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 philosophical¹ resignation, begotten² 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 climax³, and he looked forward to the publication of the whole bitter story with an indifference⁴ that surprised himself His own name, and that of Madge and her dead father, would be on every tongue, yet he felt perfectly⁵ callous⁶ 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 infamy⁷ 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 confession⁸ would bring to light certain startling facts concerning the late Mark Frettlby. Brian well knew that the world winked⁹ at secret vices¹⁰ so long as there was an attempt at concealment¹¹, though it was cruelly severe on those which were brought to light, and that many whose lives might be secretly far more

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