you ask?" asked Mary. "I've come to you because we must save +Paul." + +"Do you think Paul needs our help?" asked the other. "When the time +comes Paul will clear himself. You do not know what a clever lad he +is. I know what is being said about him. I read it all in the papers, +but I don't fear. Paul is cleverer than all of them put together, and, +of course, he never did it; he'll surely come triumphant out of this. +Oh, I know it's terrible for him; but it's not that that makes me fear, +it's something else!" + +Again Mary's eyes met those of the other, and she was sure she detected +a look of madness. The woman's mind was unhinged. She was not +altogether responsible for what she was saying. + +"No, it's not that," continued Paul's mother. "It's not that. Paul is +so clever that he will beat them all." + +"Not unless the real murderer confesses," replied Mary. "You see, I +know what Law Courts are, and what juries are, and I've read every word +of the evidence, and unless the real murderer is found, I am +afraid--terribly afraid!" + +"You mean that they will hang him?" + +Mary was silent. She felt she could not utter the words that hung upon +her lips. + +"That's why I've come to you," said Mary. For the moment she felt like +uttering the thoughts which had been haunting her throughout the night, +but it seemed as though something sealed her lips. + +"Will you not help me?" she said. "We must work together." + +For a moment Mary had made the other feel what she felt herself--that +Paul's life was really in danger--but only for a moment. + +"No, no," she cried. "They'll never hang him when they know what I +know!" + +"What do you know? Tell me," cried Mary, feeling that she was nearing +the object after which she strove. + +"Yes, you must know. The truth must come out. After last night it +cannot be hidden long." + +"My father, as you know, is the judge," said Mary. "And he must do his +duty. It's not he who's responsible; it is the jury, you know." + +There was something unreal in her words, and they seemed to pass her +lips without any effort on her own part. Paul's mother almost laughed. + +"Why is it I feel so tender towards you?" she said, "when you are his +child? I expect it is because I know that Paul loves you and that you +love him. I ought to hate you. I can't understand why I don't. And +then everything is so tangled too." + +Mary was sure now that she was talking to a mad woman. Her words were +meaningless. They were simply the ravings of a disordered mind. + +"Can a man condemn his own son to death?" continued the older woman. +"Now that he knows the truth, can he send him to be hanged?" + +Mary began to be afraid. The woman's wild, unreasoning words and the +strange look in her eyes almost frightened her. + +"I do not think you realise what you are saying." + +"Not realise?" was the reply. "Oh, my lass, my lass! Yes, I see you +think I'm mad. It would be no wonder if I were. I've gone through +enough to unhinge any woman's mind; but, no, I am not mad. Yes, I may +as well tell you, for you must know sooner or later, that judge--Judge +Bolitho as you call him--your father, is Paul's father too, and my +husband. Paul has told you about it, hasn't he? He married me when I +was a girl up among the Scotch hills, and he's Paul's father, and he's +your father too. Don't you see?" + +For a moment Mary was almost stunned. In spite of the wild words which +she heard, she could not help being convinced of their truth. Her mind +fled to the interview she had had with her father on the previous +night, and what the woman had said seemed to explain the terror in his +eyes and the mystery of his words. + +"My father, Paul's father!" + +"Yes; he courted me as Douglas Graham. How he changed his name I don't +know yet; that will come, I suppose. He is my husband and Paul's +father. I told him so last night, so he knows--knows everything. Why +didn't he tell you? But--don't you see?--he cannot condemn Paul to +death. How can a father condemn his own son?" + +The two stood close by the window, and Paul's mother still had her hand +upon Mary Bolitho's shoulder, and was looking into her face. Mary felt +the hand tremble, and saw the strong woman reel to and fro. + +"You are ill, Mrs. Stepaside," cried Mary; and then, scarcely knowing +what she was doing, she led her to a chair. + +"My lass," said the woman, "take me home. Take me to the home Paul +gave me. I cannot think here. I cannot stay any longer. Will you?" + +"You mean that you wish me to go to Brunford with you?" asked Mary. + +"Ay, if you will, my lassie. I think I am going to be ill. I feel as +though I have borne all I am able to bear, and I want to get home--to +the home which Paul gave me. Will you come with me?" + +Mary was almost overwhelmed by what she had heard during the last few +minutes. She was not sure that the woman's story was true, and yet she +felt it might be, that it probably was. She wanted to be alone to +think. If her father were Paul's father, then, then---- + +The thought was staggering, overwhelming, but above and beyond +everything, Paul's safety, Paul's salvation was her great and paramount +thought. She quickly made up her mind what to do. She could do no +good in Manchester, and if she accompanied this woman to Brunford she +might be able to find proofs to confirm her convictions. + +"Yes; I will go with you," she said. + +"Thank you, my lassie. Ay, but you're a good child, and you're bonnie, +too. No wonder my Paul loves you better than he loves his mother!" + +"Are you sure you are well enough to travel?" asked Mary. + +"Yes, I am sure I'm well enough to get home." + +"Then excuse me for a little while," said Mary. "I will go back to the +hotel and pack a few things, and come for you with a cab. In half an +hour I will be here. Can you get ready in that time?" + +"Ay, I'll be ready; you need not fear." + +A few minutes later Mary was back at the hotel again. When she arrived +there she found that her father had gone. It was still early for the +assize courts, but she paid no attention to it. There was doubtless +sufficient reason for her father's early departure. Perhaps, +perhaps---- But she could not formulate the thoughts which one after +another flashed through her mind. Seizing a piece of paper, she +scribbled a hasty note and gave it to the hall porter. + +"This is for Judge Bolitho," she said, and then, entering the cab which +waited for her, she drove quickly to Dixon Street. Arriving there she +found Paul's mother was ready for her, and ere long they were in the +train bound for Brunford. + +During the journey scarcely a word passed between them. Mary was busy +with her own thoughts. She was trying to bring some order out of the +confusion of the events which had been narrated to her. Everything was +altered. If what the woman had told her was true--and in spite of +everything she believed it was--then Paul was her half-brother; and if +Paul were her half-brother and his mother were still alive, then, +then---- + +But she would not trouble about this, bewildering as it was. What +mattered her own future? What mattered what the world might say? Her +first business was to save Paul, and save him she would, at all +hazards. She looked at her companion, who sat near to her staring into +vacancy. Mary's excited imagination began to conjure up wild fancies +as she looked. She thought of what Paul's mother must have been +twenty-five years before, tried to picture her as a girl. Yes, she +must have been very beautiful, and might easily have attracted such a +young man as her father was at the time. She fancied the two up among +the bare Scottish hills, saw the flash of the young girl's eyes when +the stranger told her he loved her, realised the throbbing of her +heart, the joy, the wonder which must have possessed her when she +promised to be his wife. For the moment all the grim realities of the +present seemed to retire to the background. She lived in the world of +fancy, of imagination, and the poetry and the romance of the past +became very beautiful to her. Strange to say, her own part in the +affair did not for the moment trouble her. The terrible logic of +events were not yet real to her. By and by they would appear to her in +all their ghastly nakedness, but now they did not seem to matter. + +"If I am going to be ill," said Paul's mother, "you'll stay with me, +won't you?" + +"Yes," she replied, not realising what the words might mean. + +"You see I shall be all alone. I have no friends in Brunford. Many +would have liked to be friends with me for Paul's sake, but I kept them +all at a distance. You see I waited until my name was cleared, and it +will soon be cleared now." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, he knows, he knows everything--I mean your father. He's afraid +of Paul, I know he is; he always has been. It's strange that Paul is +not anything like him, isn't it? Paul has black hair and black eyes, +just as I have. He's my boy, my boy! Thank God for that! And they +can't harm him, can they? You are sure of that." + +Mary was silent. The meaning of the work she had to do became real to +her now. She, too, believed that no harm could come to Paul, but she +realised the cost of his salvation. Paul could never be saved until +the true murderer was found and proved to be the murderer. + +"I am afraid I am going to be ill," went on the older woman. "These +last few weeks have been too much for me. And you've promised to stay +with me, haven't you?" + +"Yes," replied Mary eagerly. "I'll stay with you, and you must tell me +everything." + +"Everything? What do you mean?" + +"Oh, everything," replied Mary, and into her heart came the +determination to wring the confession from her at whatever cost. + +Presently the smoky chimneys of Brunford appeared, and Mary looked out +of the carriage window over the great, ugly town; but somehow it did +not seem ugly to her--the grey sky, the long rows of cottages, the +hundreds of chimneys belching out half-consumed coals did not repel +her. This was Paul's town. He was member of Parliament for it. It +was here he had made his position. It was here, too, she had first +seen him, and here he had learnt to love her. + +"You've never seen the home Paul has given me?" she heard her companion +say. "It is the prettiest home in Brunford. Paul did it all for me. +You won't think you're in Brunford when you get there. It's quiet and +clean up there. The birds sing in the springtime, and the smoke +doesn't blow that way as a rule. I never saw another house like it. +Oh! I would gladly die there. All I want now is to see my Paul happy. +As for the other man----" + +She ceased speaking here, and Mary noted the angry flash of her eyes, +watched the quivering lips, and wondered of what she was thinking. + +"There will be no servants in the house," went on Paul's mother +presently. "They are in Manchester. They have been summoned for +witnesses. But I told Mrs. Bradshaw to keep everything bright and +clean, as I might come home any minute. I thought that before now Paul +and I would be back together, and so she'll be expecting us. You're +not hungry, are you?" + +"No," said Mary. + +"I expect he'll be acquitted to-day," she went on. "That man can't sit +in judgment on him any longer now, and the people will be glad. Won't +there be shouting when my Paul comes home?" + +When they arrived at Brunford station, Mary noted how the porters +looked curiously at them and spoke one to another in whispers. She +knew that before an hour was over the whole town would be talking about +them. They would be wondering why she, the judge's daughter, should +accompany the mother of the man who was accused of murder. But she did +not trouble about it. She called a cab, and a few minutes later they +were on their way to Paul's home. + +Mary began to get excited. Once in Paul's house she would be able to +examine everything, and would perhaps discover things that would lead +the woman by her side to make her confession. She felt sure that she +was on the track of discovery, felt convinced that before long the +truth would come to light. + +When they arrived at the house Mary found the door standing open, and a +motherly-looking woman waiting to receive them. + +"I've done as yo' told me, Mrs. Stepaside," said Mrs. Bradshaw the +woman. "There's a fire in the kitchen range, and another in the study, +and everything is clean and nice." + +"Mrs. Stepaside is not very well," said Mary quietly. "I've come with +her from Manchester. But she will be all right with me." + +"And who might yo' be?" asked Mrs. Bradshaw suspiciously. + +"I'm Mrs. Stepaside's friend," she replied. "Will you lead the way to +the room where the fire is?" + +A few minutes later they were in the house alone. Mrs. Bradshaw had +brought a cup of tea, and then, saying she'd be back again presently, +had left them. + +"Somehow I don't feel a bit lonely now you're here. Why is it, I +wonder?" and the older woman looked into Mary's face curiously. + +"I'm glad you're not lonely," said Mary. "Are you well enough to talk?" + +"Ay, I'm feeling ever so much better. I wonder why it is?" + +"Did you sleep last night?" asked Mary. + +"Nay, I couldn't sleep. Was it any wonder? You see we met after all +those long years, and I told him the truth. Ay; but he's +suffering--he's suffering! And it's right he should, too. Ay, and I'm +suffering, too, my lassie. I feel strange. I think I'll go to bed if +you'll help me." + +As Mary helped her upstairs she felt like one in a dream. Everything +was intangible, unreal. What was she doing in this house? What right +had she to be waiting on this woman so carefully and tenderly, when she +was guilty of the awful deed which threatened to bring Paul to the +gallows? But she spoke no word. + +A little later they were in the bedroom together, and Mary was +ministering to her with almost tender solicitude. + +"Sit by me while I sleep, won't you? I don't know how long it is since +sleep came to me, but I feel now as though I could rest. Ay, lass, but +you are bonnie! It's no wonder that my Paul loves you." + +Her overwrought powers had doubtless given way. The scenes through +which she had passed had made her incapable of realising the true +consequences of everything. Mother Nature had come to her aid, and in +her own way was applying healing balm. + +A little later she was sleeping like a child. + +Mary sat almost motionless by her side for some time. Things were +turning out altogether differently from what she had expected. Up to +the present she had made no accusation. She had not even suggested +what she was sure was the truth. She wondered why it was. All the +same, she waited, feeling sure that her time would come. + +Presently, noting that Paul's mother was not likely to wake, she left +the room; and then, led by a strange curiosity, wandered round the +house. She went into Paul's bedroom. She knew it was his by a +thousand things. Here he had dreamed his dreams and made his plans. +He had dreamed of her, doubtless, not knowing that she was his +sister--his sister! She could not realise it. Her brain, her heart, +refused to accept it as a fact, and yet she felt sure it was so. Again +she went into the study, the little den which Paul had taken so much +care to furnish. She looked lovingly at his books and noted those +which he had evidently used most. She went to the writing-table where +he had done his work, and noted the various pictures which hung around +the room. It was not like the ordinary Lancashire manufacturer's house +at all. It suggested the student, the man of letters, the lover of +art. And how silent it was! Away in the distance was the hum of the +busy town, but here, sheltered by the great hills which sloped away +behind, all was peace. After sitting for a time, she went into Paul's +mother's bedroom again, and watched her as she lay asleep. Could what +she had dreamt of be true? Could this woman who lay sleeping as +peacefully as a child be guilty of the terrible crime of which she had +accused her? In her sleep she looked almost like a girl. The lines +had somehow left her face, as though an angel's hand had wiped them +out. A smile was upon her lips. In her sleep she did not suggest a +strong, passionate woman, but the girl whom any lad might love. + +She left the room again and wandered aimlessly around. She found a +strange interest in being in Paul's home. She felt, too, as though she +had a right there; and why should she not have that right, since Paul +was her brother? More than once she looked toward the garden gate as +if expecting that he would come in. She did not think of him as being +tried for his life in the assize courts at Manchester. But she had +strange fancies of what was happening there. What would her father +say? What would he do? + +Presently she heard shrill cries in the road not far distant. She +listened attentively. + +"Wonderful confession at Manchester!" It was a boy's voice she heard, +and every word reached her clearly. + +"Strange confession by the judge! Paul Stepaside's father!" + +Heedless of what she was doing, she rushed down the garden path, and +found her way into the street in the near distance. A boy was selling +newspapers. She bought one, and hurried back to the house. She had no +idea of the lapse of time, did not realise that it was now three +o'clock in the afternoon. She had come by a slow train from +Manchester, and Paul's mother had been sleeping for hours. + +Eagerly she opened the paper, and there, great staring headlines met +her gaze. For a long time she was absorbed by what she read. There, +in cold, plain words, was her father's confession. It was true, then; +every word of it was true. She did not know why she did it, but, +taking the paper in her hand, she hurried upstairs to the bedroom where +she had left Paul's mother asleep. The town hall clock was chiming in +the distance. She looked at her own watch, and saw that it was +half-past four. She had been reading the paper for an hour. As she +entered the woman on the bed awoke. + +"Something's happened, my lassie. What is it?" + +"It's all here," said Mary. "It's all here. Shall I read it to you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +MARY'S ACCUSATION + +As Mary looked at Paul's mother she noted the improvement in her looks. +The wild, mad expression of her eyes had gone. She appeared more +human, more womanly. + +"Yes, read it to me," she said. "It's something about Paul, isn't it? +Have they acquitted him?" + +"Listen!" said Mary. "A wonderful thing's happened. What you told me +was true. My father has made a confession before the court. Oh! what +it must have cost him!" + +"Confession? Read it! Read it!" + +And Mary read, while the woman lay still and silent. + +The paper which she had obtained was one of the principal Manchester +evening journals. The members of its staff had, immediately after +Judge Bolitho's confession, rushed eagerly to the office with their +copy. Perhaps it was one of the most graphic descriptions of the scene +which appeared in any journal, and caught more truly the inwardness of +the event which set all Lancashire talking, than any other. Mary read +the whole story from beginning to end; read the description of Paul's +entrance into the prisoner's dock, the great excitement which pervaded +the court as all present waited for the judge; read the description of +how his lordship looked, and of the tremendous emotion under which he +was labouring. It was a fine piece of journalism, done by a man who +afterwards occupied a high position on one of the great London dailies. +He made the scene live, made everything so real and vivid that these +women, who were so terribly interested in the story, saw everything as +he saw. + +Paul's mother lay rigid as Mary read the judge's words, until finally +she came to the confession. "This I do wish to say, here in the +presence of those who have gathered together to witness this trial. +Paul Stepaside is my lawful son, and, unknowingly, I have sinned +against him grievously and greatly; his mother is my lawful wife. He +is my lawful son, and I do here and now confess the wrong which I have +done to him, and I do it because my conscience commands me to do so, +and because I wish to ask my son's forgiveness." + +As Mary read these words the woman rose in her bed and gave a cry of +joy. + +"At last! At last!" she said. "But I never thought he would do this. +No, no; I never dreamed of it. He's confessed it before everyone. +Don't you see, my lassie? He's confessed it there in the open court +that I'm his lawful wife and that Paul is his lawful son! There's no +stain upon his name now--and no stain on mine either!" + +She sat up in the bed, her eyes aglow. She was radiant. She did not +think of what this might mean to Mary, did not realise that the +vindication of her own honour might mean Mary's shame. That never +entered into her mind. All her thought was of Paul; and even her joy +that all disgrace was taken away from her was because thereby Paul's +name would be honoured. She looked years younger. It seemed as though +a great weight had rolled from her mind, as though the dark skies had +been made clear and the sun were shining. + +"Are you not glad, my lassie? Does it not rejoice your heart? Think +of it! Think of it!" + +But Mary was silent. Naturally, the happenings of the day had +bewildered her, almost unhinged her own mind. She thought, too, of +what her father had suffered. No one knew better than she what a proud +man he was and what it must have cost him to have made this confession. +But more than all this she realised Paul's danger. Although she was +greatly moved by the revelations which had been made, although her +being had been aroused to its very depths and her life become +revolutionised, the thought which was above every other thought was +Paul's safety. She knew what her father's confession would mean. If +he could no longer be the judge, then another would be appointed; and +as she read her father's words she seemed to feel that he believed his +son to be guilty of the deed of which he was accused. And if her +father believed this, would not the judge who would try the case anew +believe it also? And if the judge believed it, would not the jury +believe it, and condemn him? + +"What is the matter, my lassie? You don't look glad. You are pale. +What do you fear?" + +Even then Paul's mother did not think of what it might mean to Mary. +Nothing mattered but her own son. + +"But what of Paul?" Mary said. "We must save him!" + +"Paul, Paul? What do you mean?" + +"I am afraid," said Mary. "Do you not see what my father said? 