derful she
had been to him. She had brought something new, something nobler into
his life. How, in spite of his anger, he had loved her! Ay, and he
loved her still. He thought of his dream of going into Parliament, of
fighting for the rights of the working people of the town in which he
lived and for the class to which he had belonged. Yes, above and
beyond his ambition to be a noted man he had a great consuming desire
to do something for the betterment of the condition of the people whom
he loved, a great passion to advance their rights. And, to a degree,
he had done it. Brunford was the better, and not the worse, because he
had lived. If it had been his fate to live, he would have continued to
work for the toiling masses of the people. He thought of the dreams
which had been born in his brain and heart, and which he hoped to
translate into reality; of the Bills he had framed, and which he had
meant one day to bring before Parliament, Bills which he had hoped
would become Acts, and which would have a beneficent influence on the
life of the nation.

But this was all over now. The end of all things had come. His doom
had been pronounced. What a ghastly mockery life was--and men talked
about God! He, an innocent man, was about to end his days in the most
shameful way imaginable because he had been found guilty of a crime of
which he knew nothing. But at least he had saved his mother. There
was something in that. No shadow of shame or disgrace rested upon her
name. Whether her days were many or few, nothing evil could be
associated with the life of his mother. How it all flashed back to
him. That night in the cell, when she had told him her story, told him
that the man who had sat in judgment upon him was his father and her
husband! Then came that great day in the court, when Judge Bolitho had
made his confession. How still people were. The court was almost as
silent as the cell in which he now lay. After all, his father could
not have been a villain. It is true he had steeled his heart against
him even after that confession. Had he been right? He remembered the
visit of Judge Bolitho on the evening of his confession; how he had
pleaded with him; how he had sought his love. It is true he would
explain nothing of the mysteries which he, Paul, desired to learn. He
was dumb when he had questioned him concerning the shame in which
Mary's name lay. Nevertheless he had to confess in his heart that hi