On the night before his trial, therefore, he sat in his cell alone. The day had been black and grimy, and not a shadow of sunshine penetrated the gloom. Perhaps there is no town in England which looks more grey and sordid than Manchester does in the dead of the winter. The streets are covered with black, slimy mud; the atmosphere is dank and smoke-laden; the houses are grey and enveloped in gloom; even the crowds which throng its streets seem oppressed by the grime-laden air. And Strangeways Gaol is perhaps the most forbidding place in the whole of this great northern metropolis. As someone has said; "Manchester is one of the best places in the world to get out of." Of course, there's another side to that; it is a city full of strong, clear-headed, progressive people. On the whole, too, there are but few people in the world more loyal and more kind-hearted than those in what a great divine used to call, "Dear, black, old, smoky Lancashire." But in the dead of the winter, and to a man with the shadow of the gallows resting upon him, there can be no place in the world so little to be desired. The black night of despair was resting upon Paul's heart. On the morrow the great trial would commence, and although he thought he had arranged everything perfectly, he could not help fearing the results. And then, while his thoughts were at their blackest, he heard a voice which thrilled his being and caused every nerve to quiver with delight. "This is the one," he heard a warder say. And a minute later he was alone with Mary Bolitho. CHAPTER XVII THE LOVERS Had anyone told Mary Bolitho, even when her father consented for her to accompany him to Lancashire, that she would have sought admission into Paul's cell, she would have repudiated the idea. Even while she could not help believing that there was some awful mistake, and that Paul was utterly incapable of such a deed, she felt that there was nothing for her to do. When she arrived in Lancashire, however, and the assizes had commenced, she realised the terrible issues at stake. If Paul were found guilty, he would be hanged. The thought was like a death-knell in her heart, and all its grim horror possessed her. Day by day passed away, and she could not shake it off. She pictured Paul lying in Strangeways Gaol, waiting his trial, and realised something of the loneliness and the terror which must have encompassed his life. One day, while visiting a shop in Market Street, she heard some people talking. "He's said no word, I suppose?" said one man. "I've never heard of anything." "A curious business, isn't it?" "Ay, very curious. It don't seem right, somehow, that a man like Paul Stepaside should do such a thing. Of course, the jury will have to go upon evidence, and the evidence is all against him. I've heard as 'ow he's refused to be defended." "What'll that mean?" "I don't know, but what I am thinking is, why should he take such a step?"