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, forgetf