d he spoke
almost in a whisper. "I understand, and I deserve your scorn. I
deserve it a thousand times over. But do not think I have not
suffered, Paul."

Paul gave an impatient shrug and took two steps across his little cell.

"I am afraid I cannot give you a welcome befitting your lordship's
position," he said. "As you will see, my _menage_ does not suggest
very great luxury, and I think my servants are in a state of
revolution. But will you not be seated?"

"You see," he went on, "when a man is being tried for murder, even
although the English law says that every man must be regarded as
innocent until he has been proved to be guilty, it does not provide any
luxuries!"

"Paul, my boy, do you not know? Do you not understand?" said the
judge. "Yes, I have been guilty of all those things of which you are
thinking. I deserve all the contempt and all the anger you feel for
me, but I come to you as a suppliant."

"For what?"

"For your forgiveness, your love. I am no longer your judge. If I
were I could not be here. That's over now. Another will take my
place. If I can do anything to atone, my boy, I will do it, if you
will let me know what it is. Do you not see? Do you not understand?"

There was a world of pleading in his voice, while in his tired eyes was
a look of yearning and longing that Paul could not understand.

"If you will tell me what you wish," said the younger man, "if you will
explain to me your desires, perhaps--although, as you see, I am so
curiously situated--I will do what I can to meet your wishes."

His voice was still hard, and there was no look in his eyes which
suggested yielding or pity.

"I deserve nothing from you," replied the judge. "How can I? And yet
I could not help coming. After all, you are my son!"

"How did you learn it?" asked Paul.

"Last night I went to see your mother," he replied. "She is staying at
a little house not far from here. I received a letter asking me to go
to a certain number in Dixon Street. It was couched in such language
that I could not refuse. I went there, and I saw your mother. I had
thought she was dead--at least, I had no reason to believe her alive.
There I learnt everything. Since then there's been only one thought in
my mind, only one longing in my heart----"

"And that?" said Paul.

"The one thought in my mind," said the judge, "has been that you are my
son; the one longing in my heart has been that you would forgive