Some one made a reply; then the door of Brian's room was thrown open, and Gorby walked in, followed by another man. Fitzgerald turned as white as a sheet, for he felt instinctively that they had come for him. However, pulling himself together, he demanded, in a haughty tone, the reason of the intrusion. Mr. Gorby walked straight over to where Brian was standing, and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder.
"Brian Fitzgerald," he said, in a clear voice, "I arrest you in the Queen's name."
"For what?" asked Brian, steadily.
"The murder of Oliver Whyte."
At this Madge gave a cry.
"It is not true!" she said, wildly. "My God, it's not true."
Brian did not answer, but, ghastly pale, held out his hands. Gorby slipped the handcuffs on to his wrists with a feeling of compunction, in spite of his joy in running his man down. This done, Fitzgerald turned round to where Madge was standing, pale and still, as if she had turned into stone.
"Madge," he said in a clear, low voice, "I am going to prison—perhaps to death; but I swear to you, by all that I hold most sacred, that I am innocent of this murder."
"My darling!" She made a step forward, but her father stepped before her.
"Keep back," he said, in a hard voice; "there is nothing between you and that man now."
She turned round with an ashen face, but with a proud look in her clear eyes.
"You are wrong," she answered, with a touch of scorn in her voice. "I love him more now than I did before." Then before her father could stop her, she placed her arms round her lover's neck, and kissed him wildly on the cheek.
"My darling," she said, with the tears streaming down her white cheeks, "whatever the world may say, you are always dearest of all to me."
Brian kissed her passionately, and then moved away while Madge fell down at her father's feet in a dead faint.
