"She has never been to see me," he reflected. "Never once. Well, after all, perhaps it is better not. If she does come I must be very careful. I was afraid she might have been subpoenaed as a witness at the inquest, but we were both spared that. It would have been too terrible. Still, I am afraid they will insist on her being here at the Assizes. I wonder, I wonder----" A few seconds later he felt as though his heart had grown cold within him. He heard his mother's voice as she spoke to a warder; and a little later they were together. The light was very dim, but still, he could see the ravages which the last few days had made in her appearance. During the last few months Paul had reflected on his mother's looks. She had been growing young and handsome. Her face had been ruddy and free from marks of care. In spite of everything, the life with her son had renewed her youth. Her hair was still black and glossy; her form unbent. It was no wonder--she was still but young in years, and the effects of the tragedy of her girl-life had begun to wear away. Many a one in the town had remarked what a handsome woman Paul Stepaside's mother was, and she, although she professed to care nothing for her appearance, could not help being pleased. Now, however, all was changed. The last few days seemed to have added years to her life. The ruddy hue of health was gone. Her face had become almost ashen, while in her eyes was a haunted look. Paul was almost startled as he caught sight of her, although he said nothing. But he drew his own conclusions, nevertheless. Neither of them spoke for some time. The woman's arms were round her son, and her cheek close to his, and that was all. She did not sob convulsively as one would have expected under such circumstances; she did not cry out in agony, rather she appeared like a dumb, half lifeless creature, while in her eyes was a look of mute inquiry. "My poor boy! My poor boy!" she said presently. "It's all right, mother." "I thought we'd come to the end of our troubles. I thought the new day was dawning," she said. "I thought that God was in the heavens after all, and that He had used me, a poor, weak woman, instead of a strong man like you. But, oh, Paul, my boy, my boy!" He did not understand her at all, and he fancied that her mind had become somewhat unhinged by the experiences through which she had been passing, but he said nothing. He thought he had better not. "What is the good of speech?" he reflected. "She loves me. I am everything to her, and I would not add to her pain for worlds!"