ents that afternoon more than
one wondered what was the matter with him. He did not seem himself at
all. Evidently his mind was much perturbed.

Judge Bolitho did not return to Paul's house until nearly five o'clock.
As he came to the door, Mary met him with eager questions on her lips,
but those questions were never asked. The ghastly look on his face
made it impossible for her to speak.

"It's all over," he said hoarsely.

"All over? What's all over?"

"The trial. I've just telephoned to Manchester."

The girl stood looking at him with horror in her eyes.

"They've found him guilty," said the judge hoarsely. "He's condemned
to be hanged!"

CHAPTER XXXII

IN THE CONDEMNED CELL

Paul Stepaside was alone in his condemned cell. He was no longer
merely a prisoner waiting his trial for the most terrible deed a man
can commit; he was condemned for that deed, and his whole circumstances
were altered accordingly. No one could see him except in the presence
of a warder, and he was under the most rigorous inspection. Care was
taken that no means were offered him whereby he could take his own
life. Thus, grim and horrible as had been his previous conditions,
they were far worse now. The days of hope were gone, because the days
of action were gone. Nothing he could say or do now promised a
possibility of escape from the terrible doom which had been pronounced.

For many hours he had been thinking over his fate, and wondering what
had become of those he loved. Vague rumours had reached him that his
mother was not well, but he had no definite knowledge of anything
concerning her. A short letter from Mary had also reached him. It was
only a few words, but it had been his great source of solace and
comfort. But that, too, had lost much of its meaning. It was written
before his sentence had been pronounced. It had told him to hope, and
it had expressed the undying faith and love of the writer. But even in
this short letter he seemed to see a change. It was like the letter of
a sister rather than the outpourings of the woman whom he had hoped to
make his wife. Of course it was right and natural that this should be
so. She had discovered their relationship, and believing herself to be
his half-sister, she could no longer think of him as on that night of
their meeting in the prison. Then they had met as lovers, and she had
promised him that when he was free--as she felt sure he soon would
be--to b