Cap, of
course, had been compelled to appear against him. During the whole
course of the trial the court-room was crowded with a curious
multitude, "from far and near," eager to get sight of the notorious
outlaw.

Black Donald, through the whole ordeal, deported himself with a gallant
and joyous dignity, that would have better become a triumph than a
trial.

He was indicted upon several distinct counts, the most serious of
which--the murder of the solitary widow and her daughter in the forest
cabin, and the assassination of Eugene Le Noir in the woods near the
Hidden House--were sustained only by circumstantial evidence. But the
aggregate weight of all these, together with his very bad reputation,
was sufficient to convict him, and Black Donald was sentenced to death.

This dreadful doom, most solemnly pronounced by the judge was received
by the prisoner with a loud laugh, and the words:

"You're out o' your reckoning now, cap'n! I never was a saint, the Lord
knows, but my hands are free from blood guiltiness! There's an honest
little girl that believes me--don't you?" he said, turning laughingly
to our little heroine.

"Yes, I do!" said Cap, bursting into tears; "and I am sorry for you as
ever I can be, Donald Bayne."

"Bother! It was sure to come to this first or last, and I knew it! Now,
to prove you do not think this rugged hand of mine stained with blood,
give it a friendly shake!" said the condemned man. And before Old
Hurricane could prevent her, Capitola had jumped over two or three
intervening seats and climbed up to the side of the dock, and reached
up her hand to the prisoner, saying:

"God help you, Donald Bayne, in your great trouble, and I will do all I
can to help you in this world. I will go to the Governor myself, and
tell him I know you never did any murder."

"Remove the prisoner," said the judge, peremptorily.

The constables approached and led away Black Donald.

Old Hurricane rushed upon Cap, seized her, and, shaking her fiercely,
exclaimed, under his breath:

"You--you--you--you New York hurrah boy! You foundling! You vagabond!
You vagrant! You brat! You beggar! Will you never be a lady? To go and
shake hands with that ruffian!"

"Sure, uncle, that's nothing new; I have shaken hands with you often
enough!"

"Demmy, you--you--you New York trash, what do you mean by that?"

"Of course I mean, uncle, that you are as rough a ruffian as ever
Donald Bayne was!"

"Demmy, I'll murder