he replied, not realising what the words might mean.

"You see I shall be all alone. I have no friends in Brunford. Many
would have liked to be friends with me for Paul's sake, but I kept them
all at a distance. You see I waited until my name was cleared, and it
will soon be cleared now."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he knows, he knows everything--I mean your father. He's afraid
of Paul, I know he is; he always has been. It's strange that Paul is
not anything like him, isn't it? Paul has black hair and black eyes,
just as I have. He's my boy, my boy! Thank God for that! And they
can't harm him, can they? You are sure of that."

Mary was silent. The meaning of the work she had to do became real to
her now. She, too, believed that no harm could come to Paul, but she
realised the cost of his salvation. Paul could never be saved until
the true murderer was found and proved to be the murderer.

"I am afraid I am going to be ill," went on the older woman. "These
last few weeks have been too much for me. And you've promised to stay
with me, haven't you?"

"Yes," replied Mary eagerly. "I'll stay with you, and you must tell me
everything."

"Everything? What do you mean?"

"Oh, everything," replied Mary, and into her heart came the
determination to wring the confession from her at whatever cost.

Presently the smoky chimneys of Brunford appeared, and Mary looked out
of the carriage window over the great, ugly town; but somehow it did
not seem ugly to her--the grey sky, the long rows of cottages, the
hundreds of chimneys belching out half-consumed coals did not repel
her. This was Paul's town. He was member of Parliament for it. It
was here he had made his position. It was here, too, she had first
seen him, and here he had learnt to love her.

"You've never seen the home Paul has given me?" she heard her companion
say. "It is the prettiest home in Brunford. Paul did it all for me.
You won't think you're in Brunford when you get there. It's quiet and
clean up there. The birds sing in the springtime, and the smoke
doesn't blow that way as a rule. I never saw another house like it.
Oh! I would gladly die there. All I want now is to see my Paul happy.
As for the other man----"

She ceased speaking here, and Mary noted the angry flash of her eyes,
watched the quivering lips, and wondered of what she was thinking.

"There will be no servants in the house," went on Paul's mother
presently. "The