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 towa