you wish to stay
at the Wilsons'?"

"Oh, no," she cried quickly. "But I should like to be near you. There
are good hotels both in Manchester and Liverpool, and I dread the
thought of staying here alone."

"The Gordons have invited you to go to their place. Why not accept the
invitation?"

"I don't wish to," she replied, "Let me go with you."

"Come, come, Mary. I shall begin to think that you are getting morbid.
This vulgar affair can be nothing to you, after all. Of course, I know
you feel Wilson's death keenly, but why--why----"

"Don't ask me any questions, father. I want to go with you. I want to
be near to you."

"Oh, very well," he replied. "If you can find any pleasure in being in
Lancashire at this time of the year by all means come. But I think
you'll repent of it."

A few days later, however, she started upon the journey northwards with
her father, knowing that, according to all probability, he would be the
judge who would try Paul Stepaside for murder.

Meanwhile the accused man lay in Strangeways Gaol. Up to the present
he had been treated with leniency, if not kindness. First of all,
according to the English law, every man is regarded as innocent until
he's proved to be guilty, and as yet this had not taken place in Paul's
case. He was allowed to see whom he would. If he wished lawyers to
come and consult with him with regard to the method of his trial, or to
arrange for counsel, it was in his power to do so. He could also see
friends. Of course, he was held in strict confinement, but until the
word of doom was spoken certain privileges were allowed to him which
would be impossible afterwards. As a matter of fact, too, many people
came to see him. An ambitious young solicitor from Brunford, a friend
of Paul's, came to urge him to be defended and to offer his services.
"You and I, Stepaside," he said, "have known each other for years.
Won't you allow me to prepare your defence?"

"No," said Paul.

"But why?"

"Because I have none."

"Do you mean to say, then, that you're going to plead 'guilty'?"

"I don't say that--no, I shall plead 'Not guilty.'"

"Then will you allow yourself to be undefended?"

"I choose to defend myself," he replied.

"But, my dear fellow, you minimise your own chances that way!"

"Nevertheless, what defence is made on my part I shall make myself," he
replied.

The young solicitor looked at him in astonishment. "You must be mad!"
he said. "It