g! And it's right he should, too. Ay, and I'm
suffering, too, my lassie. I feel strange. I think I'll go to bed if
you'll help me."

As Mary helped her upstairs she felt like one in a dream. Everything
was intangible, unreal. What was she doing in this house? What right
had she to be waiting on this woman so carefully and tenderly, when she
was guilty of the awful deed which threatened to bring Paul to the
gallows? But she spoke no word.

A little later they were in the bedroom together, and Mary was
ministering to her with almost tender solicitude.

"Sit by me while I sleep, won't you? I don't know how long it is since
sleep came to me, but I feel now as though I could rest. Ay, lass, but
you are bonnie! It's no wonder that my Paul loves you."

Her overwrought powers had doubtless given way. The scenes through
which she had passed had made her incapable of realising the true
consequences of everything. Mother Nature had come to her aid, and in
her own way was applying healing balm.

A little later she was sleeping like a child.

Mary sat almost motionless by her side for some time. Things were
turning out altogether differently from what she had expected. Up to
the present she had made no accusation. She had not even suggested
what she was sure was the truth. She wondered why it was. All the
same, she waited, feeling sure that her time would come.

Presently, noting that Paul's mother was not likely to wake, she left
the room; and then, led by a strange curiosity, wandered round the
house. She went into Paul's bedroom. She knew it was his by a
thousand things. Here he had dreamed his dreams and made his plans.
He had dreamed of her, doubtless, not knowing that she was his
sister--his sister! She could not realise it. Her brain, her heart,
refused to accept it as a fact, and yet she felt sure it was so. Again
she went into the study, the little den which Paul had taken so much
care to furnish. She looked lovingly at his books and noted those
which he had evidently used most. She went to the writing-table where
he had done his work, and noted the various pictures which hung around
the room. It was not like the ordinary Lancashire manufacturer's house
at all. It suggested the student, the man of letters, the lover of
art. And how silent it was! Away in the distance was the hum of the
busy town, but here, sheltered by the great hills which sloped away
behind, all was peace. After sitt