Tom did not reply, but after Max was gone he said: “I must tell them now, but not where he is till after the search has been made.” Putting the horse in the stable, he started for the house. Mr. and Mrs. Ralston had passed a sleepless night, thinking only of Paul and counting the hours before they could see him again. They had no hope of an acquittal. That died out with Elithe’s testimony. Mrs. Ralston could not feel altogether kindly disposed towards the girl, although she pitied her, and knew that what she said had been wrung from her by the iron hand of the law. The result, however, would be the same and she would lose her boy,—not by death, perhaps,—but in a manner nearly as bad and hard to bear. She wished to be early at the jail that morning so as to be with him as long as possible before he went into the court room, and had told Tom to hurry with the carriage. She had her bonnet on waiting for him and wondering why he was so long in coming, when he appeared and told the news as Max had told it to him. Mrs. Ralston fainted, and during his efforts to restore her the judge had time to consider the situation, which looked to him rather grave. Still the thought that Paul was free gave him a thrill of joy, while he doubted the wisdom of the escape. But who helped him, and where is he? he asked. Tom, who, since he began to lie, did so without compunction, insisted that all he knew was what Max had told him. The officers were coming to search the house by and by, he said, offering to attend to them himself. If the judge suspected Tom he said nothing, and with his wife waited in painful suspense until the arrival of the three men who had visited Mrs. Percy and Miss Hansford at an earlier hour. They were met by Tom and were shown at once into the room where the judge and his wife were sitting, the mother’s face full of agonized fear and the father’s stern and grave, as, in answer to the question, “Do you know where your son is?” he replied, “I do not. Go where you like. Tom will conduct you.” The next ten minutes were minutes of torture to the two who sat listening to the tramp of feet while the party went over the house, led by Tom, who threw open presses and closets, with a strange glitter in his eyes, especially when he came to the closet under the stairs in the large square entry or hall. “They keep their best clothes here,” Tom said, taking down a silk dress and the judge’s evening coat. “Go in, if you like.” They didn’t go in nor into the cellar either. Only one of them, an old resident of the place, knew anything definite about the smuggler’s room, and he kept his knowledge to himself and hurried the others away. They were satisfied, they said to Tom, as they left the house with a feeling that Paul was there somewhere. “And if he is, let him stay. We have done our duty, and don’t want to drag him back to prison,” they said to each other.