"I know, my lassie. I know," cried the woman.
"Of course you know—you must know. Who is Paul trying to shield, tell me that? Who went into Paul's office and got the knife? Paul did not kill Ned Wilson. Who did? Tell me that!"
She fixed her eyes on the elder woman, and there was such intensity in her look, such passion in the words she had spoken, that at length Paul Stepaside's mother guessed what was in her heart.
"You believe that Paul is shielding me?" she said quietly. "You believe that I murdered him?" and her voice was hard and stern.
"It was not Paul who did it," said Mary. "Although a thousand men were to swear they saw him do it, I would not believe them. Who did it, then?"
"And you believe that?"
"Who is Paul trying to shield?" repeated the girl, with almost monotonous iteration.
For a few seconds a painful silence fell between them, and it was evident by the look on the face of the elder woman that she was thinking deeply.
"Do you believe," and her voice was almost hoarse, "do you believe, my lassie, that Paul is lying in that gaol charged with murder because he wants to shield me?"
"What else can I believe?" cried Mary. "Tell me the truth. You say you love your son; if your love is worth anything, you will confess to the truth!"