coming over
their relationship. The feeling of half an hour before had somewhat
passed away. The sensations caused by their first meeting had become
less powerful.

"Whatever else I can do, Paul," said the judge, "I want to help you in
this. Can't you trust me?"

Paul was silent. He was afraid to answer directly, afraid lest the
haunting fear in his heart would become known. Then, in a way he could
not understand, he found himself talking with his father more freely,
found himself telling something of his life in Brunford, until by and
by he realised that he had been subjected to a close examination. It
seemed to him as though it had become a battle of wits between him and
his father; and although he was angry with himself afterwards, he knew
he had disclosed many things which he had sworn should never pass his
lips. Still, he had said nothing definite. He had never even hinted
at the possibility of his mother's guilt.

"If you could only trust me!" said the judge at length. "If you would
tell me exactly what happened, I might even yet be able to save you."

"Do you not believe me guilty, then?" said Paul.

"Mary does not," replied the judge.

"I know that," was Paul's answer. "And for her sake I mean to fight
for my own life."

"Even although you did this thing?"

"Even _if_ I did it!"

"But have you any evidence to add that shall tell in your
favour--anything that will destroy the impression which has been made?"

"Do you believe they will hang me if I don't?"

"I mean to say, as far as circumstantial evidence is concerned, the
case is terribly black against you, and the jury must act upon evidence
given. And, oh, Paul, Paul! Can't you realise? Can't you understand
what I feel? If I must tell the truth, one of the reasons I decided to
say what I did this morning in the court was that I might be free to
try and save your life. Will you not tell me what is in your mind?"

Paul shook his head. "You have wormed a great many things out of me,"
he said, "which I did not mean to tell; still, I think I have been a
match for you."

"Don't you realise, Paul, what your life is to me? Can't you
understand what the knowledge that you are my son means to me? Don't
you believe that I would give everything I possess, everything I am, to
bring you happiness? Oh! I know what you feel, and I do not wonder at
it. I know, too, what you must be thinking about me now, and I cannot
help myself. But, Pa