'If +Paul Stepaside is guilty of the murder of Edward Wilson----' Oh, don't +you see--don't you see?" + +"But they cannot harm my Paul--they cannot, they cannot!" + +"But we must save him!" cried Mary. "Do you know of anything? You do, +don't you? Paul never committed this murder. He couldn't do it. But +unless the real murderer is found he will have to die. Don't you +understand?" + +"Paul die? Paul die?" + +"Yes; they will condemn him unless the real murderer appears. Everyone +says so. And you know who did it, don't you?" + +"Do you mean to say that you think my Paul cannot get himself off?" + +"Oh, don't you realise?" cried Mary. "Jurymen are stupid. They only +look at the surface of things. Of course I know he didn't do it. I +know he couldn't! But unless the truth comes to light, the jury will +condemn him, and then, no matter who is judge, he will be hanged! +Don't you see--don't you see?" + +"Do you believe this?" + +"I can't help believing it," replied the girl. "I've heard my father +discuss law cases again and again, and I know what will happen. Won't +you tell what you know? Won't you confess? For you do know, don't +you?" + +"But do you mean that you, who love my Paul, who believe in him, who +know how clever he is, and who are sure he's innocent, do you believe +that he can't clear himself?" + +"How can he, when the evidence all points to him? Someone killed Ned +Wilson. Someone struck the blow with Paul's knife. Don't you see? +Who did it? You know!" + +"I know?" + +"Yes, you know. Paul is trying to shield someone; you know he is. Who +is he trying to shield? He's giving his life for someone. Who would +he give his life for? He's refused to go into the witness-box, refused +to confide in anyone. Don't you see the meaning of it? Who is there +in Brunford or anywhere else that Paul would be willing to die +for?--for that is what it means. Why is he silent? You know; tell me." + +The girl was wrought up to such a pitch of excitement now that she did +not care what she said; neither had she any pity in her heart. She +felt almost angry, too, that this woman should be so rejoiced because +of what she had read to her when all the time Paul was in danger of +death. What mattered name, what mattered honour, what mattered +anything if Paul were pronounced guilty? + +"_I_ know, my lassie. _I_ know," cried the woman. + +"Of course you know--you _must_ know. Who is Paul trying to shield, +tell me that? Who went into Paul's office and got the knife? Paul did +not kill Ned Wilson. Who did? Tell me that!" + +She fixed her eyes on the elder woman, and there was such intensity in +her look, such passion in the words she had spoken, that at length Paul +Stepaside's mother guessed what was in her heart. + +"You believe that Paul is shielding me?" she said quietly. "You +believe that I murdered him?" and her voice was hard and stern. + +"It was not Paul who did it," said Mary. "Although a thousand men were +to swear they saw him do it, I would not believe them. Who did it, +then?" + +"And you believe that?" + +"Who is Paul trying to shield?" repeated the girl, with almost +monotonous iteration. + +For a few seconds a painful silence fell between them, and it was +evident by the look on the face of the elder woman that she was +thinking deeply. + +"Do you believe," and her voice was almost hoarse, "do you believe, my +lassie, that Paul is lying in that gaol charged with murder because he +wants to shield me?" + +"What else can I believe?" cried Mary. "Tell me the truth. You say +you love your son; if your love is worth anything, you will confess to +the truth!" + +Again a painful silence fell between them. The elder woman, who sat up +in bed, seemed to be trying to realise the meaning of the other's +words. She might have been living over the night of the murder again. + +Presently she fixed her gaze upon Mary, and the girl saw that the old +mad light was coming back into her eyes again. + +"You believe that--that!" she gasped. Her body swayed to and fro for a +moment, and then she fell back on the bed like one dead. + +A great fear came into Mary's heart. She believed that Paul's mother, +stricken to the heart by her accusation, and realising the terrible +import of her silence, had been killed by her words. For a moment she +did not know what to do, but, soon overcoming her weakness, she tried +to restore her to life. She put her ear over the heart of the +prostrate form on the bed, and gave a cry of satisfaction. "No; she's +not dead, she's not dead!" + +But what could she do? She was there alone in the house with this +unconscious woman. She had little or no knowledge of nursing, and she +did not know how to obtain help. But help she must obtain. This woman +must not die--at least, before she had made her full confession. Even +yet Paul's safety was the great thought in her mind. Nothing seemed to +matter beside that. + +There was a sound of footsteps, and she heard Mrs. Bradshaw's voice +asking whether she could do anything. It seemed like Providence that +the woman should have entered at this moment, and eagerly she rushed to +her. + +"Mrs. Stepaside is worse!" she cried. "She ought to have a doctor. +Could you run and fetch one?" + +"My boy's at home," said Mrs. Bradshaw. "I'll send him up to Dr. +White's house at once. He's the best man in Brunford, and he's +friendly with Paul, too." + +"Does he live far away?" + +"No, not so far. There are one or two others who live nearer, but I +don't reckon much on 'em." + +"Run, then, quick!" said Mary. "There's no time to be lost." + +"Ay, and after I've sent Peter Matthew I'll come in again and get you +something to eat. You must be fair pined." + +Mary returned to the room again, and waited what seemed to her an +interminable length of time, looking anxiously at the sick woman the +whole time. She lay very still, almost motionless in fact, but Mary +was sure she was not dead, and she prayed as she had never prayed +before that she might live. As it seemed to her, it was not Paul's +mother's life that hung in the balance, but Paul's. + +At length Dr. White came, and went quickly into the bedroom. Dr. White +was a tall, spare man, between forty and fifty years of age. He was +one of those doctors who loved his profession with a love almost +amounting to passion, and he had worked himself almost to a skeleton. +People said that he ought to be a very rich man, but he was not. A +great part of the service he rendered was a labour of love. Scores of +people in Brunford wondered why he never sent a bill to them, and when +he was asked the reasons for his remissness, he always put the +inquirers off with a laugh. "Oh, you'll be getting it some day." The +truth was he hated sending bills to poor people, and his great delight +was not in receiving cheques or payment for his services, but in seeing +his patients restored to health and strength again. He was almost +worshipped in the town, and, indeed, no one worked so hard for the good +of the people as he did in his own way. + +When he entered the room he looked at Mary rather wonderingly, but +asked no questions. He went straight to the patient's bedside, and +examined her carefully. When he had completed his examination he +turned to the young girl, who was watching him with wide, staring eyes. + +"When did this happen?" he said. + +Mary began to explain Mrs. Stepaside's relationship to the accused man +in Manchester and of the sufferings through which she had gone. + +"I know all about that," said the doctor. "But tell me the immediate +cause of this." + +As may be imagined, this was a difficult task, but Mary's ready wit +helped her through with it. + +"I brought her from Manchester this morning," she said. "She did not +seem very well then, and she asked me to come with her. Then, +then----" And her eyes rested upon the newspaper which she had been +reading. + +"Oh, I see," said the doctor. "It was a sudden shock. Yes; it's quite +understandable--long weeks of suspense and agony, and then this on the +top of it!" He did not ask any further questions, for Dr. White was a +wise man. He knew the whole circumstances of Paul's arrest, and was +therefore able to estimate the truth. + +"Mrs. Stepaside has had a great shock. Of course, I need not repeat +that, and she may lie like this for some days. One cannot tell the +developments which will take place." + +"Do you think she will die?" asked Mary anxiously. + +"She's had enough to kill her, anyhow!" replied the doctor, "but she +may pull through. We'll do our best. Whatever happens, nothing must +be said or done to agitate her--you understand that? I fancy she will +have fleeting periods of consciousness, but she must be always met with +a smile. I am sure you understand this?" + +"But how long will it be before--before she is allowed to talk?" + +"Weeks!" replied the doctor shortly; and the word seemed like a knell +of death. If Paul's mother were not allowed to speak, if she could not +make her confession, then Paul might die! The thought was horrible, +yet what could she do? Even if she became strong enough to speak and +to make her confession, it would not be of any value. Any judge or +jury would regard it as the ravings of a disordered mind. + +"You're here alone," went on the doctor. "Of course I understand why +you came with her," and again he looked at the newspaper which Mary had +been reading. + +The girl did not reply, and the doctor went on. "But you must have +help. It would be madness for you to remain here alone. Of course the +servants are in Manchester. They have been summoned as witnesses. But +do not trouble; I'll help you. I'll send a nurse at once, and I think +I can manage about the servants, too--that's the best of knowing +everyone, Miss Bolitho. I'll call again in a couple of hours. +Good-day." + +To Mary the man's conduct seemed utterly brutal. He uttered no word of +comfort. The few words he spoke were curt, almost harsh; and yet she +knew he was a kind man. She continued to sit by the bed, looking at +the sick woman's face, her heart filled with a great dread. She could +do nothing. She must only remain there and wait and watch. + +In about an hour Dr. White returned. This time there was a nurse with +him. Mary did not know that he had, on leaving her, driven to the +hospital at a speed which endangered the community, obtained the +services of a nurse, and then came back at the same headlong pace. She +did not know, either, that he had set means on foot whereby a capable +woman would be secured to look after the house. Dr. White was not a +man who talked much, but he did a great deal. He seemed to be pleased +with the patient's condition on his return. As far as he could judge +there were no evil signs. + +"Now, Miss Bolitho," he said as he went away, "I want you to understand +that Paul Stepaside's mother is not the only patient I have. You are +another. You must go to bed immediately." + +"I could not--I could not!" she cried. + +"Very well, then," said the doctor. "I noticed as I came up that there +was a fire in Stepaside's study. There's a comfortable sofa there. Go +and lie down." + +"I could not lie down!" + +"But I say you can, and you must!" said the doctor. "Here, I've +brought something for you." + +He poured a powder into a glass of water, and bade Mary drink it. The +girl obeyed him. + +"Now," he said. "Come down at once." + +He led her downstairs by the arm into Paul's study, and having arranged +the cushions on the sofa, he insisted on her lying down. Seizing a +rug, he wrapped her up in it just as a father might. + +"I'm not going to have you ill," he said. "Remember that! I'll call +again to-night, but not before ten o'clock. I've a busy evening before +me. In less than half an hour you'll be asleep, and you'll sleep for +at least three hours; then you'll wake up better. By that time some +dinner will be ready for you. What a grand thing it is to have a +meddling fellow who takes everything out of your hands, isn't it?" and +he gave the ghost of a laugh. + +A few minutes later Mary felt a sense of drowsiness creeping over her, +and then became unconscious. + +When she awoke again it was to find her father sitting by her side. + +She started up from the couch, for the moment unable to realise the +situation. At first she thought she was back in the hotel in +Manchester, but in a few seconds she realised the truth. + +"Father!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes, Mary. I felt sure you'd come here. Directly I could get away I +came as fast as I could, but the trains are terribly slow. I've only +been here a few minutes." + +For a few seconds there was a silence between them. Each seemed to +know all that the other was thinking. + +"I felt I must have a talk with you, Mary," said Judge Bolitho at +length. "There are so many things to say, and so many things to do. +Could I stay here to-night, I wonder? I must go back to Manchester +again to-morrow morning." + +"Why, father?" + +"Of course you have read the newspapers. You know what took place in +Manchester this morning?" + +He spoke calmly and collectedly now. In one sense it seemed as though +a great burden had been lifted from his mind. From the way he spoke, +too, he might regard his confession as of little import. + +"Father," cried the girl, "it's so bewildering, so terrible!" + +"Yes, yes; I know. I've a great deal to tell you some time, Mary, but +not now. You see I've passed through a great deal during the last +twenty-four hours. All life has changed. What the future may bring +forth God only knows. But I've done the right thing now. I sometimes +think, Mary, that one of the greatest sins in life, the sin which leads +the way to more than any other, is that of cowardice; and I was a +coward. My God! what a coward I was! And I'm paying for it now. But +for that I might have been a happy man; I might have had----" + +He rose to his feet as he spoke and walked across the room. He seemed +to be pondering deeply. + +"Of course you despise me, Mary," he said. "You cannot help it. +Everyone despises me. It's right and natural. I needn't tell you any +further about it now, need I? You've read what is in the paper? You +understand?" + +"Yes, I think, I--I--I think I understand. But, father, we must save +Paul! Whatever happens, we must save Paul!" + +"If it is possible," said the judge. "For, oh! God helping me---- +Yes, I should die! It would kill me if--if the worst comes to the +worst! That's why I came, Mary. I must have another talk with her. I +think after to-morrow I shall be free; but I must go to Manchester +then, perhaps to London. There are so many formalities to be complied +with. But never mind, formalities or no formalities, nothing must +stand in the way of his salvation." + +"He's not guilty, father; you know that? He's been shielding someone +all the time. That's why he would have no one to defend him. That's +why he confided in no one. I'm sure of it!" + +The judge nodded his head. He, too, had been thinking deeply, and his +trained mind had gone farther into the matter than that of Mary. + +"Yes; I've been thinking of that," was his reply. "In fact, I felt +almost sure of it when I went to see him to-day." + +"You've, been to see him to-day? What? Since what you said in the +court? What did he say? How did he look? Did he--did he----" + +"The thing that troubles me," said the judge, interrupting, "is +this--who is Paul trying to shield?" + +The girl looked anxiously around the room, then went to the door and +peered into the passage outside. + +"Can't you think, father? Whom would he be likely to shield? I +accused her of it this afternoon. I could not help it. The doctor +doesn't know, but that's why she's so ill now. When she realised what +I meant, she seemed like one struck down by a blow." + +"You mean to say," he gasped, "that you believe Jean--that is, his +mother--was----" He did not finish the sentence. It seemed too +horrible, too terrible. + +"No, Mary," he continued at length. "That's not it." + +"But it must be, father." + +"No; that's not it. Now then, tell me everything you know. You went +to Dixon Street this morning; the woman told me all about it. You +brought her here. You had a talk with her. Tell me everything that +has taken place. You went to see Paul before the trial, too. Tell me +everything." + +Half an hour later Judge Bolitho was in possession, not only of all +that Mary knew, but of all her suspicions and her reasons for those +suspicions. He had submitted her to a very thorough cross-examination. +His mind had fastened upon a hundred things of which she had taken no +cognisance. He saw through the fallacies of her reasoning, and drew +his conclusions accordingly. His mind was quick and active now. It +seemed as though his freedom from the responsibilities of his judgeship +gave him a sense of liberty. The fact that he had work to do had done +something to lessen the remorse which was gnawing at his heart. + +"I must go over this whole business again, Mary," he said. "Did you +say that you had those Brunford papers here with you?" + +"Yes, father; every one." + +"And I have all the other facts since. Oh, my boy, my boy!" + +"You believe you can save him?" + +"I will, I will!" he cried. "I have sinned, but God will never allow +me to suffer this. He could not. One thing my confession to-day will +do, too--it will give me time. There's sure to be some delay before +another judge is appointed, and the whole case will have to be tried +again. Meanwhile I must be up and doing." + +"Oh, if she were only conscious!" said Mary. "But the doctor says that +perhaps she will be unconscious for weeks, and under no circumstances +must she be questioned." + +"Did she speak of me?" asked the judge. + +"Only indirectly." + +"Did she seem to despise me--hate me?" + +The girl was silent, and the judge understood what her silence meant. + +"It's just," he said. "It's just. But I must save Paul!" + +A knock came to the door, and the woman whom Dr. White had obtained +told them there was food in the dining-room. + +"Thank you," said the judge. "Yes, we must eat, Mary; it seems like +waste of time, but we must. And after we have had some dinner I'll +read through everything again. There must be a way out. Are you well +enough to run upstairs, Mary, and ask how--how--she is?" + +There was a strange, yearning look in his eyes as he spoke. He might +have been ashamed, too--there was indeed a change in Judge Bolitho. + +"She's no worse," said Mary, coming down a few minutes later. "The +nurse says she is sleeping peacefully. The doctor will be here in a +little while now. He seems a very hard-hearted man, but he admires +Paul greatly, and he's very clever." + +During the meal both of them were silent. Each, of them had much food +for thought, and there are times when words are vain. + +"To think," said the judge, when they had finished their dinner, "that +I should be here in this way, in my son's house, and that his +mother---- Mary, bring me those papers, will you?" + +A little later he was deeply immersed in the early history of the +trial, noting each detail, fastening upon every weakness of the charge +and the difficulties of defence. It seemed to him as though he were +practising at the bar again, and he were preparing his case for the +defence of the prisoner. But this time he had an interest never known +to him before. It was for him to fight for the life of his own son. + +Presently he heard the doctor's step on the stairs. He had been in the +sick-room, and when he had finished his visit, Mary had led him to the +room where her father was. Dr. White looked at the judge curiously. +At each house he had called that afternoon there was but one subject of +discussion. No one knew that Judge Bolitho was in Brunford; had they +done so, excitement would have exceeded all bounds; but as it was, the +confession which he had made had set the whole town talking. + +"Will you tell me how my wife is?" asked the judge. + +"Your wife?" queried the doctor. + +"Yes, my wife. Will you tell me how she is?" + +The doctor gave a significant glance at Mary, which the judge was not +slow to interpret; but he made no sign. Now that he had made his +confession and told the truth, he was the same proud man who, not long +before, had been Member of Parliament for that town. + +"She's very ill," said the doctor. + +"But she will not die, will she?" + +"Of course, that's impossible to say. She's a strong woman, but she's +had--well, you know what she's had to bear." + +The judge nodded. "But will she get better?" + +"I do not think she will die just yet." