"I don't wish to," she replied, "Let me go with you."
"Come, come, Mary. I shall begin to think that you are getting morbid. This vulgar affair can be nothing to you, after all. Of course, I know you feel Wilson's death keenly, but why—why——"
"Don't ask me any questions, father. I want to go with you. I want to be near to you."
"Oh, very well," he replied. "If you can find any pleasure in being in Lancashire at this time of the year by all means come. But I think you'll repent of it."
A few days later, however, she started upon the journey northwards with her father, knowing that, according to all probability, he would be the judge who would try Paul Stepaside for murder.
Meanwhile the accused man lay in Strangeways Gaol. Up to the present he had been treated with leniency, if not kindness. First of all, according to the English law, every man is regarded as innocent until he's proved to be guilty, and as yet this had not taken place in Paul's case. He was allowed to see whom he would. If he wished lawyers to come and consult with him with regard to the method of his trial, or to arrange for counsel, it was in his power to do so. He could also see friends. Of course, he was held in strict confinement, but until the word of doom was spoken certain privileges were allowed to him which would be impossible afterwards. As a matter of fact, too, many people came to see him. An ambitious young solicitor from Brunford, a friend of Paul's, came to urge him to be defended and to offer his services. "You and I, Stepaside," he said, "have known each other for years. Won't you allow me to prepare your defence?"
"No," said Paul.
"But why?"
"Because I have none."
"Do you mean to say, then, that you're going to plead 'guilty'?"