ul of where they were, sat watching, waiting, listening.

"Paul, my son, can you forgive me!" said the judge.

But Paul made no sign, and then Judge Bolitho, like a man who had
received his death warrant, staggered out of the court.

Immediately the whole place was in confusion. So affected was everyone
by what had taken place that they even forgot the presence of the
prisoner. Each talked excitedly with his neighbour concerning the
revelation which had been made. No attempt at keeping order was made.
Ushers, barristers, jurymen, spectators were all eagerly discussing
what they had heard.

"Never heerd owt like it!" said one weaver to another. He had come all
the way from Brunford that morning to be present at the trial. "They
can never hang him after this!"

"Nay," said the other. "But, after all, it's got nowt to do with th'
murder. Either Paul killed him or he didn't; and if he killed him
he'll be hanged for it."

"I'm noan so sure," was the reply. "Why, the king would interfere.
I've heerd as 'ow Judge Bolitho is very friendly with his Majesty, and
he would never let his son get hanged."

"Nay, king or no king, people'll cry out for justice. If Paul
Stepaside killed Ned Wilson, no matter if he is the son of a thousand
Judge Bolithos, he'll swing."

"But did'st ever hear owt like it? I wouldn't have missed it for a
month's wage. Just think on it! The judge gets up and says as 'ow he
canna go ony further 'cause the murderer is his son!"

"I never liked th' chap before," was the response, "but I canna 'elp
liking him now, a bit 't ony rate. It must have cost him summat to get
up in t' court like that."

"But just think on 't!" said the other. "If what he says is true, the
woman as we have known as Mrs. Stepaside is Judge Bolitho's wife! Weel
then, canst a' see? Judge Bolitho must be a bigamist. His daughter is
in the town at this very time, and he must have married her mother
while Paul's mother was alive. I tell thee, there'll be rare doings."

"Ay," replied the other; "but I expect they'll patch it up. These
lawyer chaps can do onything. I heerd one on 'em say once that all law
was a matter of interpretation, and you may be sure that they'll
interpret it to suit theirsen."

"Nay; I'm noan so sure," replied the other. "But it's a rare business.
By goom! All t' preachers i' Lancashire will have this affair for a
text!"

In another part of the court the two ladies who had been discu