With this answer Malcolm bowed, and again earnestly commending Eudora to the care of the warden, took his leave.
He first went and secured the order from the sheriff, and then sought out Mr. Fenton, who was staying at the same over-crowded inn. He found the unsuccessful advocate in deep despondency. They shook hands silently, like friends meeting at a funeral, and the lawyer began to say:
“I did all that man and the law could do to save her, but—” His voice broke down and he could say no more.
“I know you did,” moaned Malcolm.
“The evidence was too strong for us—”
“But not too strong for your faith in her.”
“No, no; I am an old practitioner with a long experience among criminals, and I could stake my salvation that that child is not guilty—”
“Despite her East-Indian blood?”
“Yes; and, if there were time, something might even yet be done to save her—”
“Fenton!” exclaimed Malcolm, starting forward and gazing with breathless eagerness, in the lawyer’s face.