. 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?