“She is, indeed, my lord,” replied the chaplain, “a most extraordinary person. I have found her, up to this second trial, not only tractable, but intelligent and attentive in the highest degree; but since her return from Bury, she is disappointed and dissatisfied.”
“With what?”
“With her reprieve for transportation.”
“With her reprieve! Does the woman really prefer death to life?”
“Your lordship will be the best judge of that by the tenor of our conversation, if she should not recognize your lordship. And should she do so, she would not scruple to tell you plainly her opinion.”
“I do not think that she can possibly recognize me, if I do not speak to her, and I shall keep strict silence, if I can.”
What a strange alteration do robes and wigs make in the appearance of men of the law! Who could recognize the Lord Chief Baron of our courts of law without the robes of his office? Counsel are not recognized even by their clients when they first see them in their rooms without their wigs and gowns. No wonder, then, that Margaret Catchpole should take her judge for some brother clergyman or friend of the chaplain’s, when he entered the cell, and seated himself upon a chair, which the turnkey placed there for him.
“Well, Margaret,” said the chaplain, “I hope you are a little more reconciled to your prospects than you were when I saw you last.”
“I wish I could say I am, sir; but my prospects look very gloomy, and I feel a great deal more anguish than if I were going to be executed.”
“You ought not to do so, Margaret; I consider it a great mercy that your life is spared.”