while he grudged every moment that Mary was out of his sight,
he almost feared to be alone with her.

"Paul," she said to him late that afternoon, "your mother does not seem
to suffer at all because of the excitement this morning!"

"No," he said quietly. "It's very wonderful! When I was with her just
now she was quite cheerful and happy. Even yet she does not know all
the truth. Of course, she'll have to know it some day, but we will
keep it from her as long as we can. But I do not quite understand the
look in her eyes, all the same! She seemed as though she were
expecting some one."

"I think I know whom she expects."

"You mean your father?" replied Paul. Even yet he was unable to speak
of Judge Bolitho as his own father.

"Yes, I believe she is wondering why he has not come."

"I think I rather wonder, too," said Paul. "You see, he left us
directly after I was--after--after the truth was made known, and I've
heard nothing from him since. Have you, Mary?"

"No," said the girl. "I've heard nothing. I think he went to London.
You see, as far as you're concerned, there are heaps of formalities to
be complied with!"

"Yes, yes, I know!" said Paul almost hastily. It seemed as though he
wanted to drive the whole terrible thing from his mind.

"Mary," said Paul at length, "have you ever spoken with your father
about the past?"

"No," she replied, "never. I was afraid; I don't know why. Once or
twice he seemed to be trying to broach the subject, but there was such
an awful look in his eyes that I could not bear to hear him speak about
it. Besides, I had no time to think about myself! How could I, when,
when---- But you know, Paul!"

It was very wonderful to him to be sitting alone in his own house with
Mary in this way. Sometimes he thought he was in a dream, and that he
would wake up presently to find all the wild, ghastly realities come to
him. But it was no dream. The hundreds of telegrams which came to him
expressing delight at the proof of his innocence, and the innumerable
messages of goodwill which constantly reached him, made all his black
fancies impossible.

He was not happy in a full and complete sense of the word. Even yet he
felt his life to be enshrouded in mystery. It seemed to him the
problem was not yet solved, and never could be solved this side of
eternity. Still, his heart was joyful, for was not Mary by his side?
Was he not for ever seeing her winsome smile and the f