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"I think it is possible her body may recover." + +"But her mind?" said the judge, noting the significance of the doctor's +words. + +"Concerning her mind I can promise nothing," said the doctor. "The +strain she has borne for so long has been enough to drive one of her +sensitive nature mad." + +The judge was silent for a few seconds, then he spoke in his old, +almost authoritative tones. + +"Let nothing be left undone, doctor," he said. "Engage any help you +think may be of value to you. You know the best man in your +profession. Get into communication with him at once. We must fight, +man; we must fight!" + +There was a ring of defiance in his voice, and even then Mary thought +how different he was from the preceding night, when she had parted from +him in Manchester. + +"Have you made up your mind what to do, father?" she asked, when the +doctor had gone. + +"Yes, I have. By the way, Mary, I know you must be longing to ask +questions about yourself, but----" + +"Don't trouble about me now, father. I know what you are thinking of. +But my name, my future, are nothing compared with---- Oh, father, we +must save Paul!" + +"If it is within the realm of human possibility we will, Mary." + +"And you believe it is?" + +"Give me three days," said the father, "and then perhaps I can tell +you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE TESTIMONY OF ARCHIE FEARN + +"Father, have you discovered anything?" + +"Nothing," and the judge shook his head despondently. "It seems as +though every road is a cul-de-sac. I have followed up hundreds of +clues, and they have all ended in nothing." + +"You know what I believe, father?" + +"I know, Mary; but you're wrong." + +"But Paul never did it!" She seemed never to grow weary of making this +assertion. No matter how strong the evidence might be, no matter what +the world might say, nothing shook her. + +"Branscombe thinks so." + +"He has not told you, has he?" + +"Oh, no. I have not said a word to him about the trial; but I've been +reading the evidence this evening--you know, the case came on again +this morning--and it's clear to me from his questions that he has no +doubt about the matter. Things looked very black against Paul when the +case was adjourned this evening." + +A look of wild terror came into Mary's eyes. "But, father, don't you +see?" she cried. "Paul had no secrets from his mother. He told her +everything--everything. When he came home that night, after his +quarrel with Wilson, he would tell the whole story to her. +Afterwards---- Can't you see, father? Can't you see?" + +"We've gone over this ground a hundred times," said the judge. "But it +won't do, Mary. In any case, it would be impossible to make an +accusation against her. No one saw her that night, and, as far as I +can see, nothing can be traced to her in any way. And even if it +could---- Don't you understand, Mary?" + +"And will you allow Paul to be hanged?" + +The judge was silent. They were sitting alone in Paul's study some +days after the judge had made his confession. He had been true to his +promise, and had devoted every possible moment to the elucidation of +the mystery which faced him. He had brought all his knowledge of the +law to bear upon it; he had utilised all his experience in the +discovery of criminals; he had exerted himself to the utmost; but there +was not a ray of light anywhere. + +"Do you know anything? Have you heard anything more?" he asked. + +"As you know," replied Mary, "she has not been fully conscious ever +since that day. But I have found out something. This afternoon she +has been much better, and now and then there seemed to be some return +of reason." + +"Well?" + +"Well, her mind is full of this trial, full of the horror of Paul's +situation--you can tell that from her wanderings--and this afternoon I +heard her say these words: 'They make a great deal about the knife. +They say no one could have got into the office; but I was in the +office, and I saw the knife. Paul and I spoke about it.'" + +"Yes," said the judge eagerly. "Was there anything else?" + +"No, nothing more, nothing more; but surely it is enough?" + +The judge was silent for a few seconds. + +"If she had been able to attend as a witness this would have come out," +he said. "I find that she was subpoenaed, but her illness makes it +impossible for her to be there." And he gave a sigh, half of relief, +half of sorrow. + +"And can you do nothing, nothing?" asked Mary. + +"Nothing yet," said the judge. + +"But you cannot believe they will find him guilty?" + +"Paul will be allowed to make a speech in his own defence. He may work +wonders that way. He has done very little cross-examining to-day, but +that may be part of his method. I think he's going to rely on his +analysis of evidence. It's not an unsound process. Cross-examinations +ofttimes mean very little. Justice Hawkins, you may remember, when he +was practising at the Bar, used to depend almost entirely on his +closing speech, and he won more cases than perhaps any other man. +Still, we must not depend upon that. Nothing shall be left undone, +Mary." + +"Father, I'm going to see Paul." + +"Better wait, better wait," he replied. "I am afraid a visit from you +would do him more harm than good. You'd have to tell him about his +mother's illness." + +"I'm going to write to him to-night, anyhow," said Mary. + +"But tell him nothing that will pain him, Mary." + +When Mary left the room Judge Bolitho nearly lost control over himself. +The days were slipping away, and nothing had been done. In spite of +every inquiry he had made, he seemed to be getting no nearer to the +solution he sought for. Like Mary, he was convinced that Paul had +never done the deed; and yet, unless the murderer could be discovered, +he could not close his eyes to Paul's face. For more than an hour he +went over the whole miserable story again, connecting link with link, +incident with incident, opinion with opinion. Still the same blank +wall met him. + +"I can't stay indoors any longer," he muttered. "I must get out into +the open air." + +It was now about nine o'clock, and, almost heedless whither he went, he +found his way into the heart of the town. Judge Bolitho had by this +time become an almost familiar figure among the people of Brunford. He +had gone all over the town making inquiries. He had spent much time in +the neighbourhood of Paul's factory making investigations. He had +talked with all sorts of people, and all, knowing what he desired, had +told him everything they knew. But still the secret remained a secret. + +Presently he found himself in the market-place, where there were +excited groups of people discussing that day's trial. The judge +wandered from one group to another listening eagerly. A large ulster +almost covered his face, for the nights were very cold, and but few +recognised him. It seemed to be the settled conviction among the +people that Paul's case was hopeless. At length he heard someone +speaking who attracted his attention strangely. It was not because of +what he said, but because of the unfamiliar accent which the judge +immediately recognised. The man was a Scotsman, and he spoke with the +accent common to that district where Jean was reared. The judge drew +nearer and listened attentively. + +"I tell you," said the man, "I saw this Bolitho when he was but a lad. +My brother, Willie Fearn, courted Jean, and it was Bolitho who took her +away from him. Ye dinna believe me? Am I not called Archie Fearn? +Ay, but I know." + +The men to whom he spoke laughed incredulously. + +"Yo've been drinking too much Scotch whisky," said one with a laugh. + +"I can carry more whisky than any man in Brunford," was his reply. "I +was ne'er a steady, God-fearing man like my brother Willie. It might +have been better for me if I had been. He's a rich man the noo, while +I have to come to this dirty hole to get a living. Ay, I know more +about this business than you think." + +At this there was much incredulous laughter, and then Judge Bolitho +heard the man cry out something about his having seen someone on the +very night of the murder. The conversation was not by any means +connected, but Judge Bolitho, anxious to catch at any straw, determined +not to allow the Scotsman to escape him. It might end in nothing; +still, there was possibly something in what the man had said. + +A few minutes later Archie Fearn left his companions, evidently with +the purpose of making his way to a public-house which stood at the +corner of the Market Square. Before he reached it, however, the judge +had come up to him and touched his arm. + +"So you call yourself Archie Fearn now, do you?" he said quickly. + +"Ay, and who dares say I'm not Archie Fearn?" replied the man. "Was I +no born in Scotland? And do I not speak like a Scotsman?" + +"You did not call yourself Archie Fearn the last time I saw you," said +the judge. + +"And when might ye have seen me?" + +"I saw you in Liverpool two years ago. You called yourself John +McPhail then, and it was my duty to give you six months with hard +labour." + +The man looked at the judge coolly. "Ay, very likely," he replied. +"Ay, I remember noo, I remember noo," and he laughed significantly. + +"Why do you laugh?" asked the judge. + +"I was thinking," was the reply. "I think of mony things. The Scotch +are a canny people. You'll be knowing that yourself, my lord." + +"And you say you're Willie Fearn's brother?" said the judge. + +"Ay, I am and all. It's perfectly true that Willie is an elder in the +kirk, while I am--weel, what you see me; but, for all that, I know more +about the fundamentals of doctrine than he does. I know the second +catechism by heart, and I could put any meenister in this toon to +shame. Ay, man, but if you want to hear preaching you must go to +Scotland. It's there that the meenisters are groonded in the faith. +In these English kirks they are very lax in the faith." And again the +man laughed as though something amused him. + +"You seem to boast a good deal of your knowledge," said the judge, +trying to estimate the man. + +"I ne'er boast," was the reply. "I'm just a canny Scotsman, that's +all. If I told all I kenned--weel, I might become popular. But a +still tongue makes a wise heid." + +"If you are Willie Fearn's brother," said the judge, and it pained him +to say what next passed his lips, but as I have said, he was eager to +catch at any straw, "you knew Jean Lindsay?" + +"Ay, I kenned her weel," was the reply. "But I was aboot to go into +the 'Hare and Hoonds,' Mr. Judge Bolitho. Perhaps for the sake of the +time when you called yourself Graham you might like to give me a drop +of whisky?" + +"Come with me," said the judge. "I want to talk with you. If we go up +Liverpool Road it will be quiet there. But stay, come with me to the +house I'm staying at." + +"Dootless you keep a bottle of good whisky in the cupboard there?" + +"You shall not regret going," said the judge, and he led the way to +Paul's house. + +Half an hour later the two sat together in Paul's study. During their +walk thither the man of the law had been thinking deeply. He had been +trying to piece together the conversation he had heard in the +market-place, trying to understand the significance of what Archie +Fearn had said. He had no great hope of important revelations, but a +lifetime of legal training and practice had proved to him that +oft-times the greatest issues depended on the most trivial +circumstances, and he could not afford to allow the most insignificant +happening to pass by unnoticed. + +"How long have you been in Brunford?" asked the judge. + +"Since a month before Christmas," was the reply. + +"You came here to get work?" + +"I came here because I wasn't known in the toon, and because I thought +I might be able to pick up an odd sax-pence." + +"You say you knew Jean Lindsay when she was a girl?" + +"Syne I expected her to be my ain sister-in-law, it was very natural +that I should," was the reply. + +"Do you think you'd know her again if you saw her?" + +"I kenned her the moment I saw her in the streets of this toon, not +long before Christmas," was the reply. + +"You saw her then?" + +"Ay, I did. I saw her and recognised her, just as I recognised you. +But it took me longer to mak you oot. Although, as you say, you gave +me six months in Liverpool, did not, at that time, connect you with my +ain hame. But when I saw your picture as large as life in the house +where I lodged, I began to put things together. When I saw you in +Liverpool you had your big wig on, and your judge's goon, that's what +put me off there, I expect. But in your picture you looked more +natural, and I said: 'That's the lad who took away my brother Willie's +lass.'" + +The judge's mind was working quickly by this time, and he saw that the +incident might have great possibilities. + +"And you say you saw Jean in the streets of Brunford?" + +"Ay, I did." + +"And did you speak to her?" + +"Nay, not at the time. The sight of her gave me a shock, as you may +say. But as I tell't you, the Scots are a canny race, so I asked a man +in the street who she was, and he told me she was Mrs. Stepaside, and +that led to other inquiries, till presently I found out all there was +to know." + +"And what then?" asked the judge. + +"Your lordship is a rich man," replied Archie. "And you'll not be +expecting me to tell all I know for nothing. And I'm in sair need of a +drop of whisky, too!" + +The judge took a couple of sovereigns from his pocket. + +"When you tell me all you know, you shall have these," he said. + +The Scotsman's eyes glittered greedily. "Two sovereigns; weel, it's a +sma' sum, a sma' sum for the likes of you, and I think I can say +something that will interest you, too. In Scotland we think a great +deal of a five-poon note!" + +"Very well," said the judge. "If you know anything worth telling me, +and you speak plainly, you shall have the five-pound note." + +"Of course, your lordship is a fair-minded man as far as money is +concerned? I'll say nothing about anything else," and again the +Scotsman laughed like one enjoying himself. + +"You'll have to trust me for that," said the judge. "In any case, if +you speak freely I'll give you the two sovereigns. If I judge your +information to be important you shall have the five-pound note." + +"It's this way," said Archie Fearn, "--and I think your lordship will +see that what I have to tell ye is worth five poons, although I doot +whether ye'll be pleased--when I discovered all aboot Jean, and what +people were saying aboot her, and when I had made up my mind aboot Mr. +Bolitho, who was at one time the Member of Parliament for this toon, I +fell to thinking, and I was not long in assuring myself that Mr. +Bolitho was the same lad who came to the Highlands lang years syne as +Douglas Graham. Of course, I had heard a great deal about Paul +Stepaside, and being, as I tell't ye, a reasoning man, I put two and +two together. So I sent a letter to Jean, and asked her to meet me." + +"A likely story!" said the judge. + +"Like or not, it's true. And more than that, she came to see me on the +very night that young Wilson was murdered, so noo then!" + +"Then you spoke to her that night?" + +"Ay, I did. I thought to myself, 'Now that Jean has plenty of siller +she'll be glad to know the truth!'" + +"And you told her the truth?" + +"Ay, I did. I showed her your photograph which I'd brought with me. +We were standing under a street-lamp, and I showed it to her. And +there's not the slightest doot but she recognised you." + +"What time was that?" asked the judge. + +"It were late," said the man. "It must have been well after eleven +o'clock." + +"How long was she with you?" + +"A goodish time, for she had many questions to ask, and we talked a +good deal about old times. And I was not long in convincing her of the +truth, I can tell ye. Ay, man, but you should have seen her face when +she looked at your photograph. 'Oh, that's he, that's he!' she said." + +"And then," said the judge, "did she come back here alone?" + +"Nay, I walked back with her. Do ye think I'd be likely to allow a +lass who was to have been my ain sister-in-law to come hame alone?" + +"In what part of the town did you meet?" + +"It was near the part they call Howden Clough." + +"And at what hour did you return?" + +"Oh, it must have been after midnight. You see," went on the Scotsman +imperturbably, "I asked her to come and see me, and I fixed a late hour +because I thought--weel; she might be a little more leeberal late at +night than in the middle of the day. I have made a profound study of +women, and I was in want of money at the time, and I thought I could +make a better bargain with her. That's why I fixed a late hour for +meeting. But I brought her home safely, and left her at the door here. +It must have been in the early hours of the morning when I left her." + +"Did you come into the house?" + +"No; in that I thought Jean didn't act like an old neighbour +should--seeing that at one time she was likely to be my sister-in-law! +She didn't ask me in. Still, she seemed very grateful for the +information I gave her." + +"And you saw her go into the house early in the morning, you say?" + +"Ay, I did." + +"And then, did you go away immediately?" + +"Nay, I waited out of curiosity for a few minutes. I heard the door +snick, and then I waited until I saw a light in her bedroom. I said to +myself, 'Jean will have a good deal to think about to-night.' I didn't +think then that things would be so unfavourable to me." + +"What do you mean?" asked the judge. + +"Well, being, as I tell't you, a Scotsman, and a canny Scotsman at +that, I naturally thought that the man who had discovered her husband +for her would have a slight claim on her when she came into her own." + +"Ah, I see," said the judge. + +For more than an hour they sat talking, the Scotsman cool and +self-contained, the judge asking keen, searching questions. + +Presently Archie Fearn wended his way towards the part of the town +where he had a lodging. "It's a peety the public-houses are all +closed," he said, as he lovingly felt the five-pound note which the +judge had given him. "Still, there's a to-morrow; and it may be I've +done a good night's work after all." + +As for the judge, he sat for a long time thinking. The house was now +in silence. Everyone had gone to bed. He went upstairs and listened +outside Mary's bedroom door. Evidently his daughter had retired. He +went to the door of the room where his wife lay. All was silent. Then +he came downstairs again. + +"I am in my son's house," he said to himself, "and he--he's lying in +Strangeways Gaol! I wonder whether, after all, this night may not mean +a great deal. Anyhow, it's narrowed the circle of inquiry. It proves +Jean was guiltless of this thing, and Mary altogether mistaken. I +wonder what she will say when I tell her!" + +The following morning he related to Mary what had happened on the +previous night; told her in detail all that the man Fearn had said to +him. + +"You see, Mary," he said, "your suspicions were utterly wrong. The +man's story has made it practically impossible for what you have +thought to be true. Whoever committed the deed, it was not she--thank +God for that!" + +In spite of herself Mary was at length convinced. For hours she sat +thinking over what her father had told her, considering the +consequences of every point, and trying to see what they meant. Yes, +he was right; and yet she felt sure that Paul believed in his mother's +guilt, and that the reason of his silence was that he was trying to +shield her. Then the old question came back to her. Paul did not +commit this deed; who did it? + +Presently Mary Bolitho gave a start as though some new thought had come +into her mind. Her eyes flashed with a bright light. She seemed to +see something which in the past had been hidden from her. + +A few minutes later she was in the street, walking rapidly to Paul's +factory. Arrived there, she asked for George Preston. + +"He's in Manchester," was the reply. "He's there for the trial." + +"But someone must be left in charge?" she urged. + +"Ay, Enoch Standring is looking after things while they're away." + +"I want to see him," said Mary. "Where is he?" + +Without a word the youth to whom she had spoken led the way to Paul's +office, where Enoch Standring was busily writing. + +"I am Miss Bolitho," she said to the young man. "Perhaps you know me?" + +"Yes," replied the other. "I know you very well by sight. What can I +do for you?" + +"You will naturally understand," said Mary, "that I am keenly +interested in--in the trial in Manchester?" + +"Naturally," said the young man. + +"I suppose," said the girl, "you have in your books a record of all the +people you employ?" + +"Certainly." + +"When they are engaged and when they leave?" + +"Certainly--that is, we put their names down in a book when they come, +and cross them off when they cease working for us." + +"And you have all these books at hand?" + +"Certainly," replied Standring. He was proud of the way in which the +books of the firm of Stepaside and Preston were kept. + +"How many hands do you employ?" + +Standring told her. + +"Will you let me see your books?" + +"It's not usual," replied Standring. "You see, it's the wage-book, and +the account is kept there of the amount each person earns." + +"But I'm sure you will let me see it?" said Mary, looking at the young +man with a smile. "Believe me, I do not ask without serious reason!" + +The young man hesitated a few seconds and then put the books before +her. "Here they are," He said. "Every name is put down here, and what +each has earned." + +"I want to see the pages for the month of December," said Mary. "By +the way, do you often discharge your hands?" + +"We never discharge anyone except for a serious reason," said Standring. + +"Have you discharged anyone since--since--Mr. Stepaside went to +Manchester?" + +"No," said Standring. "You see, there was no reason. Business has +gone on just the same as ever." + +The girl looked eagerly down the list, and noted each name and the +wages paid, while Standring watched her suspiciously. He wondered what +this girl could mean by wanting to examine the wage-book. + +"Do you keep on names after the people have ceased working for you?" + +"Not after they've been discharged. There, you see, that man was +discharged