“That was the reflection I made; though I wasn’t much caring who. It was more from habit—by living in the neighbourhood of the Indians—that I drew in among the trees, and waited until the stranger should show himself.
“He did so shortly after.
“You may judge of my surprise when, instead of a stranger, I saw the man from whom I had so lately parted in anger. When I say anger, I don’t speak of myself—only him.
“Was he still in the same temper? Had he been only restrained by the presence of his sister from attacking me? Relieved of this, had he come after me to demand satisfaction for the injury he supposed her to have sustained?
“Gentlemen of the jury! I shall not deny, that this was the impression on my mind when I saw who it was.
“I was determined there should be no concealment—no cowardly shrinking on my part. I was not conscious of having committed crime. True I had met his sister clandestinely; but that was the fault of others—not mine—not hers. I loved her with a pure honest passion, and with my whole heart. I am not afraid to confess it. In the same way I love her still!”
Louise Poindexter, seated in her carriage behind the outer circle of spectators, is not so distant from the speaker, nor are the curtains so closely drawn, but that she can hear every word passing from his lips.
Despite the sadness of her heart, a gleam of joy irradiates her countenance, as she listens to the daring declaration.
It is but the echo of her own; and the glow that comes quickly to her cheeks is not shame, but the expression of a proud triumph.
She makes no attempt to conceal it. Rather does she appear ready to spring up from her seat, rush towards the man who is being tried for the murder of her brother, and with the abandon that love alone can impart, bid defiance to the boldest of his accusers!