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 you!" "Don't, uncle; they have an uncivilized way here of hanging murderers," said Cap, shaking herself free of Old Hurricane's grasp, and hastening out of the court-room to mount her horse and ride home. One night after tea, Capitola and her uncle occupied their usual seats by the little bright wood fire, that the chilly evening and keen mountain air made agreeable, even in May. Old Hurricane was smoking his pipe and reading his paper. Cap was sitting with her slender fingers around her throat, which she, with a shudder, occasionally compressed: "Well, that demon Black Donald will be hanged the 26th of July," said Old Hurricane, exultingly, "and we shall get rid of one villain, Cap." "I pity Black Donald, and I can't bear to think of his being hanged! It quite breaks my heart to think that I was compelled to bring him to such a fate!"