The Dickinson press., 1894-03-24

49,. OSee>sS
years to come they will tell at Dun
void the story Of how Hyacinth Vane
murdered Gertrude Fraser out of jeal-
ousy and revenge. The little ones 1
have nursed will grow up into men and
women, and to their children In their
turn they will tell how Hyacinth Vane
murdered her beautiful rival, and died
in INVERSION Jail. There will be no
one to tell the truth. 1 hate to think
that Elsie Eane's only child-"the little
white Hyacinth," as she was called
shall for all time be branded with the
name Of murderess
1 kneel down and pray as well as I
know how. I remember my sins. and
ask pardon for them. And then I ask
that may die bravely; that may not
cry, or shrek, or faint; that may not
cling to the kindly chaplain, whose
heart aches for me; that may not cry
out to the seetbing multitude. ask
and never stop to think whether it
be right o. wr0ng-with wOeful tears
that my mother may come ard he near
me on the scaffOld when I am about to
die.
1t is quite dark; and a strange sound
comes to ME. 1t is like the hum
Of multitude-a confused, hor-
rible sounl. The Jail of Ulver-
stoR stands facing one Of the wide
streets, and clea :ly enough I recognize
the sound of an enormous surging mass
Of people.
They are come to see me die!
| fall upon my knees with a passion
ate cry of terror and pain. Hundreds
and hundreds Of people will tell each
''ther how they saw Hyacinth Vano
rung. remember having read with
TOnder and amazement in the news
papers that to see fellow creature
die men and women will walk for
hours, will stand for hours, shouting,
singing, jesting, giving no thought to
the pain of the doomed ones last mo-
ments. Oh. heaven, under the bright
blue beautiful sky, can such things
be?
Then another sound freezes the blood
In my veins. What can it be, this m,lf.
fled hammering? Oh, know! At
night, with the help Of torches, they
are erecting the scaffold on which I
en- to die. l hear the sound plainly,
and / cry out with passionate terror
and pain-loud, bitter cries; cannot
restrain them. This brings my fate
home to me. Who will save me? Who
| VAAA uNAp AACS SlAS AACttvClA- lAAOS1AVA
Il am so young, and must die!
fling myself upon the ground. 1
am half mad with fear; and the cruel
sound of the hammering, the shout
ing of the crowd, Of vast multitude,
seem to grow clearer. How they will
rejoice when I stand before them to-
morrow to die! For it was cruel MUIR
der, and they oil believe me guilty.
could make 20 defense, except that
had not done it.
My passionate woeful cries ring
through the vaultcd passages. Some
one must have fetched the governor,
Capt. LongmOre, and the head ma
tron, Mrs. Martyr. hear the key turn
in the lock; my sad, longing eyes gaze
out into the corridor, and then the door
closes. I am shut up in the condemned
cell, and the outer world has gone
from me.
1t is Mrs. Martyr who raises my
head from the cold stone floor, and,
looking into the governors face, says
quietly:
"It is very sad for her to hear that
noise; 1t is bad enough without that"
The governors face darkens.
ut is bad enough altogether" he re-
plies; and I wonder in my own mind
whether he thinks me innocent or
guilty.
may mention that this tragedy
Of mine took place thirty years ago,
when it was the custom to hang men
and women alike before the scotfing
gaze of thousands.
My passion Of terror has exhausted
me. I feel that my face is white and
still as that of dead woman. cam
not unlock my lips to speak; my eyes
are closed.
II will lay her on the bed," says the
matron: "She ought to sleep until the
bell tolls"
The governor shudders, strong man
though he is. feel him tremble a.
he raises me in his arms.
"Hanging men is bad enough" he
says; "but a woman, fair delicate girl
like this-I would as soon be hung
myself as help in it!' .... ....l
do you really think she did it?''
asks the matron in q whisper.
'"The law has pronounced her guilty.
Surely the judge and the jury must
have had pretty good evidence, or she
would not be here. Irm bound, as gov
ernor of this prison, to believe her
but, il you ask my opinion rs man
with q judgment of his own in the
matter, should say that she is limo
cent-that a white dove is far more
likely to slay an eagle than she to mur
der Il girl young as herself. l believe
another thing, Mrs. Martyr, and it Il
that, IL she docs not have either wine
or brandy, she will be dead before
tomorrow comes" The kindly matrou
says:
"Let her die, Capt. I.ongmore. Only
think what it would save her, II she
could die here, and now"
II dare not" he answers slowly. ~
must do my best to keep her alive
shall order some wine"
1t is brought to him; and they try
to pour it down my throat. endeavOr
to open my lips, but am quite power.
less.
"she is dyingw cried the matron.
"What shall we do?"
They send for the prison doctor, and
he comes In haste.
dying? Is she, poor child?" he says.
Il wish that dare let her die"
| But he dares not. He does all he can
to bring me back from the shadow
land, to keep me alive, that tomorrow
thousands may look on in the bright
sunlight and see me die.
Slowly under his skill and care my
eyes open and the blood stirs in my
veins. read the very yearning Of
pity in the doctors eyes. The sound
of the hammer with its mighty muf-
fled blows is more clear and distinct.
catch his arm.
Doctor" cry, ''send me where L
Oh, cannot bear to hear that noise!'
He turns from me with a groan;
| and the governor sayS-
You cannot leave this cell. Try
not to hear 1t, Hyacinth Vane."
-Four hours later. The sun has long
since set. the birds are surely resting
the flowers all fast asleep; the great
beautiful wings Of night are spread
over the world; the wind is hushed
the trees are still. The noise of the
hammer has ceased, and my heart
j. which seemed to throb painfully witt
| each stroke, beats more regularly.
The moon must be shining, for across
the narrow window falls a ray O
. light. faint, silver light. All, me, hoy
| Offnn have I ulfohod 1r,f,,,