"I don't know. She's noan so well this morning. Last night I left her i' th' house alone. Me and my old man went over to Crumpsall to see our lass. She said as 'ow she didn't mind being left alone, and so we were away several hours. But I was sorry afterwards that we went, for she was in a fair way when we come back. She looked just like a corpse. You see, she's brooding over her son. Ay, but it's a terrible business!" "Will you please tell her a young lady wishes to see her?" urged Mary. "She's in the little room behind, having her breakfast," said the woman. "Ay, I s'pose I may as well." She led the way and Mary followed her, and a minute later entered the room where Paul's mother was. "Here's a young woman come to see you." Paul's mother rose as the woman spoke, and looked at Mary intently. "I've something to say to you," said Mary, "something very important." "What is it about?" "I'll tell you when we are alone," was Mary's reply. And then, at a nod from Paul's mother, the owner of the cottage left them together. For a few seconds there was a silence between them, as each looked steadily at each other. In Mary's eyes were wonder and a sense of horror. She was speaking to Paul's mother, the mother of the man to whom she had given her heart. She was speaking, too, to the woman whom she believed guilty of the crime for which Paul would be again tried that day. The other met her gaze steadily, and looked at her searchingly. She seemed to be trying to read her thoughts, trying to understand her heart, for she knew, as if by instinct, who Mary was--knew that she was looking at the maid whom Paul loved. She did not know that Mary had been to see her son, knew nothing of what had passed between them, knew nothing of what Mary had confessed. For the moment she seemed to think of her only as the girl to whom Paul had given his heart. "Do you know who I am?" asked Mary. "Yes, I know. Why have you come here?" The girl was silent. She could not answer the question. Determined to save Paul as she was, she could not, at such a moment, make the reply which she longed to make. "Has your father told you anything?" "Told me anything? I do not understand." "Ah!" replied the older woman, and she knew that Mary knew nothing of what had taken place between her and Judge Bolitho in that very room the night before. "Let me look at you," she said presently. "Come here to the light," and taking hold of Mary's arm, she led her to the window, and scrutinised her face slowly. "You're the lass that my Paul loves," she said, after some seconds. "You know he loves you, don't you? Of course you do. He told me about it himself. Oh, my laddie, my laddie!" Mary did not speak. She seemed to be fascinated by something in the woman's eyes, while the tones of her voice thrilled her. She felt now how she loved her son, realised how deep was the passion which filled her whole being.