which ever follows such
experiences possessed him. After all, what mattered? Mary Bolitho
could never be his wife, and if Fate had decided upon his death, die he
must. Indeed, he did not seem to care very much. It seemed as if, for
the time being, his nature had become almost paralysed. Of course, the
experiences through which he was passing were only transitory.
Presently his strength would assert itself again, and everything would
become vivid and vital. And so he lay in a semi-comatose condition on
the comfortless couch which had been provided for him, and the
realities of the situation seemed far away. He had been lying thus for
perhaps an hour, and was on the point of falling asleep, when there
were footsteps in the corridor outside, and the door of his cell opened.

At first he felt almost annoyed at the intrusion. Why could they not
let him rest? After all, everything was hopeless, and he did not very
much care. Still, he turned his eyes towards the door, and when he saw
that it was Judge Bolitho who entered, he started to his feet. His
nerves grew tense again, and his mind active. The judge waited while
the door was closed, and then turned to Paul. The older man looked
around the little room like one trying to take in the situation, noted
the light of the dying day as it penetrated the prison window, let his
eyes rest upon the little couch where Paul had been lying, and made a
survey of the items of the room as though it were his business to care
for the prisoner's comfort.

Neither of them spoke for some seconds. Paul was silent because, in
spite of everything, there seemed an insurmountable barrier between him
and the man who had come to visit him; the judge, because he almost
feared the son whom he had come to see.

Presently their eyes fastened upon each other's faces, and each
scrutinised every feature as if trying to read the other's mind. It
was Paul who spoke first.

"Why have you come here?" he asked.

"Surely you can guess?" was the reply. "I could not stay away. There
was but one place to which I could go."

"You must know that I have nothing to say to you, even as you have
nothing to say to me."

"You are wrong," replied the judge. "I have a great deal to say to
you. How can it be otherwise? Have you no pity, my boy?"

Paul looked at him angrily. "Pity!" he replied, and there was a world
of scorn in his voice.

The judge stood with bowed head. "Yes, I understand," an