"Are you not glad, my lassie? Does it not rejoice your heart? Think of it! Think of it!"
But Mary was silent. Naturally, the happenings of the day had bewildered her, almost unhinged her own mind. She thought, too, of what her father had suffered. No one knew better than she what a proud man he was and what it must have cost him to have made this confession. But more than all this she realised Paul's danger. Although she was greatly moved by the revelations which had been made, although her being had been aroused to its very depths and her life become revolutionised, the thought which was above every other thought was Paul's safety. She knew what her father's confession would mean. If he could no longer be the judge, then another would be appointed; and as she read her father's words she seemed to feel that he believed his son to be guilty of the deed of which he was accused. And if her father believed this, would not the judge who would try the case anew believe it also? And if the judge believed it, would not the jury believe it, and condemn him?
"What is the matter, my lassie? You don't look glad. You are pale. What do you fear?"
Even then Paul's mother did not think of what it might mean to Mary. Nothing mattered but her own son.
"But what of Paul?" Mary said. "We must save him!"
"Paul, Paul? What do you mean?"
"I am afraid," said Mary. "Do you not see what my father said? 'If Paul Stepaside is guilty of the murder of Edward Wilson——' Oh, don't you see—don't you see?"
"But they cannot harm my Paul—they cannot, they cannot!"
"But we must save him!" cried Mary. "Do you know of anything? You do, don't you? Paul never committed this murder. He couldn't do it. But unless the real murderer is found he will have to die. Don't you understand?"
"Paul die? Paul die?"