early in December. His name was crossed out. It doesn't +appear the following week. On the other hand, if anyone is taken ill, +we keep their names on, although they may not work. There, you see, +Eliza Anne Bolshawe, she was taken ill at the beginning of December, +but we kept on her name; the second week in December, no wages; the +third week, no wages; the fourth week she came back again, and there's +the amount she earned put opposite her name." + +"I see," said Mary. + +At that moment someone came into the office. "You're wanted in the +mill, Enoch," said the visitor. + +"Pray do not let me keep you, Mr. Standring," said Mary. "I'll do no +harm while you're away." And she gave him a smile which removed any +doubts which he might have had concerning leaving her alone. + +Eagerly Mary went on examining the books, until presently her hands +began suddenly to tremble. It seemed as though the idea which had been +born in her mind were bearing fruit. Snatching a piece of paper from +the office desk, she began to write rapidly. + +When Enoch Standring returned, Mary was still busily examining the +books, but the piece of paper on which she had made her notes was put +out of sight. + +"Have you seen what you want, Miss Bolitho?" said Standring. + +"Yes, I think so," said Mary, "and I must congratulate you on the way +these books are kept. The penmanship is perfect, and everything is +clear, and easy to understand. I am sure Mr. Stepaside will be pleased +with everything when he returns." + +Standring looked at her sadly. He was one of those who believed that +Paul Stepaside would never be acquitted, and he wondered what the +future might bring forth. + +When Mary returned to the house, she took the piece of paper from her +pocket and looked at the notes she had made. + +"I wonder, I wonder!" she said. "At any rate, I'll go and see her. +Brunclough Lane, Brunclough Lane," she repeated to herself. "27 +Brunclough Lane." + +Heedless of the fact that she had had no food since the morning, she +went out again, and presently found herself in a long narrow street +where all the houses partook of the same character, each jutting on the +causeway. At one of the corner houses she saw the words, "Brunclough +Lane." Her heart was beating wildly, and she was excited beyond +measure. The more she reflected, the more she became convinced of the +importance of what she had done. She told no one of what she was +thinking, or of the chain of reasoning which had led her to go to +Paul's office that morning. But she had not acted thoughtlessly. Her +father's account of the meeting with Archie Fearn, and what the man had +said to him, had altogether changed her plans. Hitherto she could not +help acting on the assumption that Paul's mother was guilty of this +dread deed, consequently all her inquiries had been influenced by this +belief. Up to now they had ended in nothing, even as had those of her +father. Directly she had become convinced, however, that Paul's mother +could have known nothing of the murder, and that on the very night when +it took place her mind must naturally have been filled with other +things, she saw that she must go on entirely different lines. As a +consequence of this she had made her seemingly unaccountable visit to +Paul's office, and had made what Standring regarded as an almost +unprecedented request, to examine the wage-books. When she had gone, +Standring went through those same books again. He was trying to +discover Mary's motive in all this, and was wondering whether she +suspected him of immoral practice in relation to the wages of the +operatives. No suspicion of the truth, however, entered his mind, and +although many curious eyes watched her as she came into Brunclough Lane +that afternoon, no one dreamed of her reason for going there. + +She was not long in finding the number she sought. A hard-featured +woman, about forty-five years of age, came to the door in response to +her knock. + +"Does Emily Dodson live here?" + +"Ay," said the woman, looking at her suspiciously. "And who might yo' +be?" + +"I'm Mr. Paul Stepaside's sister," said Mary. + +The woman did not speak, but looked at her visitor suspiciously. Had +Mary been watching her face just then, she would have noted that her +eyes seemed to contract themselves, and that her square jaw became set +and defiant. + +"Are you Emily Dodson's mother?" + +"Ay, I am." + +"Is she in now?" + +The woman looked up and down the street like one afraid, but answered +quietly, "Ay, she is." + +"I'm given to understand," said Mary, "that she was one of my--that is, +Mr. Stepaside's workpeople?" + +The woman was silent. + +"Is she ill?" + +"What's that to yo'?" + +To a South country person the woman's attitude might have seemed rude, +but a Lancashire man would have regarded her answers to Mary's +questions as natural. As I have before stated, there is nothing +obsequious in a Lancashire operative's behaviour. They are rough, +oft-times to the point of rudeness, although no rudeness is meant. +Possibly this woman might have regarded Mary's visit as a piece of +impertinence. If a neighbour had come, that neighbour would have been +received kindly, but Mary's appearance suggested that she did not +belong to the order of people who lived in that street, and there were +many who resented anything like what seemed interference. + +"But your daughter is not very well, is she?" + +"I never said owt o' th' so'ort." + +"I hear she's not been at work for several weeks, and as Mr. Stepaside +is unable to attend to business just now, I thought I might be of some +service." + +The woman laughed sourly. "Ay, you're Bolitho's lass, are you?" she +said. "A pretty tangle things have got into; and what I want to know +is if, as newspapers say, according to the confession your feyther made +on the Bench, he married Paul's mother, where do yo' come in?" + +Mary's face blanched, not only because of the woman's words, but +because of the look she gave her. Still she held on her way. + +"I'm naturally interested in the people Mr. Stepaside has employed," +she said, "and as I am given to understand that she's been unable to +work for several weeks, I thought I might be of service." + +"I'm noan asking for charity," replied the woman. + +"No, I know," replied Mary. "Still, if your daughter is out of +employment she won't be earning anything, and I thought if I could be +of any help to you----" + +"I want no 'elp. I never asked anyone for charity yet, and never took +none owther, and I'm noan going to begin now." + +There was a defiant ring in the woman's voice, and Mary realised that +here was one of those strong, determined characters who are not easily +moved, and which are not rare among the Lancashire operatives. + +"But if your daughter is ill," went on Mary, "she must be lonely. Has +she had the doctor, may I ask?" + +"Would you mind my telling you, miss, that that's noan o' your +business. If our Emily has no mind to work, she'll noan work. Good +afternoon." And the woman closed the door in her face. + +As Mary turned to walk away she noticed that a number of people were +watching her, as if wondering what she should be doing there. But no +one spoke to her, and presently she found herself again near Paul's +home, pondering deeply over what had taken place. She recalled every +word that had been spoken, every question she had asked, and every +answer the woman had given. She had said nothing that might arouse any +suspicions, and her action was quite natural. She had simply gone to +ask after one of Paul's employees, and therefore no one could attach +undue importance to her visit, although they would be naturally curious +to know why she went. During the time she had canvassed these people, +when her father was candidate for Brunford, she had got to know many of +their characteristics and to understand their methods of thinking, and +this fact helped her to form her conclusions now, helped her to know +how to act under the circumstances by which she was surrounded. + +When she reached the house she asked for her father, and was informed +that he was not in. He had left early that morning and had not yet +returned. Hour after hour Mary sat alone, thinking, planning, +wondering. She was afraid to attach too much importance to what had +taken place that day, yet she felt sure that what she had seen and +heard was not without meaning. But she felt her inexperience greatly. +Oh, if her father would only come! + +Presently a telegram was brought to her. Eagerly she opened it and +read the contents. She saw that it was sent from Manchester, and it +told her that her father was returning by the last train, and that +there was no need for her to wait up for him. + +Mary seized a time-table that lay on the table, and saw that the last +train arrived at Brunford at eleven o'clock. There were four long, +weary hours to wait, but she could not think of going to bed. +Consequently, when Judge Bolitho returned that night he found his +daughter awaiting him. + +"Has something happened, Mary?" he said, as he noticed the look in her +eyes. + +"Have you found out anything?" she asked. + +He shook his head sadly. "Nothing," he said. "I am afraid the trial +has gone against Paul to-day too. I suppose it'll end to-morrow. Paul +is to give his speech for his defence then. I wish I could be there; +but I cannot; I dare not interfere in any way. It would prejudice his +case too." + +"Father," she said, "listen to me." + +"Have you discovered anything?" + +"I don't know yet," she said. "Listen." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +EZEKIEL ASHWORTH, HERBALIST + +"Yes, Mary, what is it?" + +"It may be I have been foolish, father, but for days I have been +thinking about nothing except this. Being absolutely certain that Paul +is innocent, I--well, you know what my suspicions were, father. But +since you told me what that man Archie Fearn said, I was obliged to +come to the conclusion that you were right." + +The girl hesitated a second, and then went on excitedly: "I believe +I've found out something." + +The judge looked at his daughter questioningly, but there was no look +of hope in his eyes. He could not believe that what he had failed to +do she could accomplish. He had, as far as he knew, examined every +possible source of evidence, and although he was still fain to believe +as she believed, his reason still pointed to one dread conclusion. + +"Until this morning," she went on, "I expect all my inquiries had been +coloured by my belief, but when you destroyed that belief I was obliged +to think on new lines. It's still a question of the knife, isn't it, +father?" + +"Yes," said the judge. "It's still a question of the knife. You see +this is the fact, the salient fact, upon which the jury will have to +fasten. Who could have become possessed of it? Paul was always +careful about locking his office, and although it seems unlikely he +should have done what it is believed he has done, what other +explanation can be given?" + +"Yes, I see," replied the girl. "But after you'd gone this morning I +remembered lots of things which seemed to have no meaning before. We +know now that Ned Wilson has not borne as good a character in the town +as we thought." + +The judge nodded. + +"I heard all sorts of strange rumours," went on the girl, "to which I +did not attach much importance. But when you convinced me that Paul's +mother could not possibly have done it, I began to think those rumours +might have some meaning. It may be the thing that I have found out has +no meaning." + +"What have you found out?" he asked sharply. + +"This. First of all gossip associated Ned Wilson's name with a girl in +this town by the name of Emily Dodson. People say she is very +good-looking." + +"Yes. And what then?" + +"She worked for Paul," replied the girl. "She has worked in his +factory for some months. Well, this morning a thought struck me, and +I've been to Paul's factory and have examined his books. And I found +out this: Emily Dodson was at work on the day preceding the murder, and +she has never been near the place since. Of course, that of itself may +mean nothing, but the coincidence struck me. It seemed a little +strange that she has never been to work since that day. I went to the +house where she lived and saw her mother. I asked to be allowed to see +her, but the door was closed in my face. It seems that she's been ill +ever since that time, and practically nothing is known of her." + +The judge was silent for a considerable time. Evidently Mary's words +had given him food for thought. + +"It may mean nothing, father," she went on. "But don't you see? Her +name has been associated with that of Wilson. Gossips say he has +treated her badly. She is also spoken of as one of those dark, +handsome, gipsy-looking girls, who is very passionate. Now then, +think. Might she not have had an opportunity of going to Paul's +office? Might she not by some means have got hold of this knife? +Remember, she was one of his workpeople." + +The judge shook his head. "You have very slender evidence for your +assumption, Mary," he said sadly. + +"Yes, but is it not strange that she never returned to work, and that +she's been ill in bed ever since? From what I can gather, she's had no +doctor, no one has been allowed to see her, and the night she ceased +working was the night when Ned Wilson was murdered." + +"Her illness is easily accounted for," said the judge. "If she were +fond of Wilson, might not his death have so overwhelmed her that her +health broke down? Still----" + +"I have seen all these objections," urged Mary. "But don't you see: +Paul didn't do it--he couldn't--his mother could not have done it, and +someone did! I know that what I've been thinking seems to rest upon +pure coincidence, but, father, I've thought, and thought, and thought, +until I'm sure!" + +"Tell me more about it," said the judge. + +Mary related her experiences of the day, told in detail of her visit to +the factory, described her examination of the books, and then related +her conversation with Emily Dodson's mother. + +"Of course, prima facie," he said presently, "you have reasons for your +suspicions, but even if your suspicions are true, what can be done? +Unless we can prove that she took the knife, unless someone saw her +under suspicious circumstances, we are helpless. She might have done +the deed and still Paul might have to be hanged." + +"But, father!" cried the girl, and there was a wail of agony in her +voice. + +"Oh, do not fear, my child, the thing shall be tested. Everything +shall be sifted to the very bottom. No stone shall be left unturned, I +can assure you of that!" + +Again the judge sat for a long time thinking. Presently he started to +his feet. "Mary, you're a clever girl!" he said. "And it seems to me +that if Paul's life is saved, we shall owe everything to you! +But--but---- Go to bed, my child, my brain is weary now, as yours must +be. Let us try and get a little sleep. To-morrow we can act." + +The following morning, when the two met again, there was a new light in +Judge Bolitho's eyes, a ring of determination in his voice. His step +was firm, and his whole demeanour suggested an eagerness which for a +long time had been absent. + +"I ought to go to Manchester this morning," he said. "You see, my +position is very peculiar. But I shall not go, no matter what happens!" + +"You believe there's something in what I told you?" and her voice was +almost hoarse with eagerness. + +"There may be something in it," was his reply. "If--if----" + +"What?" asked Mary. + +"Paul's fate will be decided to-day," replied the judge, and his voice +trembled. "Bakewell finished last night--of course, you have read the +newspapers?--and this morning Paul will speak in his own defence. +Perhaps that will take nearly the whole morning. Then Branscombe will +sum up." + +"And you believe----?" cried the girl. + +"From what I can see of Branscombe's questions, I should say it is his +opinion that Paul is guilty." + +"But it will depend upon the jury!" cried the girl. + +"Juries are influenced by the judge's summing-up." + +"Oh, if--if----!" cried Mary. + +"Yes, I see what is in your mind; but nothing can happen in time to +influence the finding of the jury. You must not build upon that. But +all hope is not lost yet, Mary. We will not give up until the last +moment." + +That morning Judge Bolitho's mode of action was not easily to be +explained. He went to all sorts of strange and unthought-of places, +and made many inquiries which, from the standpoint of the casual +observer, were utterly irrelevant to the purpose he had in mind. +Still, he kept on his way, asking his questions, keeping his own +counsel. He visited Paul's factory, asked many questions of the +employees, examined the books which had so interested Mary on the +previous day, went to the scene of the murder. But no one could guess +from his face as to what his conclusions might have been. That he was +anxious and perturbed no one could have doubted; but whether his +inquiries gave him any reason for hope it was impossible to tell. +Strange as it may seem, he did not go to Brunclough Lane, but by means +of many out-of-the-way inquiries he discovered the name of the doctor +who attended the Dodsons in case of illness. He found out, too, that +this doctor was not a fully qualified medical practitioner. Lancashire +is a very Mecca for quack doctors. Long years ago, before legislation +became stringent in this direction, many unqualified men earned large +incomes among the factory hands. Herbalists of all sorts and men who +pretended to cure diseases which baffled all the doctors were in great +demand. In later years, although this practice had been considerably +curtailed, a number of unqualified people managed to eke out a living. +Judge Bolitho discovered that one of these--a certain Ezekiel Ashworth, +who pretended to a knowledge of herbs, and who was also one who held +high place among the spiritualists of the town--had attended in a +medical capacity on various occasions at 27 Brunclough Lane. He also +found out that this man had, during the last few weeks, sent a good +deal of medicine to Mrs. Dodson's house, and, more than all this, that +he had been called in on the previous evening some two hours after Mary +had been in the street. + +A little after noon Judge Bolitho found his way to Ezekiel Ashworth's +house. He lived in a small, narrow street in one of a row of cottages +which was let to him for four and sixpence a week. Ezekiel Ashworth +had in his younger days been a weaver, but his mother, who was renowned +as a very wise woman, had imparted her secrets to him before she died, +and he had from that time followed his mother's calling. He also +claimed that the spirits told him many things which doctors were unable +to find out, and thus he imposed upon the credulity of ignorant people. +Indeed, Ezekiel had quite an extensive practice, and many there were, +even among those in affluent circumstances, who sought his aid. + +When Judge Bolitho knocked at Ezekiel's door it was opened by the man +himself. He was attired in a suit of shabby broadcloth; a greasy +frock-coat hung below his knees, and his linen had evidently been a +stranger to the laundry for some considerable time. His feet were +encased in a pair of gaily coloured carpet slippers. + +On seeing Judge Bolitho he assumed quite a professional air. "What can +I do for you, my dear sir?" he said. "You don't look very well." + +"No, I am far from well," replied the judge. + +"Ay, I thought so. You're a stranger in these parts, I reckon?" + +"I am not a Brunford man," replied the judge; "but I happened to be +here, and, hearing about many of your wonderful cures, thought I would +call and see you." + +"Ay," replied Ezekiel. "I know a good deal more about doctorin' than +half of these chaps with a lot of letters to their names; but the +Government has made it very hard on us, and we can't do what we would." + +"I see," replied the judge. "But I hear you have a fairly extensive +practice, all the same." + +"And no wonder," replied Ezekiel. "I cure cases which the doctors give +up, and I don't charge a quarter as much as they do. Just think on +'t--only sixpence for a bottle of medicine and a shilling a visit!" + +"But what do you do in the case of a fatal illness?" asked the judge. + +"That's where the hardness comes in," replied Ezekiel. "Then the poor +people have to get a fully qualified man for the certificate. But +you'll noan come about that, I reckon? You've come about yoursen?" + +"No," said the judge. "I've come to inquire into your rights to +practise medicine!" + +"What do you mean? You're noan one of these inspectors, are you? I +call this a sort of snake-in-the-grass proceeding! It's noan fair to +come in like one ill, and then pounce upon a chap!" + +Ezekiel gave another look at the judge, and then decided that he had +better be civil. He realised that the man before him was not one who +could be bullied. + +"Look here, maaster," he said, "I never do owt agin law, and although, +as you say, I've attended a lot of people, I've never been had before +the beaks. Whenever a patient of mine gets near the danger line I +always insist upon a fully qualified doctor being sent for. I hope +you'll noan be hard on me." + +"That depends," replied the judge. "The truth of it is, Mr. Ashworth, +I've heard strange rumours about you, and, while I do not wish to take +any harsh measure, I want a proper understanding. You often treat +patients without ever having seen them, I'm told?" + +"But never in a way as can do them any harm," replied Ezekiel. "When +people come and describe symptoms, I send medicines to them; but my +medicines are made up of yarbs, and canna hurt onybody." + +"Are you sure of that?" asked the judge. + +"Ay, I'm sure." + +"Then what about the girl Emily Dodson, in Brunclough Lane, whom you've +been treating for several weeks? You've repeatedly sent medicine there +without having seen the patient." + +Ezekiel looked uncomfortable. "Her mother told me she was just low +like," he said, "and all she needed was some strengthening medicine." + +"But no doctor should go on giving medicine without seeing the patient." + +"Well, I'm noan going to give her any more," replied Ezekiel. "I were +called in there last night 'cause Maria Ellen told me her lass was +worse." + +"Oh, you went to see the girl last night, did you? And what did you +discover?" + +"The lass were in a very bad way. But I can cure her all right." + +From that time Judge Bolitho assumed a very severe air, and, when +presently he left the house, Ezekiel looked exceedingly anxious. + +"Of course, you'll understand," said the judge, on leaving him, "that +it'll be to your interest that this interview remains a secret?" + +"Ay, I see that," replied Ezekiel, with conviction. + +"You'll understand also that Doctor White must be sent for at once?" + +"Doctor White's no friend of mine," said Ezekiel. "He's always been +hard on those of us who were not in the regular line of things." + +"I insist on Dr. White," replied the judge. + +"Weel, if you insist, it shall be done. But you'll not make it hard +for me, will you?" + +"I'll see what can be done," replied the judge. And then he walked +away in a very thoughtful frame of mind. + +A little later he was at Dr. White's surgery. + +"I want half an hour's private talk with you," he said. + +"Important?" + +"Very important!" + +When the judge had informed the doctor of the purport of his visit the +latter looked very grave. "This cannot be decided off-hand," he said +presently. And then, leaving the room, he spoke to his dispenser. + +"Daniel," he said, "I have to leave the surgery at three o'clock, and +it only wants half an hour to that time now. Are there many people +waiting?" + +"Ay, a good number." + +"Take down their names and send them all away. Tell them I cannot see +them until six to-night." + +"Very well." + +The doctor returned to Judge Bolitho again. "Now let's hear your story +from end to end," he said. + +When their interview closed, Dr. White looked, if possible, grimmer +than usual, and when he visited his patients that afternoon more than +one wondered what was the matter with him. He did not seem himself at +all. Evidently his mind was much perturbed. + +Judge Bolitho did not return to Paul's house until nearly five o'clock. +As he came to the door, Mary met him with eager questions on her lips, +but those questions were never asked. The ghastly look on his face +made it impossible for her to speak. + +"It's all over," he said hoarsely. + +"All over? What's all over?" + +"The trial. I've just telephoned to Manchester." + +The girl stood looking at him with horror in her eyes. + +"They've found him guilty," said the judge hoarsely. "He's condemned +to be hanged!