“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.