"I had rather she had died in silence than she should have bequeathed
me this legacy of sorrow."
And the gaoler, seeing his haggard face the next morning, muttered to
himself, "He war blest if the swell warn't sorry he war safe."
So, while Brian was pacing up and down his cell during the weary
watches of the night, Madge, in her own room, was kneeling beside her
bed and thanking God for His great mercy; and Calton, the good fairy of
the two lovers, was hurrying towards the humble abode of Mrs. Rawlins,
familiarly known as Mother Guttersnipe. Kilsip was beside him, and they
were talking eagerly about the providential appearance of the
invaluable witness.
"What I like," observed Kilsip, in his soft, purring tone, "is the sell
it will be for that Gorby. He was so certain that Mr. Fitzgerald was
the man, and when he gets off to-morrow Gorby will be in a rage."
"Where was Sal the whole time?" asked Calton, absently, not thinking of
what the detective was saying.
"Ill," answered Kilsip. "After she left the Chinaman she went
into the country, caught cold by falling into some river, and ended up
by getting brain fever. Some people found her, took her in, and nursed
her. When she got well she came back to her grandmother's."
"But why didn't the people who nursed her tell her she was wanted? They
must have seen the papers."
"Not they," retorted the detective. "They knew nothing."
"Vegetables!" muttered Calton, contemptuously.
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