The Day of Judgment

by Joseph Hocking

"If you wish to send a message to my father," she answered, "would it not be well for you to write to him? Good afternoon." And she moved as if to pass on.

"No," replied Paul quietly. "I want you to take a message direct from me, and doubtless he will tell Wilson. Please inform him that I have discovered the author of the circular which was sent broadcast during the election, and that I have proofs of the plot to ruin me. Doubtless he will be interested."

Without another word he passed on. A little later, Mary Bolitho left Brunford with her father. A fairly large crowd gathered at the Brunford station to see them off, and there were all sorts of shouting and congratulations; but Mary was very silent, and during the whole of the journey to Manchester she scarcely spoke a word. She said nothing of her meeting with Paul that day. It seemed to her that something had closed her lips. She knew not why. One thing, however, gave her a feeling of gratification—she had made it impossible for Wilson to make his declaration of love. She knew she had only put it off for a time, and she dreaded the evil day.

Meanwhile, she was glad that he had not spoken to her, for Mary knew that if she accepted him, she would do so largely, if not altogether, at the wish of her father. For some reason or other Ned Wilson and he had become exceedingly friendly, and she believed, although her father had said nothing definite to her about it, that he favoured Ned's suit. And she loved her father with a great love, and would not, if she could help it, do anything to displease him. For Mary belonged to those who were held fast by old-fashioned views concerning the obedience due from children to their parents. In this respect she was a child of a past generation. She had a horror of anything like the modern woman movement, and did not claim that so-called emancipation by which they give up their superiority to men, in order to become their equals.

She determined, too, that she would go away on a long visit to a friend, giving as an excuse to her father that she was overwrought by the election and needed a rest. In this way she thought she would, for a time at all events, postpone the day of decision in relation to the suit which she knew Ned Wilson was longing to urge.

In a few days the excitement of the election had calmed down at Brunford. The jubilation of the victors spent itself, as did the disappointment of those who were vanquished. Bolitho was elected and Paul Stepaside didn't get in. And that, for the time being, was the end of it.

Meanwhile, Paul went on with his work silently, doggedly. His affairs were in a critical condition, and he needed all his energy and all his wits to put everything right. He no longer fought in the dark, however. He knew who and what had brought about the crisis which had faced him, and Paul was a man of many resources. For more than a month he had only been able to give half his mind to his business, and George Preston, while a trustworthy and reliable fellow, was not strong enough to face the problems which lay before them. Freed from the demands of the political contest, however, he threw his whole energies into the disentanglement of his affairs, and little by little he succeeded. The prices for the stuff which he had been manufacturing went up again, and although they had not reached the figures of a few months before, he was able to sell enough to help him to meet his most pressing creditors. In three months, matters had assumed their normal condition. Evidently Ned Wilson regarded him as no longer dangerous, and was not prepared to lose more money to bring about his revenge. In addition to this, Paul had worked in a way whereby Wilson had been deceived. Mind for mind, Wilson was no match for him. He was not so far-seeing, neither had he so broad a grasp of affairs. He had been able to gain an immediate advantage because of his large capital, and Paul knew that Wilson's father was too fond of money to consent to heavy and continuous losses. At the end of six months Paul's position was pretty well assured. In spite of everything he had overcome the evil circumstances, and, more than that, he had even used what seemed a disaster to the furtherance of his own ends.

All this time he had not been unmindful of the great quest of his life. He never forgot, even when the fight was at the highest, the loneliness of his mother's life and the shadow that rested upon her. Indeed he had, from the time of his returning from Scotland, made constant and continuous efforts to discover the man who had blackened her name. All his efforts, however, were unavailing. Every road seemed to be a cul-de-sac. Either Douglas Graham had given his mother a false name or else he had left the country, and thus made it impossible for him to find him; or he might be dead—it was quite possible. During the lapse of twenty-five years anything might happen. Still, he had a feeling that his father was alive, and he owed it to his mother, he owed it to himself, to penetrate the mystery. Why he should connect Mary Bolitho with all this he did not know; nevertheless, it was a fact that her face was never missing from the picture which he drew of the future. Somehow she was always connected with the efforts he was making. Often he dreamed of the time when he would be able to get her and say, "My name is as honourable as yours, as free from stain as yours. I have found my father." But the months went by and his search was unavailing, and the questions he was constantly asking were never answered.

He had never seen his mother since the day he left her on the Altarnun Moors. More than once he had suggested that she should come and live with him, but she had refused. Frequently, too, when writing to her, he had asked her whether he might come and see her, but she had persistently opposed this. "No, Paul," she said. "Your coming would only lead to questions. Here I am allowed to bury my secret in my own heart, and while my life is lonely enough, I can bear it until the day when justice is done to me."

At length, however, Paul could bear it no longer.