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.
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