THE TIMES, NEW BLOOM FIELD, PA., DECEMBER 27, 1881.
Jane, murmuring with touching earn
estness the first words ahe lioil uttered
for several days; "why should I grieve,
for am I not going too V many and many
a day you have led me by the hand, and
the Good Shepherd will let me walk by
your side In Paradise."
"Jane! Jaoel" exclaimed the widow
rising from her jilllow, with passionate
energy, nnd.flxhi'ji her.eyes on those of
. LeT stricken child with a power that re
called the wandering Intellect flickering
through them ; "linteu to me 1 there Is
a weight upon my soul which pauses It
to faint on Its pasBnge through the gates
of death. It Is on yours, too, poor child,
and if the command of the dying cannot
remove it, your young head will, Indeed,
be brought to the grave. You under
stand me, Jane? Thank God I thank
God 1 she Is herself again 1"
She clasped the hands of Jane, with
hers, and, for a moment, drew her to her
breast," .
"Now, dear child," she resumed,
"bring me here the scarf which Lewis
left you as his last love token. The
truth is written upou It which, In your
blessed love for me, you have smothered
in your poor heart till It Is almost bro
ken." The scarf was brought and laid upon
the bed-covering. The dying woman un
folded It with trembling hands, and
pointed to the mark which had wrought
the fulfillment of her own destiny, while
Jane started back appalled and shudder
ing at the sight.
"That," she continued, "through the
strange working of Providence, reveaied
to me what my weak, humau nature
has not been able to bear. Do not
auswer me, for my time is precious, and
I need to have nothing explained ; but
when I have gone to the place where the
guilt and sorrow of this world shall
trouble me no more, let no thought of
me prevent you from telling all that Is
on your mind of the cruel crime that has
destroyed the happiness of your young
life. It goes hard with me oh how
hard 1 to lay this charge upon you, but
it must not be that the good perish, even
in this world, and the wicked be allowed
to triumph safely in his sin. Now God's
grace be with you, my darling Jane, for
having been nothing but ajoyauda
blessing to me until this shadow fell up
on us both 1 don't cry, darling, let me
think of Heaven you will soon have
your conscience pure from the knowl
edge that defiles it; there, fold your
pretty hands as you did when I first
taught you to pray, aud let our supplica
tions go together before me to the throne
of God 1"
Jane felt none of the agony of grief.
She folded her pale bands, and leaning
forward, rested her fair head against the
bosom which had never throbbed for
her but in tenderness, and thus, wrapt
in prayer, she remained, until its cold
ness warned her that its pulsations bad
ceased forever.
The general sympathy for the bereaved
girl was redoubled. Every office of
kindness and protection that her situa
tion required was proffered to her, but
though she received each expression of
good feeling with meek thankfulness,
her answers were often accompanied by
the melancholy presentiment, "I shall
not trouble any one long." Though it
was remarked, aud with surprise, by the
neighbors, that her new aflllction had
removed instead of increasing her men
tal disorder, yet all, with native prudence
and delicacy, abstained from alluding in
her presence to the tragical event which
still was hourly discussed and deplored
It was soon, however, 'decided where
Jane was to And an asylum, at least,
during the early period of her mourning.
Immediately after the death of the
widow, Sheriff Merrill, who had been
nominated as an executor of her will,
while an occupant of an adjoining farm,
made his appearance, and begging her to
consider him her guardian, offered his
house as her home. Without hesitation
she acceded to his proposal.
Preparation was made for conducting
the funeral of the widow with every
mark of respect to her memory which
her many virtues demanded. A notifica
tion of her demise was sent to her son
who was known to be in N , and on
the morning of the third day, when the
company had collected to attend the
body to the grave, he presented himself
among them. He was attired in a hand
some suit pf mourning, and wore upon
his countenance every proper sign of
sorrow. Tne coffin was not yet closed
when he entered the house, aud Jane
eat at its head, her tears, for the first
time, dropping fast from her colorless
cheeks upon the beloved face she was to
see no more. George Slade advanced
toward her with expressions of brotherly
greeting, and to those around them it
was startling to witness the change
which came over the afflicted young
creature at his approach. Her white
lips shrunk and quivered, her eyes dl
lated and grew dim with some emotion
which none could define, and bending
forward In her seat, she covered her face
with her hands, as if to exclude some
external object from her view. The bold
man seemed not to have perceived her
agitation. lie looked calmly at the
corpse, aocouuted briefly for the delay of
his arrival, aud expressed himself ready
that the solemn rites should begin.
The oonoourse of people assembled was
very large, and was composed of all
classes of the community, for the widow
had been honored equally by high aud
low. The churoh-yard was at but an
easy walking distance, and thither they
proceeded on foot. The body was low
ered into the grave close beside where
the young pastor had beeu so . recently
laid, aud In the address which followed,
a simple and feeling allusion was made
to the affection, as of mother and son,
which had subsisted between the two in
life, and to the mingling of their dust in
death. As the service closed, Jane with
drew from the arm of Sheriff Merrill by
which she had been supported, having
repulsed that offered by George Slade as
the procession left the house, and knelt
silently by the grave. She was allowed
to remain undisturbed until the coffin
was hidden by the first layer of fresh
clods, and then George, to whom the
duty seemed with propriety to belong,
stepped forward to draw her away. She
elevated her hands for a moment as if in
prayer, and then fixed her eyes upon
him with an expression of solemn re
buke, which none who beheld it could
ever afterward forget. Ills countenance
changed, but, as he retreated to his place,
ho quickly concealed it with the white
handkerchief, which he had been using
with the lugubrious gestures suitable to
the occasion.
