ng, but he either maintained an
obstinate silence, or merely answered,

"It would only break her heart."

He admitted to Calton, after a good deal of questioning, that he had
been at Mother Guttersnipe's on the night of the murder. After he had
left Whyte by the corner of the Scotch Church, as the
cabman--Royston--had stated, he had gone along Russell Street, and met
Sal Rawlins near the Unicorn Hotel. She had taken him to Mother
Guttersnipe's, where he had seen the dying woman, who had told him
something he could not reveal.

"Well," said Mr. Calton, after hearing the admission, "you might have
saved us all this trouble by admitting this before, and yet kept your
secret, whatever it may be. Had you done so, we might have got hold of
Sal Rawlins before she left Melbourne; but now it's a mere chance
whether she turns up or not."

Brian did not answer to this; in fact, he seemed hardly to be thinking
of what the lawyer was saying; but just as Calton was leaving, he
asked--

"How is Madge?"

"How can you expect her to be?" said Calton, turning angrily on him.
"She is very ill, owing to the worry she has had over this affair."

"My darling! My darling!" cried Brian, in agony, clasping his hands
above his head. "I did it only to save you."

Calton approached him, and laid his hand lightly on his shoulder.

"My dear fellow," he said, gravely, "the confidences between lawyer and
client are as sacred as those between priest and penitent. You must
tell me this secret which concerns Miss Frettlby so deeply."

"No," said Brian, firmly, "I will never repeat what that wretched woman
told me. When I would not tell you before, in order to save my life, it
is not likely I am going to do so now, when I have nothing to gain and
everything to lose by telling it."

"I will never ask you again," said Calton, rather annoyed, as he walked
to the door. "And as to this accusation of murder, if I can find this
girl, you are safe."

When the lawyer left the gaol, he went to the Detective Office to see
Kilsip, and ascertain if there was any news of Sal Rawlins; but, as
usual, there was none.

"It is fighting against Fate," he said, sadly, as he went away; "his
life hangs on a mere chance."

The trial was fixed to come off in September, and, of course, there was
great excitement in Melbourne as the time drew near. Great, therefore,
was the disappointment when it was discovered that the prisoner's
counsel had applied for an adjour