"I am sure, my dear Fitzgerald, you will find this
letter too long, in spite of the interesting story it contains, so I
will have pity on you, and draw to a close. Remember me to Miss
Frettlby and to her father. With kind regards to yourself, I remain,
yours very truly,
"DUNCAN CALTON."
When Fitzgerald had finished the last of the closely-written
sheets, he let the letter fall from his hands, and, leaning back in his
chair, stared blankly into the dawning light outside. He arose after a
few moments, and, pouring himself out a glass of brandy, drank it
quickly. Then mechanically lighting a cigar, he stepped out of the door
into the fresh beauty of the dawn. There was a soft crimson glow in the
east, which announced the approach of the sun, and he could hear the
chirping of the awakening birds in the trees. But Brian did not see the
marvellous breaking of the dawn. He stood staring at the red light
flaring in the east, and thinking of Calton's letter.
"I can do no more," he said bitterly, leaning his head against the wall
of the house. "There is only one way of stopping Calton, and that is by
telling him all. My poor Madge! My poor Madge!"
A soft wind arose, and rustled among the trees, and there appeared
great shafts of crimson light in the east; then, with a sudden blaze,
the sun peered over the brim of the wide plain. The warm yellow rays
touched lightly the comely head of the weary man, and, turning round,
he held up his arms to the great luminary, as though he were a
fire-worshipper.
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