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +IN THE CONDEMNED CELL + +Paul Stepaside was alone in his condemned cell. He was no longer +merely a prisoner waiting his trial for the most terrible deed a man +can commit; he was condemned for that deed, and his whole circumstances +were altered accordingly. No one could see him except in the presence +of a warder, and he was under the most rigorous inspection. Care was +taken that no means were offered him whereby he could take his own +life. Thus, grim and horrible as had been his previous conditions, +they were far worse now. The days of hope were gone, because the days +of action were gone. Nothing he could say or do now promised a +possibility of escape from the terrible doom which had been pronounced. + +For many hours he had been thinking over his fate, and wondering what +had become of those he loved. Vague rumours had reached him that his +mother was not well, but he had no definite knowledge of anything +concerning her. A short letter from Mary had also reached him. It was +only a few words, but it had been his great source of solace and +comfort. But that, too, had lost much of its meaning. It was written +before his sentence had been pronounced. It had told him to hope, and +it had expressed the undying faith and love of the writer. But even in +this short letter he seemed to see a change. It was like the letter of +a sister rather than the outpourings of the woman whom he had hoped to +make his wife. Of course it was right and natural that this should be +so. She had discovered their relationship, and believing herself to be +his half-sister, she could no longer think of him as on that night of +their meeting in the prison. Then they had met as lovers, and she had +promised him that when he was free--as she felt sure he soon would +be--to be his wife. But that was all over now. Even although he had +been set at liberty, all his hopes would have been in vain. It seemed +as though the facts of his life had mocked every hope, as though a grim +destiny had fore-ordained that everything he longed for and believed in +should mock him. + +Since the last hour of the trial, when the judge had pronounced the +dread words which made his name a by-word and a shame, and held him up +for ever to the reproach of the world, he had been practically alone. +He knew nothing of the heart-pangs of others; nothing of great +determinations which alternated with wild despair; nothing of agonised +prayers, of sleepless nights, and of vain endeavours to prove his +innocence. He was a condemned man, alone in a condemned cell, waiting +for the last hour. For the first few hours after the final words had +been spoken he had a sort of gruesome pleasure in thinking of the +future. He fancied that some few days would elapse, during which his +case would be considered by the Home Secretary; and then this +highly-placed official, having no reason for showing him any special +mercy, would go through the formula necessary to his death. Then would +come the erecting of the scaffold, the symbol of disgrace and shame. +What the cross had been to the old Romans the scaffold was to the +modern Englishman. After that, under the grey, murky sky, he would be +led out, and the dread formula would be gone through. He would be +asked whether he had anything to say before the fatal act was +committed, after which the hangman would do his work. + +Well, well, he would go through that as he had gone through all the +rest. It was a ghastly tragedy, a grim mockery, but he would bear it +like a stoic. + +Presently, however, his feelings underwent a change. Memories of his +early days came back to him--his life in the workhouse, his schooldays, +when he took his place among the rest of the pauper boys, the learning +of a trade, and his work in the mine. Always his life had been +overhung with shadow, and yet he had enjoyed it. He had found pleasure +in fighting with difficulty, in overcoming what seemed insuperable +obstacles. He remembered the visits of the minister of Hanover Chapel, +and of what he had said to him. Yes, the incipient atheism of his +boyhood had become more pronounced as the years went by. His unbelief +had become more settled, and yet, and yet---- + +He called to mind the hour he had first seen Mary. How wonderful she +had been to him. She had brought something new, something nobler into +his life. How, in spite of his anger, he had loved her! Ay, and he +loved her still. He thought of his dream of going into Parliament, of +fighting for the rights of the working people of the town in which he +lived and for the class to which he had belonged. Yes, above and +beyond his ambition to be a noted man he had a great consuming desire +to do something for the betterment of the condition of the people whom +he loved, a great passion to advance their rights. And, to a degree, +he had done it. Brunford was the better, and not the worse, because he +had lived. If it had been his fate to live, he would have continued to +work for the toiling masses of the people. He thought of the dreams +which had been born in his brain and heart, and which he hoped to +translate into reality; of the Bills he had framed, and which he had +meant one day to bring before Parliament, Bills which he had hoped +would become Acts, and which would have a beneficent influence on the +life of the nation. + +But this was all over now. The end of all things had come. His doom +had been pronounced. What a ghastly mockery life was--and men talked +about God! He, an innocent man, was about to end his days in the most +shameful way imaginable because he had been found guilty of a crime of +which he knew nothing. But at least he had saved his mother. There +was something in that. No shadow of shame or disgrace rested upon her +name. Whether her days were many or few, nothing evil could be +associated with the life of his mother. How it all flashed back to +him. That night in the cell, when she had told him her story, told him +that the man who had sat in judgment upon him was his father and her +husband! Then came that great day in the court, when Judge Bolitho had +made his confession. How still people were. The court was almost as +silent as the cell in which he now lay. After all, his father could +not have been a villain. It is true he had steeled his heart against +him even after that confession. Had he been right? He remembered the +visit of Judge Bolitho on the evening of his confession; how he had +pleaded with him; how he had sought his love. It is true he would +explain nothing of the mysteries which he, Paul, desired to learn. He +was dumb when he had questioned him concerning the shame in which +Mary's name lay. Nevertheless he had to confess in his heart that his +father had tried to do his duty by him and his mother. + +He recalled the words which he had spoken to the chaplain who had +visited him one day. He had told this man that if his father would +confess his evil deeds and seek to make atonement, he might believe in +God, in Providence. It was a poor thing to say after all. God, if +there was a God, must not be judged by poor little paltry standards. +The God Who made all the worlds, who controlled the infinite universe, +Who was behind all things, before all things, in all things, through +all things--that God must have ways beyond his poor little +comprehension. But was there such a Being? Or was everything the +result of a blind fate, a great mysterious something which was unknown +and unknowable, a force that had no feeling, no thought, no care for +the creatures who crawled upon the face of this tiny world? + +Then the great Future stared him in the face. Was this life the end +and the end-all? Could it be that he, who could think and feel, who +had such infinite hope and longings and yearnings, would die when he +left the body? After all, was not Epictetus, the old Greek slave, +right when he said that the body was only something which he carried +around with him, and that his soul was something eternal which the +world could never touch. If that were so, there must be a great +spiritual realm into which he had never entered. + +He thought of the opening words of the Old Testament: "In the beginning +God----" It was one of the most majestic sentences in the literature +of the world, sublime, almost infinite in its grandeur. Then he +remembered the words of Jesus. Years had passed since he had given +attention to these things, yet the memory of the words he had learnt as +a boy was with him now. What a wonderful story it was! What a Life, +too! The mind of Jesus had pierced the night like stars. He had torn +to pieces the flimsy sophistries of the age in which He had lived, and +looked into the very heart of things. What a great compassion He had +for the poor, how tender He was to the sinning. Yes, He understood, He +understood. And what a death He had died, too. He might have escaped +death, but He had died believing that by dying He would enrich, glorify +the life of the world. In a sense it was illogical, but there was a +deeper logic which he eventually saw. After all, it was the death of +Jesus that made Him live in the minds and hearts of untold millions +during nineteen centuries. According to the standards of man, His +death was unjust, and He knew it to be unjust, but He never flinched or +faltered. "Father, forgive them; they know not what they do," He had +said when the ignorant rabble had railed at Him. "Father, into Thy +hands I commend My spirit," He had said, and then gave up the ghost. +It was wonderful! + +In that hour Paul Stepaside realised that he had been less than an +infant crying for the light, and with no language but a cry. He had +shut out the light by a poor little conceit of his own. He had dared +to judge life by paltry little standards. He had dared to say what was +and what was not--he! He knew less than nothing! + +After all, that which had embittered him more than anything else, that +which he said had robbed him of his faith--even in that he had been +proved to be wrong. It was a great thing his father had done. Of +course he had sinned, of course his life had been unworthy. His +treatment of his mother was the act of a dastardly coward--the base +betrayal, the long absence, the marrying another woman--oh! it was all +poor and mean and contemptible! Nothing but a coward, ay, a villain, +could have done it. And yet there was something noble in his +atonement. Of course sin must be followed by suffering and by hell. +He saw that plain enough. He saw, too, that not only the sinner +suffered, but others suffered. Yet who was he to judge? His father--a +proud man, proud of his family name, proud of the position he had +obtained, one of the highest in the realm of law--had, in face of a +crowd hungry for sensation, eager to fasten upon any garbage of gossip +which might come in its way, confessed the truth, even although that +truth had made his name the subject of gossip for millions of tongues. +Yes; there was something noble in it, and Paul felt his heart soften as +he thought and remembered. Whatever else it had done, it had made his +own fate easier to bear. + +He thought of the look on Judge Bolitho's face as he came to his cell +on the day of the confession, remembered the pleading tones: "Paul, my +son, I want your forgiveness, your love." + +Perhaps it was because his heart was so weighed down with grief, and +his life was unutterably lonely, that he cried out like one whose life +was filled with a great yearning: "Father, father!" + +He heard a sound at the door of the cell. The warder entered, followed +by the form of a woman. His heart gave a great bound. + +"Mary!" he cried. + +He had not expected this. It had become a sort of settled conviction +in his mind that he would have to die alone and uncomforted. He had a +vague idea that people would be allowed to see him, but no definite +hopes had ever come into his mind. Perhaps he had wondered why he had +been left so long alone, but he had never doubted Mary's love. + +Regardless of the fact that the warder stood there, the man who, as it +seemed to him, was coarse and almost brutal, watching his every action, +listening to his every word, he threw open his arms: "Mary, my love!" + +A minute later she was sobbing out her grief on his shoulder. + +"I wanted to come before, Paul," she said; "but father did not think it +best." + +"No, no; I understand. Oh, Mary, it's heaven to me to see you, to hear +you speak, to hold you like this; but I almost wish you had not come. +Why should you suffer?" + +"I have come, Paul, because I could not help it, and because---- Oh, I +want to tell you something. Must this man stay?" + +"Can you not go and leave us alone?" said Paul to the man. + +The warder shook his head. "Against rules!" + +"But surely you need not listen to what--to what--my--that is, this +young lady has to say to me." + +The man did not speak. Perhaps he had some glimmering of +understanding, perhaps he realised the position better than they +thought. + +"Whisper it, Mary," said Paul, still holding her to his heart. + +"Paul, you are innocent." + +"Yes," he said. "I am innocent. I fought for my life as hard as I +could; but law is not justice, Mary. It's a huge legal machine." + +"And Paul," she whispered, "you have believed all along that someone +else was guilty. You have believed it was your mother." + +She felt him shudder as she spoke the words. + +"_I_ believed it, too. It came to me one day that you were trying to +shield her, and that was why you have allowed yourself to be here. You +could have cleared yourself else, couldn't you?" + +She knew by the deep sigh that escaped him how her words moved him. + +"On the day when my father made that confession," she went on, "I found +out where your mother was, and went to see her. I had made up my mind +to obtain a confession of guilt from her. Oh, Paul, it's terribly hard +to tell you this, and I know that you'll hardly be able to forgive me; +but it was all for you! You believe that, don't you?" + +"Go on, Mary. Tell me what it is." + +"I went back to Brunford with her. You see she knew who I was by this +time, and I think she liked me. She said she was ill and was afraid to +stay in Manchester any longer, and she asked me to go back to Brunford +with her." + +"Yes, and you did, Mary." + +"Yes, I did. And then I begged her to tell me the truth. I made her +see who I suspected." + +"Yes, and then----" he whispered. + +"I don't know what it was, whether it was the shock of my words, or +whether it was because she could no longer stand the strain she had +been suffering, but her senses forsook her, and--oh, Paul! forgive +me--but she's been ill ever since. She's had no knowledge of anything +that's been going on." + +He was silent a moment, then he said: "It's best so, Mary. If she does +not know she cannot suffer, and no shame can attach to her name now." + +"No, Paul; but I haven't told you all yet. It wasn't she who did it! +She was as ignorant of the crime as I was!" + +"How? Tell me!" he almost gasped. + +She related the story of what took place between her father and the man +Archie Fearn, while he, with hoarse whispers, besieged her with +questions. + +"Thank God!" he said at length. It seemed as though a great burden had +gone from his life, and as though the only way in which he could +express his feelings was by thanking the Being in Whom he had said he +had no belief. + +"Paul, could you have saved yourself if you had known this?" + +"I don't know," he replied. "I might--that is--no, I don't know. I +went out that night to seek her, Mary. When I had told her of my +quarrel with Wilson, you remember, on the night of the murder, she +acted as though she were mad. She promised me I should be revenged, +that I should have justice. She said things which, when I began to +think about them afterwards, made me afraid. I thought she had gone to +bed, and I sat in my study for hours, alone, thinking and wondering. +Then, when I went to her room to bid her good night, I found she was +gone, and I went out to seek her. Undoubtedly it was a senseless thing +to do, because I had no knowledge of the direction in which she had +gone. She had, however, uttered one sentence which guided me: 'I am +going to Howden Clough,' she said. 