"Ay, your son," replied the woman. "Yes, I have read what the man said this morning. It was in the evening paper, so I know that you know all about it. I had no name, so he was given the name of the hamlet where I was lying when they found me, thinking I was dead. They took me to the workhouse, where Paul was born, and because I refused to give them my name they called him Stepaside. But he's your son, don't you see? Your son! Your son!"
And the woman laughed harshly.
He seemed to be trying to understand the full meaning of her words.
"My son! My son!" he repeated again and again.
"Yes, your son! And he's accused of the murder of Ned Wilson, and you are the judge who is trying his own son! Truly, the ways of the Lord are as a deep sea. Yet he's a God of justice, too! I never believed in it as I believe in it now."
"But tell me more," he said presently; and his voice was hoarse and unnatural.
"What is there to tell?" replied the woman. "You deserted me, and Paul was born—born in a workhouse, reared in a workhouse, educated in a workhouse. He was called a 'workhouse brat' by the people. He lived on the rates for years—your son! And I have only to speak and all the world will know of it. Have you nothing to say for yourself?" And she turned to him just as a caged lioness might turn to a keeper with whom it was angry.
He stood with bowed head and never answered her a word. He seemed to have forgotten everything in the thought that Paul Stepaside was his son and he was accused of murder, and that he, his father, was his judge.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" continued the woman. "Oh, it'll be a beautiful story to tell to the world! I've been hearing many things about you through the day. I'm told you speak at great religious meetings, that you're a prominent religious leader, that you advocate sending the Gospel to the heathen, that you're very particular about attending to all religious observances. I've been reading what you said about Paul being an atheist. You declared that men who had given up faith in God were not to be trusted. When I tell my story, won't the world laugh!"
He made no answer. He still stood perfectly motionless, with bowed head. The woman's words did not seem to reach him.