The Dickinson press., 1894-03-17
DA WIN.

UAWN.
been with her when she died; there
fore she must have killed her.
So argued the prosecution; so thought
the jury; and in defense what was
there to be said? Most eloquent ap-
peals were made by the clever counsel
employed They spoke Of the prison.
er's youth and beauty; they tried to
show how impossible it was that
girl so your g. so fragile, so weak, could
have been guilty Of so gross crime.
They made the most Of one point--the
absence OF weapon; but from the
first it was evident that the trial was
going against her. Perhaps her youth
and beauty, instead Of pleading for her,
were against her. The jury had to
steel themselves.
The evidence has told against her;
one could read it in the faces of the
jurymen, which grew graver and sad.
der-in the face of the Judge, which
was sorrowful with great SORROW
In the weeping eyes of women and the
bent brows of stern men.
The time came when the short sun.
shine of the March day was over, and
dull, yellow light 1illeu ...e court
when the jury went out to consider
their verdict, and the prisoner, white
and cold as death, was led from the
dock. The jury were absent for more
than an hour, and when they returned
1t was to a scene no one ever forgot.
Through the large windows could be
seen the darkening sky, and the hoarse
murmur of the crowd surrounding the
court could be plainly heard. Tier after
tier of eager faces was lifted, all eyes
were bent in one direction. The gus
had been lighted, and threw q curious
livid hue on the hundreds of assembled
faces. The one object Of interest was
the tall, slender figure Of the young
girl. She stood quite erect, her hands
clasped, her fair, sweet face white Us
snow, her blue eyes lowered and
drenchcd with tears, her lips closed
like the bud of white flow er-surely
the most pitiful figure ever seen on
earth.
Women told each other afterward Of
the brave young lover who would not
leave her, who watched every move
ment Of the white hands, every ex-
preston Of the sweetswhite face. who
listened attentively to every word for
and against her. who sent little notes
to her counsel. and looked as though
he could annihilate every witness
whose evidence told ever so slightly
against her.
The sweet face grew even whittier
when the jury returned; the girls hands
trembled, her blue eyes turned with
a wistful, helpless look to the squirrels
handsome face.
'How say you, gentlemen of the
jury-do you find the prisoner guilty
or not guilty?"
There was moments silence; one
might have heard pin drop; in the
whole of that crowded court there was
not sound.
Guilty" was the word that fell like
a dcltll-knell-and the eager expecta-
ton gave way to a murmur Of dismay.
Innocent, say, and I will prove it,"
cried the young squire.
And, looking ut his troubled face,
the judge RETAINED from rebuke. He
passed sentcrce 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.
1t was over ut 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 well 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 one 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
all over the country that Hyacinth Vane
had been found guilty and sentenced
te 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 one ever knew.
The only grace that she obtained was
permission from the governor to have
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 Scanold.
Some one has been into my cell and
tells me tfat may have pens and
ink, that I may write all I think and
feel; and my thoughts go first Of all
to my home.
There was a large bed of white hya-
cinths in the dear old garden at home;
they were my mothers pride. When
any one came to see her, In the warm,
beautiful spripgtime, she would say
to them, Have you seen my hya-
cinthsY 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? 2"
those about her said: and the sweet
sou. smiled, n d would not tell them
that the light had gone from her eyes.
She felt with her white, dying hand
for the little face, rLd then, said,
with smile:
my dear little baby! Francis,
should like her to be called 'Hyac!nth,'
after my favorite flowers
My father promised that 1t should
be so; and was named Hyacinth
Vane.
Yes, I-IIyacinth vane, condemned
to die tomorrow was little baby
once, with my golden head Nesting on
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?
raise my hands and look at them;
they are white and warm The warm
blood courses through them Is II nos-