Fitzgerald in gaol—no—no—we’ll get a cab. Come, my dear,” and taking her arm he led her away.
They reached the station, and caught a train just as it started, yet notwithstanding this Madge was in a fever of impatience.
“How slowly it goes,” she said, fretfully.
“Hush, my dear,” said Calton, laying his hand on her arm. “You will betray yourself—we’ll arrive soon—and save him.”
“Oh, God grant we may,” she said with a low cry, clasping her hands tightly together, while Calton could see the tears falling from under her thick veil.
“This is not the way to do so,” he said, almost roughly, “you’ll be in hysterics soon—control yourself for his sake.”
“For his sake,” she muttered, and with a powerful effort of will, calmed herself. They soon arrived in Melbourne, and, getting a hansom, drove up quickly to the gaol. After going through the usual formula, they entered the cell where Brian was, and, when the warder who accompanied them opened the door, they found the young man seated on his bed. He looked up, and, on seeing Madge, rose and held out his hands with a cry of delight. She ran forward, and threw herself on his breast with a stifled sob. For a short time no one spoke—Calton being at the other end of the cell, busy with some notes which he had taken from his pocket, and the warder having retired.
“My poor darling,” said Madge, stroking back the soft, fair hair from his flushed forehead, “how ill you look.”
“Yes!” answered Fitzgerald, with a hard laugh. “Prison does not improve a man—does it?”
“Don’t speak in that tone, Brian,” she said; “it is not like you—let us sit down and talk calmly over the matter.”
“I don’t see what good that will do,” he answered, wearily, as they sat down hand-in-hand. “I have talked about it to Calton till my head aches, and it is no good.”
“Of course not,” retorted the lawyer, sharply, as he also sat down. “Nor will it be any good until you come to your senses, and tell us where you were on that night.”
“I tell you I cannot.”
“Brian, dear,” said Madge, softly, taking his hand, “you must tell all—for my sake.”
Fitzgerald sighed—this was the hardest temptation he had yet been subjected to. He felt half inclined to yield, and chance the result—but one look at Madge’s pure face steeled him against doing so. What could his confession bring but sorrow and regret to one whom he loved better than his life.
“Madge!” he answered, gravely, taking her hand again, “you do not know what you ask.”
“Yes, I do!” she replied, quickly. “I ask you to save yourself—to prove that you are not guilty of this terrible crime, and not to sacrifice your life for the sake of—of—”
Here she stopped, and looked helplessly at Calton, for she had no idea of the reason of Fitzgerald’s refusal to speak.
“For the sake of a woman,” finished Calton, bluntly.
“A woman!” she faltered, still holding her lover’s hand.
“Is—is—is that the reason?”
Brian averted his face.
“Yes!” he said, in a low, rough voice.
A sharp expression of anguish crossed her pale face, and, sinking her head on her hands, she wept bitterly. Brian looked at her in a dogged kind of way, and Calton stared grimly at them both.
“Look here,” he said, at length, to Brian, in an angry voice; “if you want my opinion of your conduct I think it’s infamous—begging your pardon, Miss Frettlby, for the expression. Here is this noble girl, who loves you with her whole heart, and is ready to sacrifice everything for your sake, comes to implore you to save your life, and you coolly turn round and acknowledge another woman.”
Brian lifted his head haughtily, and his face flushed.
“You are wrong,” he said, turning round sharply; “there is the woman for whose sake I keep silence;” and, rising up from the bed, he pointed to Madge, as she sobbed bitterly on it. She lifted up her haggard face with an air of surprise.
“For my sake!” she cried in a startled voice.
“Oh, he’s mad,” said Calton, shrugging his shoulders; “I shall put in a defence of insanity.”
“No, I am not mad,” cried Fitzgerald, wildly, as he caught Madge in his arms. “My darling! My darling! It is for your sake that I keep silence, and I shall do so though my life pays the penalty. I could tell you where I was on that night and save myself: but if I did, you would learn a secret which would curse your life, and I dare not speak—I dare not.”
Madge looked up into his face with a pitiful smile as her—tears fell fast.
“Dearest!” she said, softly. “Do not think of me, but only of yourself; better that I should endure misery than that you should die. I do not know what the secret can be, but if the telling of it will save your life, do not hesitate. See,” she cried, falling on her knees, “I am at your feet—I implore you by all the love you ever had for me, to save yourself, whatever the consequences may be to me.”
“Madge,” said Fitzgerald, as he raised her in his arms, “at one time I might have done so, but now it is too late. There is another and stronger reason for my silence, which I have only found out since my arrest. I know that I am closing up the one way of escape from this charge of murder, of which I am innocent; but as there is a God in heaven, I swear that I will not speak.”
There was a silence in the cell, broken only by Madge’s convulsive sobs, and even Calton, cynical man of the world as he was, felt his eyes grow wet. Brian led Madge over to him, and placed her in his arms.
“Take her away,” he said, in a broken voice, “or I shall forget that I am a man;” and turning away he threw himself on his bed, and covered his face with his hands. Calton did not answer him, but summoned the warder, and tried to lead Madge away. But just as they reached the door she broke away from him, and, running back, flung herself on her lover’s breast.
“My darling! My darling!” she sobbed, kissing him, “you shall not die. I shall save you in spite of yourself;” and, as if afraid to trust herself longer, she ran out of the cell, followed by the barrister.
Chapter XIII.
Madge Makes a Discovery
Madge stepped into the cab, and Calton paused a moment to tell the cabman to drive to the railway station. Suddenly she stopped him.
“Tell him to drive to Brian’s lodgings in Powlett Street,” she said, laying her hand on Calton’s arm.
“What for?” asked the lawyer, in astonishment.
“And
