depths. Everything was so unexpected, so unthought of. In all his
calculations Paul had never thought of this. He had wondered in what
way Judge Bolitho, whenever the truth became known to him, would meet
the difficulties which arose, but he had never dreamt he would stand up
in a crowded court like that and make such a confession. Paul knew him
to be a proud man, knew, too, that he was sensitive to the least
approach of shame, knew that he valued the name he owned--one of the
oldest in England. One part of the judge's speech remained in his
memory. He repeated the words over again and again to himself as if
trying to understand their inwardness: "In a sense there is no need
that I should make this explanation in this way, but I do it because my
conscience binds me to do so and because I wish, here and now, to ask
my son's forgiveness."

In spite of himself he was moved. He realised what it must have cost
the judge to utter such words; realised, too, the battle which he had
fought during the night, before he had decided to make such a
statement. "Because I wish, here and now, to ask my son's forgiveness."

Even yet he hated his father, and fought against the kinder feelings
which surged up in his heart. He could not forget the dastardly deed
which the man had committed before he was born: the base betrayal, the
almost baser desertion, and those long years when his mother suffered
in silence and solitude. For himself he did not care so much, but his
mother he loved with all the strength of his nature. And a few
lachrymose words could not atone for the misery of a lifetime. Still,
they had their effect upon him. He called to mind, too, the look in
the judge's eyes as he left the court, the simple words he had spoken:
"Paul, my son, can you forgive me?"

He wanted to forgive him. A thousand forces which he could not
understand seemed to be pleading with him. All the same, his heart
remained adamant. The shadow of the gallows was still upon him, the
weary weeks he had been lying in a dark cell, covered with ignominy and
shame. His portrait had appeared in almost every scurrilous rag in the
country. His name and history had been debated among those who always
fastened upon every foul bit of garbage they could find. And in a way
Paul traced everything to this man, Judge Bolitho; why, he did not
know, but he could not help it.

Still, the happenings of that morning impressed him. They seemed to
change h