He remembered his mother's face, too, as she came into the court, remembered the look of agony in her eyes, remembered the unearthly scream she had given. What did it mean? His mother was not a weak woman, she was not given to hysterics, rather she was cold and grim and hard to all the rest of the world. She was only tender towards him. What did she mean by coming in such a way? What led her to cry out with such intense pain? The thought had scarcely passed his mind when he heard the key of the warder in his door, and a moment later his mother came into his cell. For some time neither of them spoke. The woman came towards him slowly, and then, throwing her arms round his neck, held him close to her for a long time. Paul felt the quiver of her body, and realised the intensity of her feelings. "Are you better, mother?" He was able to speak quite calmly by this time, and was determined that neither by look nor sign would he say anything of his suspicions concerning her. But she did not answer him. She still held him close to her, her face pressed hard against his chest. "I saw you come into court this morning," he said, as though the matter were the most casual thing imaginable. "You seemed frightened, mother. Why was it?" Still she did not speak, but Paul knew by her quivering hands and by her convulsive sobs that something had aroused her to the depths of her being. "I hope you are better now," he went on. "It was very thoughtful of you to let me know you had recovered. You mustn't trouble about me, mother. I shall be able to manage all right." "Yes, yes," she gasped presently, "but you don't know, Paul! You don't know!" "I think I know all that is necessary," he said, and then he stopped, for he was on the point of mentioning the ghastly thought which had been haunting him throughout the day. He believed he had read his mother's motive in coming into the court, and that, but for her falling down in a faint, she would have carried out her purpose. He felt sure she had come there that day to tell of her own guilt, and thus to save him. He imagined that she would have found it easy to gain admission by telling the officials that she was the accused man's mother, and that had she carried out her purpose he would by that time have been a free man. "You must not give way to these feelings, mother," he said. "I am abundantly able to take care of myself, and I am afraid neither of judge nor jury." "The papers say you asked some awfully clever questions," she said, and there was a mirthless laugh in her voice. "People are saying in the city, too, that you've got something up your sleeve, and that presently, when the right time comes, you will confound them all. But, oh, Paul, Paul, my poor boy, my dear boy! I've come to tell you something!" "Don't tell me, mother," he said. "I'm sure it will give you pain, and there's not the slightest need. Everything is right and perhaps there's truth in what the people say."