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."

"In that case," said Calton, rising and taking up his hat and gloves,
"I won't ask you."