s, found out, too, that she had been the victim of a villain. A
wild rake, a man of no character, who had been kicked out of the army,
and who was already married, had deceived her. I need not mention his
name now, indeed it is well that I should not, and it has no real
bearing upon what I am telling you, but he was a handsome dare-devil
kind of fellow who appealed to the heart of a romantic young girl, and
she trusted him. Soon after their supposed marriage she found out what
she had done."

The judge ceased speaking for a few seconds.

"There was no one louder in his condemnation than I, no one called him
viler names than I, and yet I knew in my heart all the time that my
villainy was as great as his.

"My adopted father met me at Plymouth and led me to a low part of the
town where she had taken lodgings. It was here her child had been
born, a child she dared not own, a child to whom the stigma of disgrace
would be attached if the truth were made known. As I told you, my
adopted father loved Mary Tregony almost as he loved me, and it was the
dream of his heart that we should be man and wife. It seems almost
like a fairy story now, but at that time it was terribly real. Even
yet I can hardly believe in its truth. We found Mary lying in a
miserable room, with her child sleeping by her side--a little girl."

The judge turned, and gave a hasty glance at Mary as he spoke. It was
only for a second, but he saw that her face was blanched and set, while
in her eyes was a look of horror.

"The doctor who had been called in had said that Mary Tregony was
dying, that at most she could live only a few hours, and my adopted
father demanded that I should marry her, and thus save her name from
dishonour, and take the child as my own. I have told you of the power
he had over me, how practically all my life I had never thought of
disobeying him, and in spite of myself he persuaded me now."

During the whole of this recital Paul's mother had never uttered a
word, save in answer to the one question which Judge Bolitho had spoken
to her, but she had sat rigid in form and face, her hands clasped to
the arms of her chair, her eyes fixed on the speaker's face, never
missing a word that was uttered. Now, however, she spoke.

"And did you dare to marry her?" she said passionately. "You--you, who
had----"

"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There were certain legal formalities
to be complied with, a certain time to wait bef