Another thought struck her. Was Paul's mother sane? Would not this account for the difficulties which, in spite of everything, she could not explain away? If she were mad, and carried away by the passion which had been aroused by Wilson's attack on her son, would she not, regardless of consequences, commit this deed of which Paul was accused?
Again and again she considered the circumstances, pondered over each fact, weighed every scrap of evidence which had been adduced; and the more she thought about it the more she was convinced that she had arrived at the truth. By and by, however, the terror of the whole tragic scene came home to her. What would Paul think of her if she were instrumental in bringing his mother to the gallows? Even his love could not bear that test. But she would do it. Rather than see Paul die a thousand should die; for while a woman's love is the most beautiful and the most holy thing on earth, it is also the most merciless and the most pitiless. And at that moment no pity for others entered the heart of Mary Bolitho. Her one thought was of Paul.
No thought of sleep was possible. Every faculty was awake, every nerve in tension. During the years in which she had been interested in her father's work she had, out of pure curiosity, and because of her love of intellectual problems, studied the cases with which he had been connected, and her knowledge of the intricacies of the law and of the value of evidence came to her aid now. All she had was laid at Paul's feet. It was for him she must think, for him she must work.
But she must do something. She must test her theories. Surmises, however true they might be, would not save the man she loved; and save him she would, at whatever cost.
Her mind was made up at length. She saw her course of action, and she believed, too, that she saw a way whereby the truth might be demonstrated.
"Paul, Paul, my love!" she cried. "Do not fear. I will save you, in spite of everything."
She threw herself beside her bed and prayed for wisdom, prayed for strength. She cared nothing for the sacrifices she might be called upon to make, or the sufferings which she might have to endure. She only asked God to help her to save the man she loved.
The following morning Mary Bolitho left the hotel and found her way to the assize courts. Early as it was, she found some of the officials present. One of them, who had seen her the day before and had been informed who she was, touched his hat respectfully.
"I've been wondering," said Mary, smiling at the man, "whether you could help me?"
"I'm sure I will if I can, miss," he replied.