'It's near there I shall see him.'" + +For a long time they spoke in whispers, the warder standing as far away +from them as possible, and seemingly taking no notice. + +"It's just as well, Mary," he said. "Perhaps I couldn't have saved +myself if I'd known; and it might be--yes, it might be that if I had +said what was in my heart---- No, it's just as well! It's just as +well!" + +"Time's up!" said the warder. + +"Let me stay a little longer," pleaded Mary. + +"Against rules!" was the reply. "Time's up!" + +"Paul, lean down your head again." + +She kissed him passionately, and then whispered in his ear: "All hope's +not gone even yet, Paul." + +"I want no King's Pardon," said Paul almost bitterly. "I wouldn't have +it!" + +"It's not that. I have been trying and trying, and my father has been +trying----" + +"You mean----" + +"I mean that he's with us at Brunford, Paul. He's at your house. He +has been working night and day, and, and----" + +The warder opened the door. "This way, please, Miss!" + +"Don't give up, Paul!" she cried. "And remember this, I'm working and +praying for you, and father is working and praying for you. It +may--oh! it may end in nothing; and I dare not say more, but Paul, +Paul----" + +Again Paul was alone. Mary's kisses were still warm upon his lips. He +felt her breath upon his face. Her presence pervaded the room even +although she was gone--Mary, whom he loved like his own life! It was +not as though his sister had been to see him at all. It was still +Mary, the woman he loved as his wife! + +Day followed day, and no further news reached him. Eagerly he had +listened to every echoing footstep in the corridor. Feverishly he had +watched the face of the warder who had brought him food. Like one who +had hoped against hope, he had at stated times scanned the faces of +other prisoners when he had been allowed to go for exercise into the +prison yard. But he heard nothing, saw nothing which could give him +hope. + +One night the chaplain entered his cell, and Paul saw, from the look on +the man's face, of what he was thinking. + +"It's to be to-morrow, isn't it?" he said. + +The chaplain nodded and was silent. + +"What o'clock is it now?" + +"Half-past three." + +"And what time to-morrow?" + +"Early. I don't know the exact hour." + +"Is it known outside--I mean, does the world know?" + +"I don't know; I expect so." + +"Ah," said Paul. "She will come to-night; so will he. But mother +cannot come--no, of course she cannot come; but I am glad she knows +nothing." + +"My brother," said the chaplain, "may I not speak to you about higher +things? Remember that in a few hours----" + +"Stop!" said Paul. "It's good of you to come, and I'm afraid that in +the past I've sometimes spoken rudely to you. I have regarded you as +one who has done his duty, just as the warders have done theirs; and +just as they are paid to lock the door upon me and bring me food at +stated intervals, so you've been paid to utter your shibboleths and to +say your prayers. But perhaps you've meant all right. Still, nothing +that you can say would help me. I have no confession to make to you, +not a word, except that I adhere to what I said in the courts: I am +absolutely innocent of this murder. There's no crime on my soul!" + +"But are you ready to meet your God?" said the chaplain. + +"Pardon me," said Paul, and his voice quivered with emotion, "but +that's a subject too sacred to talk about. Hark! what's that?" + +There was a sound of hammering outside. + +"Does it mean--that?" + +Again the chaplain nodded. "Think, my brother----" + +"No, no," said Paul. "If I am soon to meet God face to face, as you +say, well then--no, I'm neither ashamed nor afraid; that is, as you're +regarding it. I am ashamed--but, there, you could not understand. +Please leave me, will you?" + +Again there was a dull sound of the impact of the head of a hammer upon +the head of a nail outside. + + +Silence reigned over Brunford, and for a wonder the night was clear. +Overhead unnumbered stars shone brightly. The wind came from the sea, +and more than one declared that they felt the salt upon their lips. In +spite of this, however, gloom rested upon the town. It had gone forth, +that, on the following morning Paul Stepaside was to be hanged, and +hundreds, as they trod the granite pavements of the streets, seemed to +be trying to walk noiselessly. At almost every corner groups of men +were to be seen evidently discussing the news they had heard. + +"He was a rare fine lad, after all, ay, he wur. I canna think, in +spite of everything, as 'ow he did it. He wur noan that sort." + +"Ay, but the judge and jury, after hearing all th' evidence, and after +hearing one of the grandest speeches ever made in Manchester, found him +guilty. Ay, and it wur a grand speech, too; I heerd every word on it, +and I shall never forgeet it to my dying day. When he finished I said, +'He's saved hissen!' I thowt as no judge and jury in the warld would +ever condemn a man after that. It seemed to me as though he had +knocked Bakewell's legs from right under him, and I nearly shouted out +loud." + +"Ah, but he could not get over th' judge; nay, the judge seemed to have +made up his mind, and his summing up were just terrible. Mark you, +I've heard a lot of complaints about it. You know what Paul said after +he were condemned? He said as 'ow the judge's summing up might have +been another speech by the counsel for the prosecution; and I watched +the judge's face when he said it, and I tell you he went as white as a +sheet. But theer, 'tis done, and tomorrow morning he'll have to stand +afore the Judgment Seat of God!" + +"'Twould be terrible, wouldn't it, if he didn't do it after all? +S'posing it should turn out that someone else did it!" + +"But how could it be, man? 'Twere that knife. Who could ha' got it? +Paul never allowed onybody to get into the office. The door was +locked, the window was locked. No, no! Ay, but it's terrible!" + +"Haaf-past seven, as I've heerd, it's going to take place," said +another. + +"Nay, haaf-past eight." + +"I wonder if he's made his peace with God?" + +"Perhaps; we shall never know. Paul was never a chap to say much about +that kind of thing." + +"I've just come from a prayer-meeting at Hanover Chapel. Never was +there such a prayer-meeting before. Paul never went to chapel, but, +but there----" + +"Well, God Almighty knows if he's innocent," said another. + +"Yes," was the reply. "And it's a good thing, too, that his mother'll +know nothing about it. I've heerd as 'ow Dr. White says that even if +she lives her mind'll never come back to her again." + +"I suppose Judge Bolitho's still in th' town?" + +"Ay; I hear he's been writing to th' Home Secretary. I know he's been +to London more nor once." + +"The nurse up at Paul's house say as 'ow he hasn't slept for three +nights, and he's acted fair and strange, too. I wonder if there's +onything in his mind?" + +"I never thowt," said another, "as 'ow they would have ever hanged him +when it coom to be known that Paul's feyther was a judge. I wonder 'ow +it'll turn out." + +And so they gossiped. Even in the public-houses a kind of solemn awe +was present. No jokes were passed, even among those who were drunken. +It seemed as though the Angel of Death were hovering over the town in +which Paul had lived for so many years. + +When midnight came, a messenger went from Brunclough Lane to Dr. +Wilson's house. It was a neighbour of Mrs. Dodson's, who had been +aroused from his sleep, and who had been requested to fetch the doctor, +as her daughter was worse. + +There was a communication by means of a tube between the front door and +the doctor's bedroom. + +"Hallo, Dr. White!" + +"Yes, who are you?" + +"I'm Amos Gregson. I come fro' Mrs. Dodson. She says as 'ow Emily's +worse, and you must come at once." + +"Very well; I'll be on in a few minutes." + +The doctor might not have retired at all, for he was out in the street +fully dressed a very few seconds after the man had left. With long, +rapid strides he made his way to Paul's house, which stood in the near +distance, and from one of the windows of which a light was burning. He +knocked at the door, which was opened by Judge Bolitho. + +"I told you to wait," he said. "I knew the crisis would come to-night." + +"Has she sent for you?" asked the judge hoarsely. + +"Yes, the man left my door not ten minutes ago. You have Crashawe with +you?" + +"Yes; he's been with me all the evening, and he's now lying on the sofa +asleep." + +"Come, then." + +A few seconds later three men left the house and made their way rapidly +towards Brunclough Lane. Presently they stopped at the door of number +twenty-seven and knocked. It was immediately opened by a neighbour, +who looked suspiciously at Dr. White's two companions. + +"Mrs. Dodson is up in th' room," she said. + +"And Emily?" said the doctor. + +"She says she mun see you." + +"Remain here," said Dr. White to the others, and went straight +upstairs. Evidently he had been there many times, and knew his way +perfectly. + +He entered a room which was lit by a cheap, common lamp, and which +threw a sickly light upon the bed. A girl lay there who must have been +extremely beautiful when in health; even although the hand of death was +upon her now, she gave evidence of that beauty. Her eyes were +coal-black, her face was a perfect oval, and every feature was striking +and handsome. Her hair was raven-black and lay in great waving tresses +upon the pillow. + +When the doctor entered, she looked towards him eagerly. + +"Mother," she said, "go out!" for her mother sat by the bedside. + +"Why mun I go, Emily?" + +"I want to tell th' doctor something," she said. + +"And why may I not hear it? I suppose I can guess, can't I?" + +The woman spoke angrily even then. + +"Don't thee be white-livered, Emily, or say owt for which you'll be +sorry afterwards." + +The doctor noted the look on the girl's face. Even then there was +something strong and defiant about her. She had a Juno-like appearance +which would have attracted notice anywhere, and her firm, square chin +denoted a nature which could withstand almost any opposition. + +"Go, mother," she said; and the woman sullenly left the room. + +"Doctor," said the girl, and although the death dews were even then +upon her forehead and she spoke between sobbing gasps of breath, there +was a kind of defiance in her tone. "Doctor, you've been trying for +days to wheedle summat out of me--you know you have." + +The doctor did not speak. + +"While I thought I was going to live," went on the girl, "I would say +nowt. Nay, if the king on his throne and all the judges and juries in +the land were to try and drag from me what I'm going to say I wouldn't +have said it. Ay, but I'm afear'd to die, doctor! Am I going to die?" + +"Yes, you're going to die, Emily." + +"How long can I live?" + +"Perhaps a few hours, perhaps not so long." + +For some seconds the girl lay silently. Even yet she seemed to be +fighting some great battle. + +"Mrs. Cronkshaw was up here a little while ago, and she said as 'ow +Paul Stepaside was to be hanged to-morrow morning. Is that true?" + +"Yes, that is what I've heard," said the doctor. + +"Ay; you've tried to get out of me if I know summat about it," said the +girl. "Ay; but you've tried hard, doctor!" and there was almost a +triumphant tone in her voice. "But have I said a word? Nay, not a +word! While I thought I should live I wouldn't speak for onybody. And +you've believed I knowed summat about it." + +"And I was right," said the doctor, "wasn't I?" + +"You're sure, now?" and the girl's tone was almost angry. "You're sure +I can't live?" + +"You can live but a few hours, Emily." + +"And can onybody do owt to me if I tell you summat now?" + +"No; no one can do anything." + +"Weel, then, look 'ere--I killed Ned Wilson!" + +Although Dr. White expected this, the words made him shudder. + +"I've ne'er said a word to onybody," went on the girl. "I believe my +mother guessed, but she's noan one to talk, is mother. Besides, I've +been very poorly. But I've ne'er said a word to onybody, although I +could see by yar questions that you thought I knowed summat about it. +I'm going to tell you everything now. I don't want Mr. Paul Stepaside +to die when it can do no good. If I were going to live, I'd ha' let +him die, no matter what happened; but now---- It wur like this +'ere----" + +"Wait," said the doctor. "I want someone to come and listen to what +you have to say." + +"Nay, nay; I'll tell no one but you." + +"But you must!" said the doctor. "If you don't, your confession will +be of no use. There must be witnesses." + +"You mean that I couldn't save him from hanging if I only told it to +you?" + +"Yes, I mean that," replied the doctor. + +"Who do you want to come up?" said the girl presently. "Nay, I don't +care who comes now. I did it, and there'll soon be an end to it. Let +'em come, whoever they may be!" + +In a few seconds Judge Bolitho and the other man came into the room. +The doctor whispered to the judge. + +"There must be someone else," said the judge. "I am afraid my evidence +would be valueless, although I want to be here. You see, I'm Paul's +father." + +"Wait a minute," said the doctor, and he ran quickly downstairs. "Mrs. +Cronkshaw," he said. "Come into the bedroom at once!" + +The girl who lay upon the bed looked from one face to another, as if +wondering what was happening. + +"Give me some strengthening stuff," she said, "or I shall noan be able +to speak." + +While the doctor poured some liquid into a glass, the judge passed +round to the other side of the bed, while the lawyer--Crashawe by +name--sat under the light with writing materials to hand. The woman +who went by the name of Cronkshaw eagerly watched the proceedings, and +looked like one vastly curious. + +"It wur like this 'ere," said the dying girl. "Ned Wilson courted me, +and he promised me that he'd marry me. He did it on the quiet, nobody +knew, and I, like a fool, trusted him. Ay, but I wur fond on him. You +see, well, I knowed I wur a good-looking lass, but I wur always a bit +rough, and it seemed wonderful to me that a great gentleman like he +should have cared owt for me. And when we had met two or three times, +and he told me that he loved me, I wur ready to worship the very ground +he walked on! As I told you, he promised to marry me; ay, and it were +his duty to do so, too, for I wur i' trouble. Then he tried to get me +out of Brunford, but I wouldn't go. I tried to make him stand by his +word. As you know, people said as 'ow he wur going to marry Miss +Bolitho, but I wouldn't believe that. Ned had promised me fair. He +swore to me by the God above us that he'd marry me. Then I saw in the +Brunford paper it wur arranged that he should marry Miss Bolitho. For +a day or two I think I wur mad, and he kept out o' the way o' me. Then +I axed him about it, and he laughed at me. He said he wur only joking +when he promised to marry me, and that a lass like I couldn't expect +him to throw away his life by marrying a mill girl. He offered me +brass to leave the town--a good deal on it, too--but I wur noan going +to be treated like that. I said, 'No.' Give me some more stuff, +doctor." + +The doctor raised the girl and placed another pillow under her head, +while she eagerly drank what remained in the glass. The room was in +intense silence, save for the scratch of the lawyer's pen, who was +taking down what the girl was saying, word by word. + +"I 'eerd as 'ow Paul Stepaside had come back from London," she went on, +"and I thought to myself, 'He'd help me. I'll tell him all about it. +He's very clever, and he doesn't like Ned Wilson,' for by this time a +fair hate got hold of me, and I thought to myself, 'I'll see him on the +quiet.' I saw him go to his office that morning. I wur just walking +across the mill yard; but as he wur talking with someone I just waited +a bit. I didn't want no one to see me. Presently I see his mother +come, I don't think onybody else saw her, because she came in by a side +way, and as you know, Paul's office is shut off from the mill. So I +waited around, and after a bit I saw his mother go out, and I said to +myself, 'Now's my time.' So I went up a little passage, and no one +could see me; but just as I wur coming up close to the door he came out +quickly. I think he wanted to speak to his mother about something. +Anyhow, he left th' office door open, and I said to myself, 'I'll go in +there now, and wait till he comes back.' Well, I did; and I waited +perhaps two minutes, but he didn't come. And then I seed the knife on +th' table, and I got 'andlin' it, and all sorts of black thoughts came +into my mind. And I said to myself, 'I'll say nowt to Mr. Stepaside at +all.' I can't explain why it was, but I took 'old o' th' knife and +come away. When I got home for dinner, I just wrote a letter to Ned +Wilson, and I told him I must see him that night late. It wur +something very particular. And I told him that, as it was the last +time I should ask him to do onything for me, he mustn't refuse." + +"Well," said the doctor. "What then?" + +"Weel, I wur at the place I told him about, and he coom'd. It wur very +late. You see I made the hour late, 'cause I know'd if it wur early, +and he wur likely to be seen with me, he wouldn't come. So I made it +late, and I told him, too, that if he didn't come I'm make everything +known. I never said owt to anybody, but I kept t' knife with me. Give +me some more stuff, doctor; I feel as though my head is all swimming!" + +The doctor did as the girl desired, and made her pillow more +comfortable. + +"Ay, that's better," she said. "Weel, we met, and I begged him again, +begged him as I thought I should never beg onybody to do anything--for +I am a proud lass--to marry me. But he wouldn't. He said he wur going +to marry Miss Bolitho, if only out of spite to Paul Stepaside. So I +said to him, 'What has Paul Stepaside to do with it?' And he laughed. +So then I axed him what I wur to do, and he told me that I might go to +Manchester and get my living as best I could. And after that hell got +hold of me, but I kept quiet. And I said, 'Good-night, Ned,' and he +said, 'Good-night, Emily. Be a sensible lass.' And then he turned +round to go back home, and then I up with the knife and stabbed him in +the back. I thought my heart was going to leap into my mouth when I +saw him fall on his face without a word and without a sound, and I +never stayed a minute, but I run all the way home." + +The scratch of the lawyer's pen continued some seconds after the girl +had ceased speaking. + +"That's all," she said. "I'm glad I've told you. A've been i' 'ell +for mony a week, and, and--but there, it's all over now!" + +"Just a minute," said the lawyer. "Let me read through what you have +said." + +"I can noan bear it; my head's swimmin' again!" + +Dr. White administered another dose of powerful stimulant, and the girl +breathed more easily. + +"You can bear it now, Emily," he said kindly. "And you've been a brave +lass." + +"I know I ought not to have killed him," said the girl, "but he treated +me bad, and he said things to me which no man ought ever to say to ony +lass. But theer----" + +The lawyer came close to the bed and read the girl's confession aloud. + +"Ay, that's right," she said when he had finished. "It's all true, +every word, so help me God!" + +"Will you sign your name here?" said the lawyer. + +They propped her up in bed, and a pen was placed in her hand. Judge +Bolitho was afraid for the moment that she would never have strength +enough to perform the task of writing her name; but the girl, almost by +a superhuman effort, conquered her weakness. She seized the pen and +wrote her name. + +"Thank you," he said. "That will do." + +The girl lay back on her pillow, panting for her very life. A minute +later the document was witnessed by the others in the room. + +Two hours later Emily Dodson was dead. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE HOME-COMING + +The warder came into Paul's cell bearing his breakfast. + +"There," he said. "I've got something good for you this morning. How +did you sleep?" + +"Scarcely at all," replied Paul quietly. "You can take away this; I +shall not eat it." + +"Eat it, man; it is the best breakfast you've had for many a day, and +it'll help you to go through with it." + +"No," replied Paul quietly; "I'll go through it without that." + +There was a sad, wistful look in his eye. He knew that the dread hour +had nearly come, and that he must bid good-bye to everything. During +the previous evening he had been in a state of great excitement. He +had listened eagerly for the coming of Mary and his father, but they +never came. In a numb sort of way he wondered why. He would like to +have bidden them good-bye. He longed to hold Mary in his arms once +more, and longed, too, to tell his father that he forgave him. For he +had to confess to himself at last that he had done this. With death +knocking at the gates of life, it seemed to him he could do no other. +His father had sinned, but he had done his best to atone. Of course, +all was vain, and the tangled skein of life had not been straightened +out. He felt that somehow life with him had begun wrong, and it had +continued wrong to the end. Still, there was a quiet resignation in +his heart which almost surprised him. At that moment he could have +said with Tennyson, "And yet we trust that somehow good will be the +final goal of ill." As for the future--well, he would soon solve its +mystery. He did not want to die; rather, he longed to live--he had so +much to live for in spite of everything. Of course, Mary could never +be his wife, but he could love her and guard her and cherish her all +the same. As for the rest---- + +He felt a kind of curiosity as to what the future would bring forth. +He looked at his hands, so strong, nervous, vigorous, and thought that +in a few hours they would be inert, lifeless. That something which men +call "life" would be gone. Where would he be? For the first time in +his life he felt almost certain that the essential "he" would continue +to be. Where, and under what circumstances, he wondered? Well, he +should know soon. + +A little later he was out under a dark, gloomy sky. He saw a great +black cloud hanging in the heavens. Here and there was a patch of blue +where the stars peeped out. It was bitterly cold, and he felt himself +shivering. Others were there, too; strange, shadowy looking figures +they appeared to be, but he took very little note of them. Only one +man was perfectly clear to him; that was the chaplain, who wore a gown +and carried a black book in his hand. It was his duty to read the +Burial Service. He heard a bell tolling, but it did not affect him as +he thought it would. Of course, it was the very refinement of torture, +and ought not to be allowed. No man, whatever he had done, should be +made to suffer in this way. But he did not care much. He was not +afraid. In the dim light he saw that a scaffold had been erected--a +gaunt, ghastly thing, the very symbol of despair and shame and death. +He wondered what took place next. He supposed there would be certain +formulae to go through. The parson would utter a homily as well as +read the miserable Burial Service. + +"What's going to happen next?" he said to the warder; and he spoke +rather as a spectator than as the one who was the chief figure in this +terrible scene. + +But before the man had time to reply there was a strange confusion. +Something had happened. Excited voices were heard. The governor of +the gaol said something, the purport of which did not reach Paul, but +still something which seemed to change the atmosphere and made the grey +dawn bright with the light of day. Another moment, and his heart +thrilled. He felt soft arms around his neck, a warm face close to his, +while on his lips were burning kisses. + +"Paul! Paul!" + +"Mary!" + +He wondered what it all meant, for even yet the truth had not dawned in +his mind. + +"You should not have come, Mary," he said. "You see I can bear it all +right." + +"Paul, don't you understand?" And she laughed and sobbed at the same +time. "You are not going to die. You are saved!" + +"Saved?" + +"Yes. She has confessed, Paul." + +"No, no!" And there was agony in his voice. "No, no! Better I should +die than that she should!" + +"No; but, Paul, it was another--a woman named Emily Dodson. You were +right, you see, in your defence. He had deceived her, wronged her, and +she killed him. She confessed it last night. It's all written down +and signed. Don't you understand, my love?" + +"Then, then----?" + +"I congratulate you, Mr. Stepaside!" It was the governor of the gaol +who spoke. "Thank God, the news has come in time! Yes, my lord, of +course you can speak to him." + +"Paul, my son." And his heart thrilled at the sound of his father's +voice. "Thank God! Thank God! Will you shake hands and forgive me?" + +It seemed to Paul at that moment as though the foundations of his life +were broken up. + +"Oh, God, I thank Thee!" he cried, "Oh, Mary, Mary! My love!" And +again he strained the young girl to his heart. + + +For many days Paul Stepaside's mother lay sleeping calmly in the room +where sickness had confined her. Her face was tranquil, the lines +which had been so deep a few weeks before had passed away. She had +been unconscious ever since the day on which Mary had made known to her +the terrible suspicion which filled her mind. Sometimes there had come +to her minutes when the past became partially real, but those minutes +were only as dream phantoms. She knew nothing of what had taken place, +did not seem to realise that Mary Bolitho had been in the house with +her, or that the man to whom she had given her heart long years before +slept beneath the same roof. She knew nothing either of the agony +through which they had passed or of their feverish endeavours to save +her son. She suffered no pain. She simply lay there as though nothing +mattered and as though the windows of her mind had been closed. + +The nurse sat by her bedside watching her. The doctor had been that +morning, and had remarked that he saw no change either one way or the +other. + +"I have seldom seen anything like it, nurse!" he had said. +"Physically, she seems to be improving. Her pulse is quite +satisfactory; she has no temperature; and her strength is well +maintained. But I do not understand this long condition of coma. I +wonder how it will end!" + +The nurse, as she sat by the patient's bedside, was thinking of what +the doctor had said, and was curiously watching her face. + +The woman's eyes opened, and the nurse thought she saw the light of +reason in them. She looked curiously around the room. + +"Who are you?" she said. + +"I'm a nurse from the hospital, Mrs. Stepaside. You haven't been very +well." + +"Ay, I remember being poorly. Where's Paul?" + +"He's not come back yet," said the nurse. + +"What do you mean? Ay, but he's near! Don't you hear them shouting?" + +In spite of the fact that she still believed her patient to be +unconscious, she listened, and thought she heard distant shouting. + +"I know, I know! It's Paul coming home! He's cleared himself. Do you +see? He's proved himself innocent! I knew he would! My own clever +boy! There! There!" + +Again the nurse listened, and this time she knew that something was +taking place. It seemed to her like a shout of great multitudes, the +roar of a mighty sea of voices, and it was coming nearer and nearer the +house. + +"Hurrah! Hurrah!" + +"God bless ye!" + +"He's saved!" + +"He's innocent!" + +"The truth has come out!" + +She could only faintly distinguish the words, but this was what she +thought she heard. It was like the roar of a great storm, the shout of +a mighty multitude. + +Still it came nearer and nearer, and the volume of sound ever increased. + +The woman in her bed laughed. "Don't you see?" she said. "I left +Manchester only yesterday, and that lassie came with me. Where is she +noo? She'll be gone to meet Paul. Just think of it! I didn't think +he could clear himself so soon, but she thought--ah, never mind what +she thought!" + +Still the roar of voices continued, ever increasing in volume and +jubilancy. + +"Don't you see?" went on Paul's mother. "The crowd knew he would come, +and they met him at Brunford station, and they're bringing him home as +he ought to be brought home. But I must not be here, in bed, I must +get up!" + +"No, no," said the nurse. "You're not well enough for that!" + +"Not well enough! I'm all right. My Paul must not find me like a sick +woman when he comes. He must find me up and dressed, ready to meet +him. Quick, quick!" + +She got out of bed of her own accord. "There," she said. "You say I'm +not strong enough! They are at the door, do you hear? Hark how +they're shouting! Ay, my own Paul, the light's come to him at last!" + +She ceased speaking. Her mind seemed to be gathering up the events of +the past weeks. She remembered the visit which Judge Bolitho had made +to her in Dixon Street--called to mind, too, the confession he had +made, and which Mary had read to her. + +"And there is no stain upon his name now. No one can twit him now!" +she continued, jubilantly. "There they are at the door! Now then, +bring me that dressing-gown. Oh, if I'd only woke up sooner, I would +have put on that new dress which Paul brought me, the one he likes so +much. He said it made me look like a lassie." + +The front door opened, and both of them heard the confusion of tongues +beneath. Then there was a heavy tread upon the stairs. The door of +her bedroom opened, and Paul entered. + +He had expected to see her lying on a bed of sickness, pale and +emaciated, instead of which she stood erect. + +"Mother!" he said, and folded her in his arms. + +"Ay, my laddie!" she cried. "You've beaten them all, then?" + +He did not know what was in her mind, but he thought it best to humour +her. "Yes, mother, I've beaten them all." + +"I knew you would. When I left Manchester yesterday I knew you'd beat +them. Why, to think of you, my Paul, doing such a thing! And that +crowd I heard shouting, Paul? They came to meet you at the station, +didn't they?" + +"I believe hundreds of them came from Manchester," was the reply. +"Then, of course, there were many at the station, too." + +"That's well, my son!" + +"Mother, what is it?" cried Paul, noting the change that passed over +her face. + +"I'm not so well, my laddie, and I'm not so strong as I thought I was. +But it's all right. I think I'll lie down again." + +He lifted her in his arms and placed her back in the bed, and in a few +seconds she was asleep. + + +The crowds departed after a while, but there was little work done in +Brunford that day. Never was such an excitement known before, never +such joy manifested. Directly the news had become known that the real +murderer had confessed, the news flashed over many wires and the Press +of the whole country was flooded with the wonderful story. Throughout +Lancashire it passed, from town to town, from mill to mill, from +cottage to cottage, like wild-fire. People who had been certain of +Paul's guilt the day before had known all along that he was innocent, +and pretended to rejoice accordingly. No sooner did the news reach +Brunford than all the mills in the town ceased running. The streets +were filled with excited multitudes, talking over what had taken place. +Paul Stepaside, for whom the scaffold had been erected and the cord +made ready, had been proved innocent at the last moment, and stood +before the world a free man! It would be impossible for me to describe +in detail the rejoicings of the people or the demonstrations that were +made. Even to this day the people in Brunford talk about it as a +red-letter day in the history of the town, as a time when it was moved +beyond all thought or imagination. + +Meanwhile, Paul sat with Mary in his own house. The past weeks seemed +like a hideous nightmare to him now. But he had awakened from his +sleep, the dark clouds had rolled away. He was home again! The crime +of which he had been accused was as nothing. His innocence had been +proclaimed to the world. His name was without a stain. But he felt +strangely restrained. It seemed as though a weight were put upon his +lips, and while he grudged every moment that Mary was out of his sight, +he almost feared to be alone with her. + +"Paul," she said to him late that afternoon, "your mother does not seem +to suffer at all because of the excitement this morning!" + +"No," he said quietly. "It's very wonderful! When I was with her just +now she was quite cheerful and happy. Even yet she does not know all +the truth. Of course, she'll have to know it some day, but we will +keep it from her as long as we can. But I do not quite understand the +look in her eyes, all the same! She seemed as though she were +expecting some one." + +"I think I know whom she expects." + +"You mean your father?" replied Paul. Even yet he was unable to speak +of Judge Bolitho as his own father. + +"Yes, I believe she is wondering why he has not come." + +"I think I rather wonder, too," said Paul. "You see, he left us +directly after I was--after--after the truth was made known, and I've +heard nothing from him since. Have you, Mary?" + +"No," said the girl. "I've heard nothing. I think he went to London. +You see, as far as you're concerned, there are heaps of formalities to +be complied with!" + +"Yes, yes, I know!" said Paul almost hastily. It seemed as though he +wanted to drive the whole terrible thing from his mind. + +"Mary," said Paul at length, "have you ever spoken with your father +about the past?" + +"No," she replied, "never. I was afraid; I don't know why. Once or +twice he seemed to be trying to broach the subject, but there was such +an awful look in his eyes that I could not bear to hear him speak about +it. Besides, I had no time to think about myself! How could I, when, +when---- But you know, Paul!" + +It was very wonderful to him to be sitting alone in his own house with +Mary in this way. Sometimes he thought he was in a dream, and that he +would wake up presently to find all the wild, ghastly realities come to +him. But it was no dream. The hundreds of telegrams which came to him +expressing delight at the proof of his innocence, and the innumerable +messages of goodwill which constantly reached him, made all his black +fancies impossible. + +He was not happy in a full and complete sense of the word. Even yet he +felt his life to be enshrouded in mystery. It seemed to him the +problem was not yet solved, and never could be solved this side of +eternity. Still, his heart was joyful, for was not Mary by his side? +Was he not for ever seeing her winsome smile and the flash of her +bright eyes? Was she not for ever seeking to minister to his comfort +and to bring sunshine into his life? + +He dared not go into the town. He feared to meet the people. He could +not bear to hear their kindly words, their exclamations of delight and +joy. He knew that the sight of homely faces would unman him, and that +he would break down like a child. While the shadow of guilt was upon +him, he could be strong even as a stoic might be strong. He could bear +hard words and suspicious looks. All through the long trial he had +been composed and self-reliant, but that was over now. In a way he +could not understand, the hard crust of his nature had been broken up. +Paul felt a new man. That black, grimy town was no longer dirty and +sordid to him. It was the home of tens of thousands of kind hearts, +the home of the people he loved. He saw a meaning in their life which +he had never seen before. He had dreams of their future to which he +was a stranger in the old days. But he could not go out and meet them, +could not clasp friendly hands, could not meet smile with smile. +Perhaps it was no wonder. Paul had passed far down the deep, dark +Valley of the Shadow of Death, and it seemed at one time as though he +would never emerge into the light again, and so it was not strange he +should desire to be alone with Mary. + +Night came on, and still Judge Bolitho did not come. The last train +had arrived in Brunford, but there was no news of him. + +"He'll be back when he's done his work," said Mary. + +"What work?" asked Paul. + +"I don't know," she replied. "But, Paul, you are grieving about me. +Don't! I know what's in your mind, but it doesn't matter one bit, not +one bit, Paul!" + +"But, Mary----" + +"No, Paul, not one word! There, it's time for you to go to bed. Kiss +me, my love!" + +He went towards her, meaning to give her a brotherly kiss, but when he +came close to her he caught her in his arms again, and held her +passionately to him. + +"Good-night, Mary. May God bless you!" + +"God?" she said, looking up into his face wonderingly, and there was +almost a sob in her voice. "Do you believe in Him at last?" + +"May God bless you, my--no, I can't say it. Good-night!" + +When Paul went to his room that night, the first night he had slept +there since the dread things which had so altered the whole of his life +came to him, he sat for a long time thinking. Again he reviewed the +past, tried to see its deeper meaning. Then he knelt down by his +bedside. He uttered no words, formulated no prayer, but he knew he was +very near to the heart of things. + +Days passed, and still there was no news of Judge Bolitho. Paul's +mother, as steadily she grew stronger, seemed ever to be listening and +watching, but she asked no questions and spoke no word about the man of +whom both Paul and Mary were sure she was thinking. Both of them +rejoiced as they saw her health coming back to her, saw a new light in +her eyes, a tenderer expression on her lips. All the same, each of +them wondered what the future would bring forth. Neither Mary nor Paul +referred again to the shadow which hung upon the former's name. Not +one question did Paul ask about her mother, or about the days before +they first met each other. He was afraid it would give her pain, and +he would rather suffer anything than do that. + +On the fourth day after his return, Paul's mother was well enough to +come downstairs again. She had clothed herself in the last new dress +Paul had bought her, and she blushed like a girl when he told her how +young and handsome she looked. + +"Nay, Paul, I'm an old woman," she protested. All the same, it was +easy to see that she was pleased. + +"You're just young and handsome, mother," he repeated. "There's many a +lass in Brunford who'd give anything to have your good looks." + +"And they say you're the very image of me, Paul! Think now, when +you're praising my good looks you're just praising your own!" + +In spite of their pleasantries, however, it was easy to see that she +was wondering about and longing for something of which she spoke no +word. + +"Mother, it's eight o'clock. It's time for you to go to bed. You must +not take liberties with yourself." + +"No," she said. "I'm going to stay up a little longer. I'm not so +weak as you think. Did I give way when--when--when I heard how near +you were to----? Oh, Paul! my boy! my boy! Thank God! No wonder you +love Mary. It was she who saved you! I fancied you had got yourself +off by your own cleverness, but, without her----" + +"Without her everything would have been impossible," said Paul, but he +did not lift his eyes. He was afraid what his mother might see there. + +"All the same, you'd better go to bed, mother. You'll be overtired!" + +"Listen," she said, and both Mary and Paul saw her hands tremble. +"There! There! Don't you hear?" + +All plainly heard the sound of wheels outside, an eager step on the +path, and then a knock at the door. Paul Stepaside's mother sat rigid. +She seemed like one afraid; yet there was a bright light in her eyes +all the time. + +"Run, my lassie," she said quickly. "Run. Don't wait for one of the +maids to go, perhaps it will be----" + +But Mary did not hear the end of her sentence. She ran to the door, +and opened it, and both mother and son heard whispering voices in the +little hall. + +A few seconds later Mary returned again, accompanied by Judge Bolitho. +He looked from one face to another, as if uncertain of his welcome. He +had evidently come from a long journey, for he looked travel-stained +and weary, but each noticed how eager his face was. Paul's mother sat +rigidly in her chair. She gave no word of welcome, no sign of +recognition. It seemed as though the presence of the judge had placed +the seal of silence upon her lips. Paul rose and held out his hand. + +"No," said the judge. "I will not take your hand." + +Paul looked at him in astonishment. It seemed strange to him, after +what had passed at their last meeting, for him to act in this way. + +"I will not take your hand, Paul, until I have told my story, until you +have heard all there is for me to say," said the judge. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +JUDGE BOLITHO'S CONFESSION + +As Judge Bolitho spoke, Paul saw that his mother drew herself up in her +chair and fixed her eyes upon the newcomer with a look of feverish +inquiry. No word had passed between them about the past ever since his +return home. Never once had she mentioned an incident of her girlhood, +neither had she spoken to Paul about the judge's confession, or what it +had meant to them both. The servants still spoke to her as "Mrs. +Stepaside," even as they spoke of Paul as Paul Stepaside. There seemed +something strange in their relations to the judge even yet. There was +still, however, that look of continual watchfulness and inquiry in her +eyes. It seemed as though she were waiting for something, something of +which she dared not speak. + +"I feel as though I had no right to sit here," went on the judge, "no +right to a welcome of any sort until I have told the truth. When I +have spoken you may drive me from your doors, but at least what there +is to be made known shall be told truthfully." + +No one spoke, but it was easy to see that all were greatly moved. Mary +Bolitho, although she had not spoken a word concerning the story of her +past, even to Paul, waited with intense eagerness. Her face had become +pale and her lips were tremulous. Paul, too, felt as though the issues +of light and darkness lay within the next few minutes, while his mother +sat rigid in her chair, never moving a muscle, her eyes fixed on the +man who had just come into the room. + +The judge pulled off his heavy fur-lined coat and went to the door. He +seemed afraid lest someone might be listening. + +"What I have to say," he said, "is between ourselves alone. A great +deal of it is not for the ears of the world, although some of it must +perforce be made known." + +Silence followed for some time, and the listeners seemed almost too +much moved to breathe, while the speaker appeared to find his task even +harder than he had imagined. There was a look which suggested fear in +his eyes, and although he constantly glanced at the woman opposite him, +he seemed unable to gaze at her steadily. + +"I need not describe at length that visit to Scotland," he said +presently. "You all know practically what there is to know. I was an +orphan. On my father's side I belonged to the Scotch people, on my +mother's to Cornwall. They died when I was very young, leaving a sum +sufficient to educate me and to start me in life--at least, so they +thought. I had chosen the profession of the law, and when I took my +degree at Oxford I began reading for the Bar. I had imagined that I +had an income sufficient to keep me during the time I was passing my +examinations and while I might have to wait for briefs. It was at this +time that I went to Scotland with some companions. There I met with +you, Jean. There I fell in love with you." + +The woman gave a quivering sigh as he spoke, but uttered no word. Her +eyes were fixed on him steadily. She seemed to be trying to read his +soul. + +"I do not think I was a bad lad," he went on, "and I loved you truly. +I meant every word I said to you. Doubtless from the worldly-wise +man's standpoint I was foolish and acted without due thought, but I +yielded to the promptings of my heart, and--and so, at least, I can +tell you that, Jean." + +He was evidently speaking to her rather than to the others. For the +moment they might not have existed at all. + +"Badly as I may have treated you, you may believe that, at all events, +I loved you with all the fresh, warm affection of a boy, and meant +nothing but what was right and true." + +Again he paused, as if trying to recall the scenes among the Scottish +hills. + +"You know I had arranged to leave 'Highlands' that morning and to meet +you later in a lonely valley among the mountains. Naturally I was much +excited and eager to get to your side. Yet even then I was a coward. +Had I acted as I ought, I should have taken you to a minister and have +married you before witnesses, but the other way appeared easy, and you +did not seem to mind. I must confess, too, that the idea of a Scotch +marriage was, in some ways, unreal to me. It did not appear to me as +binding as a marriage service should. I expect that was why I +suggested this method of our becoming man and wife, for I can see it +now--I was a coward even then! + +"Still, as I have said, I longed to get to your side, longed to make +you my wife, even although I felt I might be acting foolishly. So +excited was I that when a servant brought me a letter just as I was +leaving, I did not trouble to open it. Had I done so, our future might +have been different; I do not know; but I'm telling you this that I may +keep nothing from you, for I am determined that you shall know the +truth and the whole truth. I thought nothing of the letter through the +day; my joy at being with you was too great for that, and the +excitement of the thought that I was taking you as my wife made me +forgetful of everything else. You remember the scene, Jean? You +remember how we took each other as man and wife, there amidst the +silence and loneliness? You remember, too, how you suggested that we +should ask God to bless our union, and how we knelt side by side and +prayed? The memory of that hour has whipped me like scorpions ever +since. + +"When presently we reached the inn, I thought of the letter and read +it. It was from my mother's cousin, who had