together.

For a few seconds there was a silence between them, as each looked
steadily at each other. In Mary's eyes were wonder and a sense of
horror. She was speaking to Paul's mother, the mother of the man to
whom she had given her heart. She was speaking, too, to the woman whom
she believed guilty of the crime for which Paul would be again tried
that day. The other met her gaze steadily, and looked at her
searchingly. She seemed to be trying to read her thoughts, trying to
understand her heart, for she knew, as if by instinct, who Mary
was--knew that she was looking at the maid whom Paul loved. She did
not know that Mary had been to see her son, knew nothing of what had
passed between them, knew nothing of what Mary had confessed. For the
moment she seemed to think of her only as the girl to whom Paul had
given his heart.

"Do you know who I am?" asked Mary.

"Yes, I know. Why have you come here?"

The girl was silent. She could not answer the question. Determined to
save Paul as she was, she could not, at such a moment, make the reply
which she longed to make.

"Has your father told you anything?"

"Told me anything? I do not understand."

"Ah!" replied the older woman, and she knew that Mary knew nothing of
what had taken place between her and Judge Bolitho in that very room
the night before.

"Let me look at you," she said presently. "Come here to the light,"
and taking hold of Mary's arm, she led her to the window, and
scrutinised her face slowly.

"You're the lass that my Paul loves," she said, after some seconds.
"You know he loves you, don't you? Of course you do. He told me about
it himself. Oh, my laddie, my laddie!"

Mary did not speak. She seemed to be fascinated by something in the
woman's eyes, while the tones of her voice thrilled her. She felt now
how she loved her son, realised how deep was the passion which filled
her whole being.

"He's in prison, accused of murder--you know that? He's to be tried
again to-day."

Still Mary was silent. There seemed nothing for her to say.

"You love my lad, don't you? Ay, I see you do. Trust a mother to
know. Yes, you love him, and he would die for you, willingly. Do you
know that?"

"Yes," said Mary.

The interview was turning out altogether differently from what she had
expected. This woman was leading her into paths she had not dreamt of.

"I'm his mother," went on the older woman, "and he's everything to me,
every