"Not unless the real murderer confesses," replied Mary. "You see, I know what Law Courts are, and what juries are, and I've read every word of the evidence, and unless the real murderer is found, I am afraid--terribly afraid!" "You mean that they will hang him?" Mary was silent. She felt she could not utter the words that hung upon her lips. "That's why I've come to you," said Mary. For the moment she felt like uttering the thoughts which had been haunting her throughout the night, but it seemed as though something sealed her lips. "Will you not help me?" she said. "We must work together." For a moment Mary had made the other feel what she felt herself--that Paul's life was really in danger--but only for a moment. "No, no," she cried. "They'll never hang him when they know what I know!" "What do you know? Tell me," cried Mary, feeling that she was nearing the object after which she strove. "Yes, you must know. The truth must come out. After last night it cannot be hidden long." "My father, as you know, is the judge," said Mary. "And he must do his duty. It's not he who's responsible; it is the jury, you know." There was something unreal in her words, and they seemed to pass her lips without any effort on her own part. Paul's mother almost laughed. "Why is it I feel so tender towards you?" she said, "when you are his child? I expect it is because I know that Paul loves you and that you love him. I ought to hate you. I can't understand why I don't. And then everything is so tangled too." Mary was sure now that she was talking to a mad woman. Her words were meaningless. They were simply the ravings of a disordered mind. "Can a man condemn his own son to death?" continued the older woman. "Now that he knows the truth, can he send him to be hanged?" Mary began to be afraid. The woman's wild, unreasoning words and the strange look in her eyes almost frightened her. "I do not think you realise what you are saying." "Not realise?" was the reply. "Oh, my lass, my lass! Yes, I see you think I'm mad. It would be no wonder if I were. I've gone through enough to unhinge any woman's mind; but, no, I am not mad. Yes, I may as well tell you, for you must know sooner or later, that judge--Judge Bolitho as you call him--your father, is Paul's father too, and my husband. Paul has told you about it, hasn't he? He married me when I was a girl up among the Scotch hills, and he's Paul's father, and he's your father too. Don't you see?" For a moment Mary was almost stunned. In spite of the wild words which she heard, she could not help being convinced of their truth. Her mind fled to the interview she had had with her father on the previous night, and what the woman had said seemed to explain the terror in his eyes and the mystery of his words. "My father, Paul's father!"