The judge ceased speaking for a few seconds.
"There was no one louder in his condemnation than I, no one called him viler names than I, and yet I knew in my heart all the time that my villainy was as great as his.
"My adopted father met me at Plymouth and led me to a low part of the town where she had taken lodgings. It was here her child had been born, a child she dared not own, a child to whom the stigma of disgrace would be attached if the truth were made known. As I told you, my adopted father loved Mary Tregony almost as he loved me, and it was the dream of his heart that we should be man and wife. It seems almost like a fairy story now, but at that time it was terribly real. Even yet I can hardly believe in its truth. We found Mary lying in a miserable room, with her child sleeping by her side—a little girl."
The judge turned, and gave a hasty glance at Mary as he spoke. It was only for a second, but he saw that her face was blanched and set, while in her eyes was a look of horror.
"The doctor who had been called in had said that Mary Tregony was dying, that at most she could live only a few hours, and my adopted father demanded that I should marry her, and thus save her name from dishonour, and take the child as my own. I have told you of the power he had over me, how practically all my life I had never thought of disobeying him, and in spite of myself he persuaded me now."
During the whole of this recital Paul's mother had never uttered a word, save in answer to the one question which Judge Bolitho had spoken to her, but she had sat rigid in form and face, her hands clasped to the arms of her chair, her eyes fixed on the speaker's face, never missing a word that was uttered. Now, however, she spoke.
"And did you dare to marry her?" she said passionately. "You—you, who had——"
"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There were certain legal formalities to be complied with, a certain time to wait before any marriage could be made legal. We were no longer in Scotland, as in the days when I married you, Jean. We were in England. Yes, I decided to obey my adopted father's command. As it seemed to me, I owed everything to him and I could not withstand his pleadings. For he did plead, pleaded as I never thought a man could, pleaded his love for Mary, his love for her honour, pleaded that her child should have an honourable name—and I yielded to him."
"Then I am not your child really?" cried Mary.
"Wait a little," said the judge. "Before the time came when Mary could legally be made my wife, she died."