“This is Wednesday. The assizes open on Monday. Can you procure us a copy of the docket, my good friend?” said Mr. Fenton, addressing the governor, who lingered at the door.
“I think I can, sir,” replied that officer, hurrying away for the purpose. He returned in a short time, bringing with him the required document, which he placed in the hands of the lawyer.
“‘Queen versus Goffe, poaching;’ ‘Queen versus Hetton, assault, &c.’ ‘Queen—um—um—um,’” read the lawyer, running his eyes down the list, until he came to a line where he exclaimed:
“Here we are the seventh case on the docket—‘Queen versus Leaton.’ The cases that precede ours are trifling, and will soon be disposed of. Ours will come on, I should judge, about Wednesday morning—this day week; so there is plenty of time to prepare the defence. Have you a copy of the evidence given at the coroner’s inquest?” said the lawyer, turning to Mr. Montrose.
Malcolm drew from his pocket two papers, and handing them to Mr. Fenton, said:
“Here, in this first paper, is the report of the inquest that sat upon the body of Lord Leaton, and in this second the report of the one that sat upon those of Lady Leaton and Miss Leaton.”
“Yes,” said the lawyer, taking them, and settling himself to their careful perusal.
In the course of his reading he marked three or four points, and at its close he turned to his fair client, and said:
“You are aware, I hope, Miss Leaton, that you should be perfectly frank with me, and that you can be so with perfect safety. In a word, it is absolutely indispensable that a client should be as candid with her counsel as a patient is with her physician.”
“Yes, I am aware of that; but really I have nothing to tell you, but that I am wholly innocent of the dreadful crimes they impute to me.”