"It will be seen that the unhappy convict witness will not be used as an instrument of deception," he said. "He is Paul Drayton, and can not be made to pretend that he is Paul Ritson."
The hush of awe in the court was broken by the opening of a door behind the bench. Two women stood on the threshold. One of them was small, wrinkled, and old. She was Mrs. Drayton. The other was a nun in hood and cape. She was Sister Grace.
Hugh Ritson leaned toward counsel for the plaintiff, who promptly rose and said:
"The witness I spoke of as dead to the world is now present in the court."
Amid a buzz of conversation the nun was handed to the table. She raised her long veil and showed a calm, pale face. After the usual formalities, counsel addressed her.
"Mrs. Ritson," he said, "tell us which of the two men who sit opposite is your son."
Sister Grace answered in a clear, soft voice:
"Both are my sons. The convict is Paul Ritson, my son by Allan Ritson; the other is Paul Lowther, my son by an unhappy alliance with Robert Lowther."
Drayton jumped to his feet.
"There, that's enough of this!" he shouted, excitedly. "Damme, if I can stand any more of it!"