The Bottineau pioneer. (Bottineau, N.D.) 1885-1895, 1893-11-25
CHAPTER xvI-{continuea.>

Vhere was q moments silence; n
might have heard q PIN drop; in the
whole Of that crowded court there was
not q sound.
"Guiltyw was the word that fell like
q death-knen-and the eager expecta-
ton gave way to q murmur Of dismay.
Innocent, I say, and I will prove IT."
cried the young squire.
And, looking at his troubled face,
the Judge refrained from rebuke. He
passed sentence of death on her, while
women wept and men shuddered.
Death for that fair young girl, with
the angelic face-death for that fair,
delicate body-it was too terrible.
It was over at last. The warders
carried the prisoner away, as one al
ready senseless or dead. No one inter-
fered when the lover who loved her
so we'll bent down as she was carried
past him and kissed the sweet, silent
face; no one rebuked him-there was
deepest pity for him.
As the audience broke up, different
groups witnessed the verdict. Slowly
enough they gave their opinion-she
must be guilty; no. n else could have
done it.; yet how angelic she looked,
and how dearly the squire loved her!
Slowly the miserable March day end
ed; and the next day it was known
oil over the country that Hyacinth Vane
had been found guilty and sentenced
to death.
A petition was drawn up and numer-
ously signed, praying that, because she
was SO young, and the evidence against
her all circumstantial, the sentence
might be commuted; but the home
secretary, who had not seen the fair
face and the blue eyes drowned in
tears, saw no cause for interference,
and the law was to take its course.
What those days spent in the dreary
solitude Of the condemned cell were for
the hapless girl, no NJ yer knew.
The only grace that she obtained was
pens, ink and paper. She wrote all
that she thought and felt. She kept
those papers until she died; and she
called them
A Dream Of the Scaffold.
Some one has been into my cell and
tells me tt at I may have pens and
ink, that I may write all I think and
feel; and my thoughts 60 first Of all
to my home.
There was a large bed of. white hya-
cinths in the dear old garden ut home;
they were my mothers pride. When
any one came to see her, in the warm,
be autiful springtime, she would say
to them, "Have you seen my hya-
cinths" and then show them with such
gentle pride. When she lay dying,
with the light of the western sun on
her face, they laid me in her arms.
She could not see me for the mist be-
fore her eyes.
"You would like to kiss the baby? ~
those about her ssid: and the sweet
sou. smiled, Al d would not tell them
that the light had gone from her eyes.
She felt with her white, dying hand
for the little face, End then, said,
with a smile:
MY dear little baby! Francis, I
should like her to be called 'Hyacinth,'
after my favorite flowers"
My father promised that 1t should
be so; and I was named Hyacinth
Vane.
Yes, ~I-IIyacinth Vane, condemned
to die to-morr0W-I was a little baby
once, with my golden head Nesting or
my mothers breast, with my soft pink
cheek warmed by my mothers dying
kiss.
I am to die tomorrow. To die! Oh,
heaven, what do the words mean?
I raise my hands and look at them;
they are white and warm. The warm
blood courses through them. Is it pos
sible that tomorrow they will be
whittier still-cold and motionless? How
can I die tomorrow, when to-day
I am full Of warm life?
The sun rises in the east, and touches
the left side Of the wall of my cell;
at night it touches the right. Now
It is between the two. The golden
sunlight creeps so slowly along the wall.
When it comes round here tomorrow
I shall be dead. Oh, stop, golden sun,
be dead-my eyes will see no more,
my ears will be closed, my lips dumb.
I shall lie cold and still; but where
shall I be?-the "I".who thinks, speaks,
feels, and suffers? A cold white body
will be somewhere within the prison
walls, but that will not be I.
am to die tomorrow. I am nine
teen years old-a girl, young and limo
cent, lying in Ulverson Jail, condemned
to death-found guilty of murder, and
sentenced to be hung by the neck
| until I am dead. I remember the
crowded court, the sea of faces, the
hum of voices, the glare Of the sun, the
stirring Of the vast crowd, and the
deadly silence that reigned while the
Judge put on that terrible cap, and said,
chung by the neck until you are dead;
and may the Lord have mercy on your
soul"
There was q stir, an excitement.
One lady, who had watched the trial
intently, suddenly gave an historical
cry:
| for her? :"
I heard murmus all around mel
saw tears on many faces; but / did not
think OF myself. It was to me as
though another girl stood in the dock,
and I was SO sorry for her. Ny mind
dwelt on those words, may the Lord
have mercy on your SOUL" II those
wise md learned men wanted me to
save my soul, why do they hurry me
out Of the world? Why no let me live
to do it?
slowly the golden light Is changing
on the. wall: when 1t reaches the end
e the window. the sun will set-when
+ Gets tomorrow night ! shall be be
vond II. I kneel by the side Of the lit
tie pallet, md I pray that my falr
young mother may never know that
her white Hyacinth va nus q
murder.
Slowly the sun-rays are creeping
Sa.F@4#&N 6ME 4noaO nj