"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 hoa.r.s.e. "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 hoa.r.s.ely. 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d, 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 a.s.sumed an immaculate air, was one of the most d.a.m.nable 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d," 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 G.o.d! My sister! And I love her as a man loves his wife!" A new pa.s.sion, a new force had entered his life now.

His longing for revenge was conquered by another feeling, a n.o.bler 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.