The Judges had left the town that afternoon, to wind up the circuit by the short list of a neighbouring county town.
Mr.Johnson was entertaining a dinner-party of attorneys when he was summoned from dessert by the announcement of a "lady who wanted to speak to him immediate and particular." He went into his study in not the best of tempers.

There he found his client, Miss Wilkins, white and ghastly, standing by the fireplace, with her eyes fixed on the door.
"It is you, Miss Wilkins! I am very glad--" "Dixon!" said she.

It was all she could utter.
Mr.Johnson shook his head.
"Ah; that's a sad piece of business, and I'm afraid it has shortened your visit at Rome." "Is he-- ?" "Ay, I'm afraid there's no doubt of his guilt.

At any rate, the jury found him guilty, and--" "And!" she repeated, quickly, sitting down, the better to hear the words that she knew were coming-- "He is condemned to death." "When ?" "The Saturday but one after the Judges left the town, I suppose--it's the usual time." "Who tried him ?" "Judge Corbet; and, for a new judge, I must say I never knew one who got through his business so well.

It was really as much as I could stand to hear him condemning the prisoner to death.