The Day of Judgment

by Joseph Hocking

"Let me sit down," he said presently. "I think perhaps if I do I may be able to see more clearly. At present I hardly know where I am, and my mind is almost a blank; but, my God, what a blank!"

The woman looked at him grimly. "Yes, you are suffering," she said. "That's what I meant. No, I'm not going to do you any bodily harm. I needn't do that. I needn't do anything to punish you except to tell the truth!"

Judge Bolitho sat down in an arm-chair which, had been placed close to the fire and tried to understand what he had heard. He had no doubt about the truth of everything. It was impossible to fail to recognise the woman who stood before him—the very incarnation of hatred and vengeance. He knew by the look in her eyes of what she felt concerning him. There was no suggestion of tenderness in her face, no thought of pity in her heart. Well, it was no wonder. The secret which he had hidden for so long could no longer remain a secret, and his name, the name of which he had been so proud, would be blackened before all the world! How long he sat in the chair, with bowed head and aching brain, trying to understand, he did not know, but presently he was drawn to look at her. He had no thought of denying what he had done. It had never entered his mind. He had made no defence; that did not come within the realm of his calculation. He was simply stunned by what he had heard, by the revelation which had shaken his life to the very foundations. But presently he was led to look at her, to study her features, and as he did so he called to mind the face of the young girl whose heart he had won a quarter of a century before. Yes, she was beautiful still, even although her face was drawn and haggard and the hair which he remembered so well was lustreless. It needed but happiness to bring back all the winsomeness of her girlish days—happiness! Yes, he had loved her, and he had promised to cherish her. He knew he had taken her to wife as truly as if their marriage had been attended by all the pomp and ceremony which might attend the marriage of a king. She had come to him trustful and innocent, and he—he—— No, he did not attempt to deny it; he would not. What the future had in store for him he did not know, he did not care. But that was not the great thing that oppressed him, that crushed his power of thinking, that made the heavens black with the thunder of the clouds of God. It was that Paul Stepaside was his son! He had always admired him, even while he was angry with him; and he was his son! That very day he had sat in judgment upon him—that very day even he had helped to forge a chain which would bind him to the scaffold—and he was his son! Presently he spoke aloud, and his voice was almost natural again.

"And so you have lived at Brunford," he said, "and kept house for him? I've heard it is a beautiful home."

"Ay, my boy always loved me—always!"

"And, of course, you hate me, Jean?"

"How can I do otherwise?" she asked. "Nay, that word is too weak to express what I feel towards you! How can it be otherwise?"

"I quite understand," said Judge Bolitho.

"Are you going to make no defence?" said the woman. "Are you going to bring up some little tale to excuse yourself? Are you going to try and manufacture a few lies?"

"No," he replied. "None of these things. I can't think to-night, Jean. You must think my conduct very strange. I simply can't think! It will be all real to me in a few hours. You know what these Manchester fogs are, don't you? You know that sometimes you get lost in them. You cannot recognise the street in which you were born and reared. Everything is blotted out. Then presently, when the fog has rolled away—everything becomes clear. Perhaps that is what it will be with me by and by, but now I simply cannot think. I do not blame you in the slightest degree. It's just that you should hate me! It's just that I should suffer! Is there nothing more you wish to say to me?"