Brian started up, ghastly pale.
"My God!" he almost shrieked, stretching out his hands, "it is true after all," and he fell down on the stone pavement in a dead faint.
Calton, alarmed, summoned the gaoler, and between them they placed him on the bed, and dashed some cold water over his face. He recovered, and moaned feebly, while Calton, seeing that he was unfit to be spoken to, left the prison. When he got outside he stopped for a moment and looked back on the grim, gray walls."
"Brian Fitzgerald," he said to himself, "you did not commit the murder yourself, but you know who did."
CHAPTER XII.
SHE WAS A TRUE WOMAN.
Melbourne society was greatly agitated over the hansom cab murder. Before the assassin had been discovered it had been merely looked upon as a common murder, and one that society need take no cognizance of beyond the fact that it was something new to talk about. But now the affair was assuming gigantic proportions, since the assassin had been discovered to be one of the most fashionable young men in Melbourne. Mrs. Grundy was shocked, and openly talked about having nourished a viper in her bosom, which had turned unexpectedly and stung her. In Toorak drawing rooms and Melbourne clubs the matter was talked about morn, noon, and night, and Mrs. Grundy declared positively that she never heard of such a thing. Here was a young man, well born—"the Fitzgerald, my dear, an Irish family, with royal blood in their veins"—well-bred—"most charming manners, I assure you, and so very good-looking" and engaged to one of the richest girls in Melbourne—"pretty enough, madam, no doubt, but he wanted her money, sly dog." And this young man who had been petted by the ladies, voted a good fellow by the men, and was universally popular, both in drawing-room and club, had committed a vulgar murder; it was truly shocking. What was the world coming to, and what were gaols and lunatic asylums built for,
