There are, doubtless, those who think that Nero was a pleasant young man, whose cruelties were but the resultant of an overflow of high spirits; and who regard Henry VIII. in the light of a henpecked husband unfortunate in the possession of six wives.
These people delight in expressing their sympathy with great scoundrels of the Ned Kelly order.
They view them as the embodiment of heroism, unsympathetically and disgracefully treated by the narrow understanding of the law.
If one half the world does kick a man when he is down, the other half invariably consoles the prostrate individual with halfpence.
And therefore, even while the weight of public opinion was dead against Fitzgerald he had his share of avowed sympathy.
There was a comfort in this for Madge.
Not that if the whole countryside had unanimously condemned her lover she would have believed him guilty.
The element of logic does not enter into the championship of woman.
Her love for a man is sufficient to exalt him to the rank of a demi-god.
She absolutely refuses to see the clay feet of her idol.
When all others forsake she clings to him, when all others frown she smiles on him, and when he dies she reveres his memory as that of a saint and a martyr.
Young men of the present day are prone to disparage their womenkind; but a poor thing is the man, who in time of trouble has no woman to stand by him with cheering words and loving comfort.
And so Madge Frettlby, true woman that she was, had nailed her colours to the mast.
She refused surrender to anyone, or before any argument.
He was innocent, and his innocence would be proved, for she had an intuitive feeling that he would be saved at the eleventh hour. How, she knew not; but she was certain that it would be so.
She would have gone to see Brian in prison, but that her father absolutely forbade her doing so.
Therefore she was dependent upon Calton for all the news respecting him, and any message which she wished conveyed.
Brian's persistent refusal to set up the defence of an ALIBI, annoyed Calton, the more so as he could conceive no reason sufficiently worthy of the risk to which it subjected his client.
"If it's for the sake of a woman," he said to Brian, "I don't care who she is, it's absurdly Quixotic.
Self-preservation is the first law of nature, and if my neck was in danger I'd spare neither man, woman, nor child to save it."
"I dare say," answered Brian; "but if you had my reasons you might think differently."
Yet in his own mind the lawyer had a suspicion which he thought might perhaps account for Brian's obstinate concealment of his movements on the fatal night.
He had admitted an appointment with a woman.
He was a handsome young fellow, and probably his morals were no better than those of his fellows.
There was perhaps some intrigue with a married woman.
He had perchance been with her on that night, and it was to shield her that he refused to speak.
"Even so," argued Calton, "let him lose his character rather than his life; indeed the woman herself should speak.
It would be hard upon her I admit; yet when a man's life is in danger, surely nothing should stop her."
Full of these perplexing thoughts, Calton went down to St. Kilda to have a talk with Madge.
He intended to ask her to assist him towards obtaining the information he needed.
He had a great respect for Madge, and thought her a really clever woman.
It was just possible, he argued, that Brian's great love might cause him to confess everything to her, at her urgent request.
He found Madge awaiting his arrival with anxiety.
"Where have you been all this time?" she said as they sat down; "I have been counting every moment since I saw you last.
How is he?"
"Just the same," answered Calton, taking off his gloves, "still obstinately refusing to save his own life.
Where's your father?" he asked, suddenly.
"Out of town," she answered, impatiently. "He will not be back for a week—but what do you mean that he won't save his own life?"
Calton leaned forward, and took her hand.
"Do you want to save his life?" he asked.
"Save his life," she reiterated, starting up out of her chair with a cry. "God knows, I would die to save him."
"Pish," murmured Calton to himself, as he looked at her glowing face and outstretched hands, "these women are always in extremes.
The fact is," he said aloud, "Fitzgerald is able to prove an ALIBI, and he refuses to do so."
"But why?"
Calton shrugged his shoulders.
"That is best known to himself—some Quixotic idea of honour, I fancy.
Now, he refuses to tell me where he was on that night; perhaps he won't refuse to tell you—so you must come up and see him with me, and perhaps he will recover his senses, and confess."
"But my father," she faltered.
"Did you not say he was out of town?" asked Calton.
"Yes," hesitated Madge. "But he told me not to go."