charge of my affairs and +acted as a guardian to me. It seems that he loved her when they were +boy and girl, and although she married another man, his love never +died. Perhaps that was why he was fond of me. But he never liked my +father, and hated the name Graham as a consequence. In the letter he +wrote, he told me that the little property which I had thought to be +mine had all vanished. It seems that it had been invested in what were +thought to be perfectly safe securities, but which had become +worthless; therefore I, who was not yet called to the Bar, and had no +profession, was penniless. He told me it was necessary for me to +return immediately, as he had other news of the gravest import to +convey to me, but which I could not properly understand through the +medium of a letter. + +"I've been reading that letter to-day," went on the judge, "and I do +not wonder at my being moved by it. It was written in the most solemn +fashion, and hinted at a great deal more than it said. It urged me in +the most impressive way to return to Cornwall immediately, and told me +that I must allow nothing to stand in the way of my coming. + +"Well, Jean, you know what happened. I left you on the morning +following, telling you to return to your father, to inform him of our +marriage, assuring you that I should return very shortly." + +Again the judge was silent for some time. He seemed to be fighting +with himself, seemed to be unable to express the thoughts which filled +his mind. + +"My guardian's name," he went on, "was Bolitho. As I told you, he had +always been fond of me from a boy, and he was more to me than most +fathers are to their sons. When I returned to him late that night, +for, as you know, I caught an express train from Carlisle early in the +morning and travelled continuously for fourteen hours, I found him +eagerly awaiting me, and I thought he looked pale and ill. In spite of +my protests, he would not wait until the morning before telling me what +he had in his mind. Ever since he had discovered the truth about my +affairs, it seemed that he had been making plans about me, and it was +not long before I discovered them. As I told you, he hated the name of +Graham, because my father had robbed him of the woman he loved, and he +told me that he wanted me to take his name and become his son. On +condition that I would do this, he would make my future secure and +leave me what fortune he possessed. But there was something more than +this, and here comes the story of my fall." + +Paul's mother moved slightly in her chair, and then, if possible, her +form became more rigid than before, but she did not speak. + +"Are you sure you can bear this?" asked the judge. "Are you strong +enough?" + +"I'm not strong enough to leave this room until I know," replied the +woman, and each of them realised that every nerve in her body was in +tension, and that her suffering, although not physical, defied all +description. + +"He told me something else," went on the judge. "He told me that he +had lately visited his doctor, who had informed him that it was +essential to his life for him to go to some Southern land, and +suggested New Zealand or Australia, for at least two years. He said +that a lengthy sea voyage was first of all absolutely necessary, and +that then a residence for a considerable time in a suitable climate +must be a condition of his life. If he did not do this he would die. + +"You can see what this meant," continued the judge, for the first time +looking at Mary and Paul, "and his words almost staggered me. But this +was not all. He had promised to care for a widowed sister's child, a +girl who was at that time about eighteen years of age; promised her, +too, the protection which she had never known from her father. She was +called Mary Tregony, and, like the Bolithos, the Tregonys are among the +oldest families in England. Of course, I had known her all her life, +and in a way looked upon her as a sister." + +"'You like Mary?' said my uncle to me. + +"And I had to confess that I did, although I only thought of her as a +kind of sister. + +"'Douglas, my boy,' he said, 'I want you to marry Mary; not yet, for +she has not yet left school, but in, say, two years' time, when I am +well enough to return to England; then I want you to make her your +wife.'" + +"It was here," said the judge, "that my cowardice first appeared. I +ought to have told Mr. Bolitho that I was already married, and that I +had only left my wife early that morning, but I did not. There was no +excuse for me, I know; all the same, although I still loved you, Jean, +or thought I did, our marriage seemed shadowy, unreal. I forgot what I +owed you, forgot my duty to you. + +"Mr. Bolitho, although he loved me dearly, was a man who was stern and +unbending, a man of iron will, a man always accustomed to have his way. +For years I had looked on him with a kind of awe, and had never once +dared to disobey him. His word had always been law to me, and even +although practically I had reached man's estate, the influence of the +past was strong upon me. I dared not tell him the truth, dared not say +that I could not do what he asked. I know I was a coward, worse than a +coward, but I was silent. + +"Presently, however, I made a feeble sort of opposition. I demurred +against changing my name, for one thing, and I remember saying that I +had no reason to believe that Mary cared for me. But, in his strong, +imperious way, he swept down all my opposition. The influence of the +past was strong upon me, and I forgot my present duty. Besides, as I +said, he was adamant. He grew angry even at the little opposition I +offered, and told me that if I did not care enough for him to do what +he asked, I must look to myself for my future. And I was penniless, +dependent upon him for every farthing. I had no means of earning a +living. It is true I had taken a degree at Oxford, but I had no +knowledge of any trade, no early prospect of earning money in a +profession. What could I do? Besides, I was a coward. No one can +scorn that cowardice more than I, but there it was. He appealed to my +pity, too. He told me that if I did not go with him abroad he would +have to go alone, a sick man among strangers. I soon found out, too, +that even my belief in my own property was largely a figment of my own +imagination. It is true some little money had been left to me, and had +been lost in the way I have indicated, but without him I could never +have gone to Oxford, without him I should have been practically a waif. +Besides, he was a man of strong personality, and, as I said, of iron +will." + +The judge made a movement as if of impatience. "What is the use of +enlarging upon all this?" he went on presently. "I promised to do what +he asked, promised to change my name. That was not much. I knew +little and cared less about my father, but my mother was a Bolitho, and +I almost adored her memory. I was willing to be called Bolitho instead +of Graham. That cost me very little. As to the other, the thought of +travelling for two years appealed to me. It is true I was fond of my +studies, but I reflected that I could take my books with me, and +although it might delay my being called to the Bar by some year or +two--I was young, and it did not matter; and so, God forgive me, I +forgot the vows I made, forgot my honour. I was a coward! Added to +all this, the marriage on the moors became less and less reality. +Indeed, after I had been in Cornwall two or three days, it seemed +little more than a joke, an episode in a boy's life. I was forgetful +of what the consequences of such a deed might be, and I began to look +forward to coming days. Presently I wrote that letter. No wonder you +could not forgive me. No wonder Paul hated me for it. But there, I +wrote it! One thing, and one thing only may be urged in my favour. +Although I seemingly consented to the marriage with Mary Tregony, I +hoped that something would happen to make it impossible. It all lay in +the distance, and that made everything easy to an optimistic youth. I +never breathed a word concerning my marriage with Jean. Indeed, I came +to look upon it as something that was utterly illegal, and that I could +never be expected to stand by what was only, after all, a mere farcical +thing, the act of a madcap boy." + +The judge wiped the perspiration from his brow before going on again. +It was evident that he was suffering greatly. It seemed as though he +had not yet reached that point of his story which was more difficult to +tell than any other, still, he plodded on his weary way, although the +words came with difficulty. + +"In two years' time we returned from abroad. By this time I was +accustomed to the name of 'Bolitho.' Steps had been taken to make it +legal, and I had to a very large extent forgotten my former name. I +was Mr. Bolitho's adopted son, and I called him 'father.' During the +years we had been away together, too, his influence upon me had grown +stronger. I was afraid to do anything in opposition to his will. His +resolute, imperious nature made me almost like an obedient slave, and +not only that, I loved him too. I knew I owed everything to him, and +he was almost uniformly kind to me. Thus, while I feared him, my fear +was mingled with filial love. + +"When we returned to England I started in earnest with my law studies. +I had not altogether neglected them while I had been away, and so I +went to London for my dinners, and in due time was called to the Bar, +with, it was said, a great deal of distinction. By this time my +experiences in Scotland became, to my shame, almost a shadowy memory to +me. I cared for no other woman, and there were times, too, when I +dreamed of Jean, and thought of her fondly, but only rarely. The +Scotch episode was but an episode. One thing gladdened me, Mary +Tregony seemed to care nothing for me, and in spite of Mr. Bolitho's +persuasions, there were no definite arrangements made about our +marriage. Presently, however, after I had been practising some time, +and had obtained a modicum of success, indeed, a success great enough +to promise well for the future, my adopted father wrote to me saying +that Mary had at length consented to our wedding. It was at this time +that I began to be afraid. What I had laughed at in my heart as the +Scotch episode, became real. I remember, too, that at that time I was +engaged in a bigamy trial, and I remember the terms which the judge +used concerning the man who was found guilty. Yet here was I, who had +acted as junior counsel for the prosecution of this man, contemplating +taking a woman to wife, when I had promised before God to be faithful +to another. I tried to persuade myself that the Scotch marriage was +not only informal but illegal, and could have no weight of whatever +nature, yet my heart swept away all the sophistries of my mind, and +proclaimed me to be a villain. So much moved was I by this that I at +length decided to send a man to Scotland to make inquiries. Of course, +he never dreamed of my connection with the affair, and thought that I +was only hunting up evidence for some case in which I was interested +professionally. After a time he returned with the news that Jean +Lindsay was dead, that she died some months after I had left her, +probably of a broken heart, certainly in disgrace. Need I say what I +suffered? You would not believe me if I told you! How could anyone +who had acted a coward's part as I had, suffer? Yet so it was. And +yet in my suffering was a sense of freedom. Nothing now seemed to +depend upon the possible legality or illegality of my former marriage. +The woman I had wedded was dead, at least so I was assured, and so I +believed. I went to Cornwall prepared to do my adopted father's +bidding. + +"When I arrived there, I found him almost in a state of panic. Mary +was missing! What had become of her no one knew. Personally I +believed that she so hated the thought of marrying me that she had +determined to escape. More than five years had now passed away since +my visit to Scotland, and, as I said, I had been called to the Bar with +fair prospects of success. The name I bore was old and respected. It +was a passport into any society that I desired. Again I felt as though +the fates were fighting for me. After all, in spite of everything, I +should be free to live my own life, and the consequences of my +cowardice and sin would never be visited upon me. The fact that my +name had been changed from Graham to Bolitho was practically unknown, +and even those with whom I forgathered as a student had become +accustomed to my new name. It seemed natural to them, I suppose, that +I, in order to become my adopted father's heir, should also adopt his +name. Indeed, I have been described in certain handbooks as the only +son of Hugh Bolitho of Tredinnick, Cornwall. + +"More than a year passed before I heard anything again of Mary Tregony, +and then I received an urgent message summoning me to the West of +England. It seems that my adopted father had at length found out where +she was, found out, too, that she had been the victim of a villain. A +wild rake, a man of no character, who had been kicked out of the army, +and who was already married, had deceived her. I need not mention his +name now, indeed it is well that I should not, and it has no real +bearing upon what I am telling you, but he was a handsome dare-devil +kind of fellow who appealed to the heart of a romantic young girl, and +she trusted him. Soon after their supposed marriage she found out what +she had done." + +The judge ceased speaking for a few seconds. + +"There was no one louder in his condemnation than I, no one called him +viler names than I, and yet I knew in my heart all the time that my +villainy was as great as his. + +"My adopted father met me at Plymouth and led me to a low part of the +town where she had taken lodgings. It was here her child had been +born, a child she dared not own, a child to whom the stigma of disgrace +would be attached if the truth were made known. As I told you, my +adopted father loved Mary Tregony almost as he loved me, and it was the +dream of his heart that we should be man and wife. It seems almost +like a fairy story now, but at that time it was terribly real. Even +yet I can hardly believe in its truth. We found Mary lying in a +miserable room, with her child sleeping by her side--a little girl." + +The judge turned, and gave a hasty glance at Mary as he spoke. It was +only for a second, but he saw that her face was blanched and set, while +in her eyes was a look of horror. + +"The doctor who had been called in had said that Mary Tregony was +dying, that at most she could live only a few hours, and my adopted +father demanded that I should marry her, and thus save her name from +dishonour, and take the child as my own. I have told you of the power +he had over me, how practically all my life I had never thought of +disobeying him, and in spite of myself he persuaded me now." + +During the whole of this recital Paul's mother had never uttered a +word, save in answer to the one question which Judge Bolitho had spoken +to her, but she had sat rigid in form and face, her hands clasped to +the arms of her chair, her eyes fixed on the speaker's face, never +missing a word that was uttered. Now, however, she spoke. + +"And did you dare to marry her?" she said passionately. "You--you, who +had----" + +"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There were certain legal formalities +to be complied with, a certain time to wait before any marriage could +be made legal. We were no longer in Scotland, as in the days when I +married you, Jean. We were in England. Yes, I decided to obey my +adopted father's command. As it seemed to me, I owed everything to him +and I could not withstand his pleadings. For he did plead, pleaded as +I never thought a man could, pleaded his love for Mary, his love for +her honour, pleaded that her child should have an honourable name--and +I yielded to him." + +"Then I am not your child really?" cried Mary. + +"Wait a little," said the judge. "Before the time came when Mary could +legally be made my wife, she died." + +"Then you never married her?" said Paul's mother, her voice hoarse and +unnatural. + +"No. I never married her." + +"Then--then?" said Mary. + +"Then my adopted father made me solemnly promise that I would take you +as my child, that it should be made known that I had married your +mother secretly, and that she was dead. + +"I suppose I was much excited. Certain I am that my mind did not fully +comprehend the real issues of the case. Anyhow, I promised him. As +you know, Mary, I have never told you much about your mother, neither +have I since visited that part of Cornwall where she was known. All +you have heard has been that your mother died when you were born, and +you have regarded me as your father from the time you understood +anything." + +There was a silence in the room for some time, save for the tick of the +clock on the mantelpiece. All seemed to be so overwhelmed by what they +had heard that for the moment they were incapable of speech. + +"It is ever the same," said the judge. "Lying, cowardice are followed +by the most terrible penalties. I have felt many a time that cowardice +is the father of nearly all our crimes." + +"But," cried Paul, and his voice was vibrant with strong emotion, "then +Mary is not my sister, she is--she can be---- Oh, Mary, forgive me! I +did not think! I did not remember!" + +Mary did not appear to hear him. Her eyes were fixed on Judge +Bolitho's face, and she seemed to be trying to understand. + +"I could say nothing about this before," went on the judge, "even when +the truth which was revealed during the trial came to me. I had sworn +to be silent. I dared not make known the truth. I dared not let this +shadow rest upon Mary's name, even although it seemed as though a +greater shadow rested upon it. You know what followed after that day +in the courts, when I confessed that Jean was my wife and that Paul was +my son. At last I had made up my mind that I would be a coward no +longer, that, whatever the consequences might be, I would walk in the +straight path. I could not tell all the truth because of my solemn +oath to my adopted father. Besides, the great thought in my mind was +to save Paul. I need not refer to that now, you know all about it! +But for Mary, here--well, thank God, Mary saved him! But for her, the +truth would never have come to light. But directly I knew that Paul +was free, I left you, determined to make the crooked places straight. +I hastened to London, and after doing what needed to be done there, I +hurried on to Cornwall. I saw my adopted father--he's an old man now, +but he's lost none of the strength of his younger manhood. I fought a +hard battle with him, but that's nothing--the result is that I am able +to tell you what I've told you." + +The judge's eyes sought those of the older woman, who still sat rigidly +in her chair. He seemed to be on the point of speaking to her, but +before he could do so Paul broke in. + +"Then the shame which has been attached to my name must be attached to +Mary's!" he cried. + +"Never," replied the judge. "That need not be. Concerning Mary's +birth no word need be uttered. There is no need that we should deceive +anyone, nevertheless the truth is not for the world. I need only say +that Mary is not my child, but that I have simply reared her as my own. +Her mother was a pure woman, but concerning her parentage we need say +nothing." + +"I would rather," cried Paul, "that my own name----" + +"Stop, Paul!" said Mary. "It does not matter at all. How can it, +when--when---- Oh, Paul, Paul, my love!" + +"I've always loved you like my own child," said the judge, "and under +ordinary circumstances these revelations should never have passed my +lips, but--but I--I thought, I understood----" + +Paul dared not speak again. The truth was that the knowledge which had +come to him in such a strange way overwhelmed him with joy. It seemed +to him as though that dark winter night had changed into a June +morning. Everything was possible. His mind had swept aside the little +conventions of men. Mary's presence and Mary's love were all the world +to him. + +The judge again looked towards Paul's mother. "I have not quite +finished yet," he said, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "And I +want to say something more. You know all now, Jean, know what a coward +I've been, know how that cowardice meant your misery and your disgrace. +I do not seek to excuse my conduct. It cannot be excused, and yet I +must speak the truth, I must----" + +He hesitated a second, and then went on, "Can you forgive me, Jean? +Through all you have been pure and worthy, while I have been unworthy. +My name has been spoken of with honour, and yours has been covered with +shame through me. Can you forgive me? And more--perhaps you will +scorn me and repel me when I tell you this--but after that night when I +saw you in Manchester and knew that you still lived, all my old love +came back to me; I know that really it had never died. Jean, can you +forgive me?" + +The eyes of the man and the woman met. At first hers seemed hard and +unyielding--she was evidently fighting a great battle. Then slowly, +little by little, they underwent a change, and Paul saw that the tears +were welling up. + +"Jean! Jean!" said the judge, holding out his hands. "Have you no +word for me?" + +"Come, Mary," said Paul. "Let us go into the other room." + +And they went out, leaving the two together. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF JUDGMENT*** + + +******* This file should be named 25463.txt or 25463.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/4/6/25463 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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