know you are shielding someone.
Your eyes have told me the truth, and you cannot deny what I have said.
Who it is doesn't matter. But I'm going to find out. I'm going to
save you, Paul. And we shall be happy in spite of everything."

"No, no." His voice was hoarse and unnatural.

"But I will," she said. "Do you think my love is something that makes
me helpless? Do you think I can stand by knowing that you are
innocent, and allowing you to appear guilty of such a crime? I don't
love you for nothing, Paul. I love you to serve you--to save you."

Never, even in those hours when he had thought most fondly of her, had
he dreamt of the depths of her nature, or thought of what she was
capable. Now he realised that Mary Bolitho was no ordinary woman, that
all along there had been depths in her being which he had never
fathomed, knew that she meant what she said.

"No, no, Mary," he repeated, "you must not. If you love me, you will
promise me this. You will promise to be silent. You will promise that
you will give no hint or suggestion of what you fancied. Besides, I'm
guilty, Mary. I'm guilty, Mary. That is, promise me, for the love you
bear me."

There were footsteps in the stone corridor outside. It was a warder
coming to tell her that her time was up, and that she must leave him.

"Promise me, Mary." He caught her and held her close to him. "Tell me
you'll do nothing!" he cried.

"On one condition I will," was her answer.

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"That you'll tell the truth before my father and the jury."

"Your father?"

"Yes, did you not know? He is the judge who has to try the case."

"Then, then, Mary, promise me----"

The key turned in the lock, and Mary and Paul separated. Neither had
made a promise.

Presently Mary Bolitho went back to her hotel, where she sat in her
room alone for hours, thinking and planning; while Paul Stepaside sat
in his cell, with heaven in his heart; yes, heaven, even although he
suffered the torments of hell.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL

It was the morning of the trial, and the Assize Court was crowded.
Before daylight a number of people, hungry for excitement, had hung
round the strangers' entrance, and as soon as the doors were opened had
rushed with a kind of savage curiosity to the part of the hall where
the public was admitted. Long before the trial was opened every inch
of space was occupied by a seething, excited c