Never, even in those hours when he had thought most fondly of her, had he dreamt of the depths of her nature, or thought of what she was capable. Now he realised that Mary Bolitho was no ordinary woman, that all along there had been depths in her being which he had never fathomed, knew that she meant what she said. "No, no, Mary," he repeated, "you must not. If you love me, you will promise me this. You will promise to be silent. You will promise that you will give no hint or suggestion of what you fancied. Besides, I'm guilty, Mary. I'm guilty, Mary. That is, promise me, for the love you bear me." There were footsteps in the stone corridor outside. It was a warder coming to tell her that her time was up, and that she must leave him. "Promise me, Mary." He caught her and held her close to him. "Tell me you'll do nothing!" he cried. "On one condition I will," was her answer. "What is it?" he asked eagerly. "That you'll tell the truth before my father and the jury." "Your father?" "Yes, did you not know? He is the judge who has to try the case." "Then, then, Mary, promise me----" The key turned in the lock, and Mary and Paul separated. Neither had made a promise. Presently Mary Bolitho went back to her hotel, where she sat in her room alone for hours, thinking and planning; while Paul Stepaside sat in his cell, with heaven in his heart; yes, heaven, even although he suffered the torments of hell. CHAPTER XVIII THE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL It was the morning of the trial, and the Assize Court was crowded. Before daylight a number of people, hungry for excitement, had hung round the strangers' entrance, and as soon as the doors were opened had rushed with a kind of savage curiosity to the part of the hall where the public was admitted. Long before the trial was opened every inch of space was occupied by a seething, excited crowd. So great was the interest created that many, who might not have been expected to witness the scene, were so eager to be present that the officials were inundated with applications for admission. Long before the court began its sitting, the air was hot and tense with eager curiosity. Some, indeed, talked casually and carelessly, as though a murder trial were an everyday occurrence, but in the main the atmosphere was electric. Men's faces were set and stern, and more than one woman showed signs of hysteria. Outside, a great throng of people, who were unable to gain admission, waited as if held by a spell. The ushers found difficulty in maintaining anything like order. The hum of voices was heard everywhere. "I wonder how he'll look," said one. "I'll warrant he'll be as pale as death." "Nay," said another, "he's noan that soort. He'll look as proud as ever. He'll mak it seem as though we were th' murderers, and he wur innocent." "Ay, but he must have had a terrible time!" said another. "He's been waiting there for weeks. Just think of it! I've heerd he's given in, too."