ore any marriage could
be made legal. We were no longer in Scotland, as in the days when I
married you, Jean. We were in England. Yes, I decided to obey my
adopted father's command. As it seemed to me, I owed everything to him
and I could not withstand his pleadings. For he did plead, pleaded as
I never thought a man could, pleaded his love for Mary, his love for
her honour, pleaded that her child should have an honourable name--and
I yielded to him."

"Then I am not your child really?" cried Mary.

"Wait a little," said the judge. "Before the time came when Mary could
legally be made my wife, she died."

"Then you never married her?" said Paul's mother, her voice hoarse and
unnatural.

"No. I never married her."

"Then--then?" said Mary.

"Then my adopted father made me solemnly promise that I would take you
as my child, that it should be made known that I had married your
mother secretly, and that she was dead.

"I suppose I was much excited. Certain I am that my mind did not fully
comprehend the real issues of the case. Anyhow, I promised him. As
you know, Mary, I have never told you much about your mother, neither
have I since visited that part of Cornwall where she was known. All
you have heard has been that your mother died when you were born, and
you have regarded me as your father from the time you understood
anything."

There was a silence in the room for some time, save for the tick of the
clock on the mantelpiece. All seemed to be so overwhelmed by what they
had heard that for the moment they were incapable of speech.

"It is ever the same," said the judge. "Lying, cowardice are followed
by the most terrible penalties. I have felt many a time that cowardice
is the father of nearly all our crimes."

"But," cried Paul, and his voice was vibrant with strong emotion, "then
Mary is not my sister, she is--she can be---- Oh, Mary, forgive me! I
did not think! I did not remember!"

Mary did not appear to hear him. Her eyes were fixed on Judge
Bolitho's face, and she seemed to be trying to understand.

"I could say nothing about this before," went on the judge, "even when
the truth which was revealed during the trial came to me. I had sworn
to be silent. I dared not make known the truth. I dared not let this
shadow rest upon Mary's name, even although it seemed as though a
greater shadow rested upon it. You know what followed after that day
in the courts, when I confessed that Jea