In a land where a lower code of ethics and of honor exists, the insult each burned to cast upon the other would have been uttered; and the result would have been a so-called "affair of honor," in which both men would have run the risk of bringing blood-guiltiness upon their souls, and the stigma of murder upon their honorable names. The struggle in Galbraith’s breast was short, and human intelligence triumphed over brute instinct. His few words of apology were spoken with cold courtesy, and accepted with quiet dignity. The men did not shake hands; each understood the position too clearly for that. They could never be friends; but, as they were honorable gentlemen, all enmity was at end between them, for rivalry does not necessarily entail hatred. Then they spoke of the trial, and their conversation lasted until the hour of the opening of the court.
Millicent, escorted by Henry Deering, arrived at the court just as Graham and Galbraith entered the room together. She saw Graham whisper something to the lawyer, who bowed courteously in answer. The significance of the action was not lost upon her,--her revelation had not been made in vain. She now heard her name called in a loud, harsh voice. She started violently, but did not stir from her seat.
"Come," said Hal, "you must go up to that little platform and answer all the questions they ask you."
She walked quietly to the place indicated, took the customary oath "to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and answered the preliminary questions in a low voice.
"You were present at the killing of Ah Lam, at Carey’s Bridge?"
"Tell the court all that you saw on that occasion." Galbraith was the speaker. He knew that Millicent’s natural eloquence would give the story with more force if she were allowed to tell it in her own way without the usual questioning.
She began speaking in a low voice, her eyes fixed on the ground before her. As the memory of that dreadful day came back to her, she seemed to see it all again,--the peaceful woodland scene, the quiet river, the forest road, and at her side her humble friend and pupil. The walls of the court-room faded from before her, and judge and jury, lawyer and audience, were forgotten; she looked at Graham only, and spoke to him alone; his grave eyes met hers, and the sympathy in them made the task of telling her story an easy one. Aiding her recital with expressive gestures, she told of the appearance of Daniel Horton on the peaceful scene; she repeated his insolent words, unconsciously imitating the man’s manner and voice; she described the affront offered to herself with burning cheeks and flashing eyes; her voice grew tremulous and low when she spoke of the dead servant’s efforts to save her from the insolent ruffian; when with a deep, horrified voice she told of the murder and death of Ah Lam, it was as if she were describing a scene still enacting itself before her eyes. A strong impression was made by the girl’s words on all her hearers. The noisy court-room had grown perfectly still; the very recorders held their pens useless in their hands; and the eyes of the judge with the pink cravat were riveted on her face. As she ceased speaking, a sympathetic tremor ran through the crowd assembled in the court-room, and a low murmur was heard.