"THE LOVE THAT LIVES."
There are certain periods in the life of man when Fate seems to have
done her worst, and any further misfortunes which may befall are
accepted with a philosophical resignation, begotten by the very
severity of previous trials. Fitzgerald was in this state of mind--he
was calm, but it was the calmness of despair--the misfortunes of the
past year seemed to have come to a climax, and he looked forward to the
publication of the whole bitter story with an indifference that
surprised himself. His own name, and that of Madge and her dead father,
would be on every tongue, yet he felt perfectly callous to whatever
might be said on the subject. So long as Madge recovered, and they
could go away to another part of the world, leaving Australia, with its
bitter memories behind--he did not care. Moreland would suffer the
bitter penalty of his crime, and then nothing more would ever be heard
of the matter. It would be better for the whole story to be told, and
transitory pain endured, than to go on striving to hide the infamy and
shame which might be discovered at any moment. Already the news was all
over Melbourne that the murderer of Oliver Whyte had been captured, and
that his confession would bring to light certain startling facts
concerning the late Mark Frettlby. Brian well knew that the world
winked at secret vices so long as there was an attempt at concealment,
though it was cruelly severe on those which were brought to light, and
that many whose lives might be secretly far more culpable than poor
Mark Frettlby's, would be the first to slander the dead man. The public
curiosity, however, was destined never to be gratified, for the next
day it was known that Roger Moreland had hanged himself in his cell
during the night, and had left no confession behind him.
When Brian heard this, he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanks for his
deliverance, and went to see Calton, whom he found at his chambers, in
deep conversation with Chinston and Kilsip. They all came to the
conclusion that as Moreland was now dead, nothing could be gained by
publishing the confession of Mark Frettlby, so agreed to burn it, and
when Fitzgerald saw in the heap of blackened paper in the fireplace all
that remained of the bitter story, he felt a weight lifted off his
heart. The barrister, Chinston, and Kilsip, all promised to keep
silent, and they kept the promise nobly, for nothing was ever known of
the circumstances which led to the death of Oliver Whyte, and it was
generally supposed that it must have been caused by some quarrel
between the dead man and his friend Roger Moreland.
Fitzgerald, however, did not forget the good service that Kilsip had
done him, and gave him a sum of money which made him independent for
life, though he still followed his old profession of a detective from
sheer love of excitement, and was always looked upon with admiration as
the man who had solved the mystery of the famous hansom cab murder.
Brian, after several consultations with Calton, at last came to the
conclusion that it would be useless to reveal to Sal Rawlins the fact
that she was Mark Frettlby's daughter, as by the will the money was
clearly left to Madge, and such a revelation could bring her no
pecuniary benefit, while her bringing up unfitted her for the position;
so a yearly income, more than sufficient for her wants, was settled
upon her, and she was allowed to remain in ignorance of her parentage.
The influence of Sal Rawlins' old life, however, was very strong on
her, and she devoted herself to the task of saving her fallen sisters.
Knowing as she did, all the intricacies of the slums, she was enabled
to do an immense amount of good, and many an unhappy woman was saved
from the squalor and hardship of a gutter life by the kind hand of Sal
Rawlins.
Felix Rolleston became a member of Parliament, where his speeches, if
not very deep, were at least amusing; and while in the House he always
behaved like a gentleman, which could not be said of all his
Parliamentary colleagues.
Madge slowly recovered from her illness, and as she had been explicitly
named in the will as heiress to Mark Frettlby's great wealth, she
placed the management of her estates in the hands of Mr. Calton, who,
with Thinton and Tarbit, acted as her agents in Australia. On her
recovery she learned the story of her father's early marriage, but both
Calton and Fitzgerald were silent about the fact of Sal Rawlins being
her half-sister, as such a relation could do no good, and would only
create a scandal, as no explanation could be given except the true one.
Shortly afterwards Madge married Fitzgerald, and both of them only too
gladly left Australia, with all its sorrows and bitter memories.
Standing with her husband on the deck of one of the P. and O. steamers,
as it ploughed the blue waters of Hobson's Bay into foam, they both
watched Melbourne gradually fade from their view, under the glow of the
sunset. They could see the two great domes of the Exhibition, and the
Law Courts, and also Government House, with its tall tower rising from
the midst of the green trees. In the background was a bright crimson
sky, barred with masses of black clouds, and over all the great city
hung a cloud of smoke like a pall. The flaring red light of the sinking
sun glared angrily on the heavy waters, and the steamer seemed to be
making its way through a sea of blood. Madge, clinging to her husband's
arm, felt her eyes fill with tears, as she saw the land of her birth
receding slowly.
"Good-bye," she murmured, softly. "Good-bye for ever."
"You do not regret?" he said, bending his head.
"Regret, no," she answered, looking at him with loving eyes.
"With you by my side, I fear nothing. Surely our hearts have been tried
in the furnace of affliction, and our love has been chastened and
purified."
"We are sure of nothing in this world," replied Brian, with a sigh.
"But after all the sorrow and grief of the past, let us hope that the
future will be peace."
"Peace!"
A white-winged sea-gull rose suddenly from the crimson waters, and
circled rapidly in the air above them.
"A happy omen," she said, looking up fondly to the grave face of her
husband, "for your life and for mine."
He bent down and kissed her.
The great steamer moved slowly out to sea, and as they stood on the
deck, hand clasped in hand, with the fresh salt breeze blowing keenly
in their faces, it bore them away into the placid beauty of the coming
night, towards the old world and the new life.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of a Hansom Cab, by Fergus Hume