He was still possessed with the idea that his mother was referring to her own guilt, and he determined at all hazards to keep her from making any confession. He did not quite know what the course of procedure might be during the coming days, but he knew that according to English law no prisoner accused of murder can be obliged to answer any questions before a judge and jury. He had, during his preliminary trials, evaded everything which might arouse the suspicions he feared, but if his mother told him that which he felt sure was on her lips, he did not know what he might have to do at some future period of the trial. "But I must tell you, Paul. I must tell you. It will be terrible for you. It will drive you mad. But you must know! You must! you must!" Her voice rose almost to a shriek as she spoke, and he feared lest any warder listening at the door might hear what she should say. "Speak low," he whispered, "or, better still, do not speak at all. No, don't speak, mother. I know all there is any need to know!" "But you must hear. Yes, yes, I won't speak aloud, but you must know. I must tell you. Paul, Paul, I--I----" "No, no, mother, be quiet!" His voice was low and hoarse. "I tell you nothing matters. Everything will be all right. You needn't fear for me, I'll be a match for them all!" "But I must tell you, Paul, even although it may drive you mad. It'll alter everything, everything! I've found out something. To-day, to-day----" The tones of her voice had changed, and there was a mad intensity which he could not understand. She had grown calmer, too, and her body had become as rigid as a stone. "Listen, Paul," she went on, "I've found your father!" "Is that what you wanted to tell me?" And although he was excited beyond words, he also realised a great relief. "Yes, I've found your father." "My father! Who is he? You cannot mean it!" "Yes. Don't you know? Can't you guess?" His mind was bewildered, the blow was too stunning. After all these years of unavailing search for the truth, to come to him like this almost unbalanced his mind. "No, I can't guess," he said. "How did you do it, mother? How? Where is he?" "The judge, the judge," she said hoarsely. She stood back from him as she spoke, and the dim light of the room fell upon her face. She looked years older now than she had looked when they spent their last evening together in their home in Brunford. Her face was marked with deep lines. Her eyes were sunken. Her hair had become dull, and her hands trembled as though she had the palsy. "The judge, the judge!" she repeated. "He's your father, Paul." "The judge! What judge? Great God, you don't mean that--that----"