t him to her, as you
know."

"Yes, yes," said Madge, rather impatiently. "I heard all that at the
trial, but what conversation passed between Mr. Fitzgerald and this
woman? Did you hear it?"

"Bits of it," replied the other. "I didn't split in Court, 'cause I
thought the lawyer would be down on me for listening. The first thing I
heard Mr. Fitzgerald sayin' was, 'You're mad--it ain't true,' an' she
ses, 'S'elp me it is, Whyte's got the proof,' an' then he sings out,
'My poor girl,' and she ses, 'Will you marry her now?' and ses he, 'I
will, I love her more than ever;' and then she makes a grab at him, and
says, 'Spile his game if you can,' and says he, 'What's yer name?' and
she says--"

"What?" asked Madge, breathlessly.

"Rosanna Moore!"

There was a sharp exclamation as Sal said the name, and, turning round
quickly, Madge found Brian standing beside her, pale as death, with his
eyes fixed on the woman, who had risen to her feet.

"Go on!" he said sharply.

"That's all I know," she replied, in a sullen tone. Brian gave a sigh
of relief.

"You can go," he said slowly; "I wish to speak with Miss Frettlby
alone."

Sal looked at him for a moment, and then glanced at her mistress, who
nodded to her as a sign that she might withdraw. She picked up her
book, and with another sharp enquiring look at Brian, turned and walked
slowly into the house.

CHAPTER XXII.

A DAUGHTER OF EVE.

After Sal had gone, Brian sank into a chair beside Madge with a weary
sigh. He was in riding dress, which became his stalwart figure well,
and he looked remarkably handsome but ill and worried.

"What on earth were you questioning that girl about?" he said abruptly,
taking his hat off, and tossing it and his gloves on to the floor.

Madge flushed crimson for a moment, and then taking Brian's two strong
hands in her own, looked steadily into his frowning face.

"Why don't you trust me?" she asked, in a quiet tone.

"It is not necessary that I should," he answered moodily. "The secret
that Rosanna Moore told me on her death-bed is nothing that would
benefit you to know."

"Is it about me?" she persisted.

"It is, and it is not," he answered, epigrammatically.

"I suppose that means that it is about a third person, and concerns
me," she said calmly, releasing his hands.

"Well, yes," impatiently striking his boot with his riding whip. "But
it is nothing that can harm you so long as you do not know it; but God
help