Dick’s face was red with anger. He had already spurned the doctor, who would not resent his words, and his professions of regard were repulsive to him. Although he could not prove it, although all the evidence was against him, Dick Birch could not help believing that the doctor was a villain, and that, sooner or later, a crash would come, when men would see him as he was. Dick tried to be politic, and treat the doctor as a friend, but his nature rebelled against the attempt. What he was, he appeared to be. “Dr. Bilks, I think this conversation has been long enough,” added Dick, rising from his chair. “Mr. Birch, you have played this game out, and you have lost. You are disappointed and morose. I am sorry for you; I compassionate your misfortunes; and I excuse your rude speech. Let me add, that I am still your friend; when you think better of this thing I shall be happy to see you; until then, I am your obedient servant.” The doctor turned on his heel and walked away, not angry, apparently, but disappointed to find that the issue of the trial had not removed Dick’s unpleasant manner towards him. Eugene had gone to the hotel for his horse. When he returned to the court-house he found his friend in a very unamiable frame of mind. “Dick, you are not satisfied,” said Hungerford, when they were seated in the buggy. “I am not; I never was farther from being satisfied in my life,” replied Dick. “You have been discharged.” “Discharged!” exclaimed Birch, bitterly. “You ought to be satisfied with the result, so far as it goes.” “Are you satisfied with it?” “I am.” “Then you are not my friend.” “I am your friend, and it is for this reason I am satisfied.” “Am I not still a liar in the eyes of the people? Am I not liable to be arrested for perjury, at any moment?” “There is no danger.” “I do not fear an arrest. I do not care for that. Hungerford, can I be satisfied to be regarded as a liar and a perjurer?” “Of course not.” “Will you associate with one who stands before the community branded as a liar?” “Don’t disturb yourself about me, Dick; I am still your friend.” “If Dr. Bilks is not a scoundrel, I am!” “Not at all. It is possible, it is probable, that both of you are honest and true men.” “Impossible!” “So far as you and the doctor differ, it is possible that he is mistaken.” “Mistaken, Eugene Hungerford! Am I a fool, as well as a knave? Did Dr. Bilks write that letter to Buckstone, or did I write it?” demanded Dick, with something like fierceness in his tones and manner. “No matter who wrote it.” “It is matter. You cannot help believing that one of us is a villain. If I wrote it, I am no more worthy to look you in the face and call you my friend!” “Dr. Bilks has rendered us a great service, Dick----” “Do not remind me of that; I know it. I am as grateful to him for that as you are; but truth and justice come before even the life of the one we love best.” “Must I condemn him?”