n was my wife and that Paul was
my son. At last I had made up my mind that I would be a coward no
longer, that, whatever the consequences might be, I would walk in the
straight path. I could not tell all the truth because of my solemn
oath to my adopted father. Besides, the great thought in my mind was
to save Paul. I need not refer to that now, you know all about it!
But for Mary, here--well, thank God, Mary saved him! But for her, the
truth would never have come to light. But directly I knew that Paul
was free, I left you, determined to make the crooked places straight.
I hastened to London, and after doing what needed to be done there, I
hurried on to Cornwall. I saw my adopted father--he's an old man now,
but he's lost none of the strength of his younger manhood. I fought a
hard battle with him, but that's nothing--the result is that I am able
to tell you what I've told you."

The judge's eyes sought those of the older woman, who still sat rigidly
in her chair. He seemed to be on the point of speaking to her, but
before he could do so Paul broke in.

"Then the shame which has been attached to my name must be attached to
Mary's!" he cried.

"Never," replied the judge. "That need not be. Concerning Mary's
birth no word need be uttered. There is no need that we should deceive
anyone, nevertheless the truth is not for the world. I need only say
that Mary is not my child, but that I have simply reared her as my own.
Her mother was a pure woman, but concerning her parentage we need say
nothing."

"I would rather," cried Paul, "that my own name----"

"Stop, Paul!" said Mary. "It does not matter at all. How can it,
when--when---- Oh, Paul, Paul, my love!"

"I've always loved you like my own child," said the judge, "and under
ordinary circumstances these revelations should never have passed my
lips, but--but I--I thought, I understood----"

Paul dared not speak again. The truth was that the knowledge which had
come to him in such a strange way overwhelmed him with joy. It seemed
to him as though that dark winter night had changed into a June
morning. Everything was possible. His mind had swept aside the little
conventions of men. Mary's presence and Mary's love were all the world
to him.

The judge again looked towards Paul's mother. "I have not quite
finished yet," he said, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "And I
want to say something more. You know all now, Jean, know what a coward
I'v