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y up and down the room; "if he did not get into the cab with Whyte he must have been somewhere else; so he ought to set up the defence of an ALIBI." "He can easily do that," said Madge, with a ray of hope lighting up her sad face, "he was here till eleven o'clock on Thursday night." "Very probably," returned her father, dryly; "but where was he at one o'clock on Friday morning?" "Besides, Mr. Whyte left the house long before Brian did," she went on rapidly. "You must remember--it was when you quarrelled with Mr. Whyte." "My dear Madge," said Frettlby, stopping in front of her with a displeased look, "you are incorrect--Whyte and myself did not quarrel. He asked me if it were true that Fitzgerald was engaged to you, and I answered 'Yes.' That was all, and then he left the house." "Yes, and Brian didn't go until two hours after," said Madge, triumphantly. "He never saw Mr. Whyte the whole night." "So he says," replied Mr. Frettlby, significantly. "I believe Brian before any one else in the world," said his daughter, hotly, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes. "Ah! but will a jury?" queried her father. "You have turned against him, too," answered Madge, her eyes filling with tears. "You believe him guilty." "I am not prepared either to deny or confirm his guilt," said Mr. Frettlby, coldly. "I have done what I could to help him--I have engaged Calton to defend him, and, if eloquence and skill can save him, you may set your mind at rest." "My dear father," said Madge, throwing her arms round his neck, "I knew you would not desert him altogether, for my sake." "My darling," replied her father, in a faltering voice, as he kissed her, "there is nothing in the world I would not do for your sake." Meanwhile Brian was sitting in his cell in the Melbourne Jail, thinking sadly enough about his position. He saw no hope of escape except one, and that he did not intend to take advantage of. "It would kill her; it would kill her," he said, feverishly, as he paced to and fro over the echoing stones. "Better that the last of the Fitzgeralds should perish like a common thief than that she should know the bitter truth. If I engage a lawyer to defend me," he went on, "the first question he will ask me will be where was I on that night, and if I tell him all will be discovered, and then--no--no--I cannot do it; it would kill her, my darling," and throwing himself down on the bed, he covered his face with his hand
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