"Yes," replied the girl, "I do." There seemed nothing incongruous in the confession, nothing strange in making it to the woman to whom she was speaking for the first time. And yet the interview was bewildering. Her thoughts, as she found her way along the grimy street, were clear enough. Now they were being scattered to the winds. Neither could she adhere to her resolution. How could she accuse this woman of such a terrible deed?
"What have you come here for?" asked Paul's mother presently.
"Need you ask?" asked Mary. "I've come to you because we must save Paul."
"Do you think Paul needs our help?" asked the other. "When the time comes Paul will clear himself. You do not know what a clever lad he is. I know what is being said about him. I read it all in the papers, but I don't fear. Paul is cleverer than all of them put together, and, of course, he never did it; he'll surely come triumphant out of this. Oh, I know it's terrible for him; but it's not that that makes me fear, it's something else!"
Again Mary's eyes met those of the other, and she was sure she detected a look of madness. The woman's mind was unhinged. She was not altogether responsible for what she was saying.
"No, it's not that," continued Paul's mother. "It's not that. Paul is so clever that he will beat them all."
"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.