If the story of the accused contains no better proofs of his innocence it were better untold. So far, it has but helped his accusers by exciting the antipathy of those who would have been otherwise neutral.
Once more there is a murmuring among the men, and a movement among the rowdies who stand near Calhoun.
Again seems Maurice Gerald in danger of being seized by a lawless mob, and hanged without farther hearing!
The danger exists only in seeming. Once more the major glances significantly towards his well-trained troop; the judge in an authoritative voice commands “Silence in the Court!” the clamouring is subdued; and the prisoner is permitted to proceed.
He continues his recital:—
“On seeing who it was, I rode out from among the trees, and reined up before him.
“There was light enough for him to see who I was; and he at once recognised me.
“Instead of the angry scene I expected—perhaps had reason to expect—I was joyfully surprised by his reception of me. His first words were to ask if I would forgive him for what he had said to me—at the same time holding out his hand in the most frank and friendly manner.
“Need I tell you that I took that hand? Or how heartily I pressed it? I knew it to be a true one; more than that, I had a hope it might one day be the hand of a brother.
“It was the last time, but one, I ever grasped it alive. The last was shortly after—when we bade each other good night, and parted upon the path. I had no thought it was to be for ever.