Mary began to be afraid. The woman's wild, unreasoning words and the strange look in her eyes almost frightened her.
"I do not think you realise what you are saying."
"Not realise?" was the reply. "Oh, my lass, my lass! Yes, I see you think I'm mad. It would be no wonder if I were. I've gone through enough to unhinge any woman's mind; but, no, I am not mad. Yes, I may as well tell you, for you must know sooner or later, that judge—Judge Bolitho as you call him—your father, is Paul's father too, and my husband. Paul has told you about it, hasn't he? He married me when I was a girl up among the Scotch hills, and he's Paul's father, and he's your father too. Don't you see?"
For a moment Mary was almost stunned. In spite of the wild words which she heard, she could not help being convinced of their truth. Her mind fled to the interview she had had with her father on the previous night, and what the woman had said seemed to explain the terror in his eyes and the mystery of his words.
"My father, Paul's father!"
"Yes; he courted me as Douglas Graham. How he changed his name I don't know yet; that will come, I suppose. He is my husband and Paul's father. I told him so last night, so he knows—knows everything. Why didn't he tell you? But—don't you see?—he cannot condemn Paul to death. How can a father condemn his own son?"
The two stood close by the window, and Paul's mother still had her hand upon Mary Bolitho's shoulder, and was looking into her face. Mary felt the hand tremble, and saw the strong woman reel to and fro.
"You are ill, Mrs. Stepaside," cried Mary; and then, scarcely knowing what she was doing, she led her to a chair.
"My lass," said the woman, "take me home. Take me to the home Paul gave me. I cannot think here. I cannot stay any longer. Will you?"
"You mean that you wish me to go to Brunford with you?" asked Mary.