er
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,