It was in a combative humor that Hilton Dane presented himself in court on the day of the poacher's trial. It was impossible to ignore the summons, which alone had delayed his departure from The Larches; but the time he spent there waiting had passed very uncomfortably. Lilian had, so far as she could do so without attracting attention, sedulously avoided his company; and he fancied that both Chatterton and his wife regarded him with suspicion. Dane, knowing the iron-master's opinions, surmised that Chatterton would not have blamed him had he frankly related all that had passed; but he had pledged himself to secrecy, and it never occurred to him to break his promise.
Therefore he kept his own counsel, and went into court prepared for battle, further fortified by a contempt for the assumed omnipotence of petty local magnates which men of his kind, who have tasted power in the vigorous life of the newer lands, acquire. He decided that the prisoner, who was very young, looked free from inherent vice, and worthy of a chance to prove himself, in the main, honest. He was not absolutely certain that the man was the one with whom he had grappled, and he gave him the full benefit of the doubt. His answers provided the neighborhood with a sensational topic for conversation, and, while there were some who laughed at the legal functionaries' discomfiture and the witness's nonchalance, the game preservers in the vicinity were emphatic in their indignation.
In any case, Dane left the court amid the plaudits of the assembled quarrymen, which the officials could not restrain. He hated the rôle of popular hero but he felt a certain grim satisfaction, though he guessed that every word he had spoken might cost him dearly. Also, because he did nothing by halves, he sought the discharged prisoner.
"I don't know whether you are the right man or not, and I don't want to," he said dryly. "If you are a wholly worthless rascal, you will no doubt drift back into the clutches of the police, when it is probable that the worthy gentlemen I addressed to-day will see that you don't get out again. It would not surprise me if they starved you out of this neighborhood; so, if you desire to make a fresh start, you will take this letter to the English waterworks contractor to whom it is addressed—and send your sister as much as possible of what he pays you."
"Would you believe that I'm sairly sorry, sir?" began the lad; but Dane turned upon him with a laugh and a frown.
"Sorry for what? Prove it by turning honest. Do you wish to convince me I did wrong to-day?"
The poacher departed with grateful protestations, and Dane was glad that he had vanished before Maxwell came up.
"I don't know whether I ought to congratulate you on your forensic abilities, or otherwise, but the spectacle was worth the journey," he said. "I hardly suspected that you possessed such talents; but why you displayed them is, of course, another question."
"It is also my particular business," Dane replied stiffly, and frowned when Maxwell smiled significantly.
"Confound you! Do you think——" he broke out; and Maxwell smiled again in ironical fashion as he moved away.