'Help me, O Father I to relieve my
soul of the burthen which, in thy myste
rious will, has been cast upon it l" such
were the words, which In broken mur
murs were heard to escape from the lips
of Jane, and arising from her knees, she
added, in loud, clear tones, as if her ad
juration had won her the strength she
Invoked ; "stand forward, George Slade!
here above the dust of him whose
blood was spilt by your hand, I pro.
nounce you a murderer I"
The handkerchief dropped from the
grasp of George, and his face grew ashy
pale; but commanding his voice, he
Bald, in his blandest tones, "Poor girl 1
poor girl I her mind is still unsettled 1
"Not so, George Slade," responded
Jaue, in the same manner of lofty reso
lution which sent conviction at once to
those who, all their life, had known her
timid and truthful character ; "my mind
did, indeed, fall me for a time, for, train
ed as It was to fear the commandments
of my Maker, how could it remain firm
under the secret knowledge of a crime so
black and gilevous V when I knew that
to betray it would send to the grave the
being I loved more dearly than my own
life V but now it is restored to me with
a power it never before possessed, and lu
good season to work out the retribution
which a just Judge demands, and Ire-
peat the words which I never could have
spoken while her body, even though
lifeless, was upon the earth I accuse
you, George Slade, of the murder of
Lewis Walton I" .
The guilty man looked wildly about,
and moved backward a few paces through
the crowd, but when he felt the strong
arm of the sheriff upon him, and saw
that the assemblage pressed closely
round, he knew that it was as Impossible
to escape as It would be vain to resist,
and made a show of voluntarily surren
dering himself a prisoner.
The sensation created by the scene in
the cburch-yard fully equalled that fol
lowing the discovery to which it was
consequent. The most anxious curiosi
ty prevailed throughout the county, for
the details which had been expected
from Jane, were, according to the advice
of Sheriff Merrill, reserved for himself,
and for such functionaries as were requi
site to prosecute the case. Yet notwlth
standing this precaution to prevent any
unfavorable bias of the public mind
against the accused, his conduct since he
had appeared in the country had been so
reprehensible, and the character of Jaue
was so much above suspicion, that no
one seemed to have a doubt of his guilt.
Ji.ven had it been otherwise, a new and
unexpected testimony, corroborating her
assertion, would have gone far to Bettle
the question. The blood-stained hand
kerchief found with the key of the par
sonage, was identified by a storekeeper
of N as one which he had sold to the
reputed criminal, a few days preceding
tne murder.
The prison to which aeon Slade hal
been consigned, was the architectural
boast of the district to which it pertained
and, in its size, strength and costliness.
corresponded rather with the wealth of
me community that had erected it, than
witn tneir well deserved reputation for
sobriety and good morals. It stood at
some distance from the village where the
courts were held, and, based upon a per
pendicular mass of rock of treat helffht:
and boldness, it looked with its mural
ornaments, not an Imperfect imitation
of some castellated fortress or euard
tower of feudal times. At the foot of the
bluff was the residence pf Sheriff Merrill
for he had obtained permission to occu-
py a pretty tenement there situated with
Its gardens and pasture lots, a part of the
public domain, instead of the suite of
apartments allotted to the Inoumbent of
his of lice within the prison walls; though
to them he had ready access by a flight
of steps rudely cut in the precipice and
terminating at a minor entrance, which
was ordinarily used in preference to the
grand gateway facing the village.
Amidst the comforts of his quiet an d
pleasant home poor Jane found a kindly
welcome, but neither the fatherly atten
tions of the good sheriff, the gentle sym
pathy of his wife, nor the cheerful socie
ty of his young family, ever banished,
for a moment, her mournful dejection.
Her bodily health soon gave way under
her mental suffering, and though no
complaint ever escaped her Hps, and she
was Btlll able to move about the house
performing such little domestic duties as
she fancied, Bhe declined so fast that It
was feared she might not Burvlve until
the term of court, during which she was
to act so conspicuous a part. The
thought of a human life dependent upon
the word of this frail woman seemed
ever present lu her mind. She would
gaze silently upon the grated windows of
the jail and turn chilled and trembling
away. So distressing had the subject
become to her after the conference with
her legal advisers, which followed her
publlo accusation, that It was necessary
to avoid It in her presence.
Meanwhile George Blade had preserv
ed his reckless bearing, boldly asserting
the continued Insanity of Jane, and
professing to treat the evidence of the
handkerchief, of which he had been
informed, as one of those strange coinci
dences for which there Is no accounting.
But when the time of trial was near at
baud his demeanor changed. He be
came restless and morose, and on the
evening of the day preceding that on
which the session of the court was to
commence, he was remarked by the
subordinate, whose duty It was to see
the prisoners Becured, and to deliver the
keys to the sheriff, pacing his cell with
a pale face and his brow contracted as if
from pain.
That night came upon him the utmost
agony of terror at the fate which seemed
inevitable. Midnight found him still
busy with the troubled meditations that
allowed him no thought of rest. The
light of the broad, full moon lay silvery
white upon the floor, checkered with
the shadow of the heavy grating, that
would have made hope of escape a dream
of madness. He walked to the window
it Becured and opened the sash to catch
the cool breath of the autumnal air, and
he clenched with painful force the rusty
bars, as if to vent in physical actlou the
unquletness of his spirit. Suddenly his
eye fell upon an object moving in the
shade cast by the wall into the jail-yard.
It advanced Into the moonlight, and
presented the outlines of a female form,
but so spectral with its white dress and
gliding step, that his flesh crept with a
sensation of superstitious dread. It
paused opposite to his window, and for
an instant a thin, pale hand was raised,
and a death-like face turned toward him.
The gesture must have been intended
for his eye, for of the few inmates of
the prison, he was the only one occupy
ingthat side of the building. How
could any living being find entrance
into that strong inclosure t He drew
his hand across his eyes to clear his vis
ion, and when he removed it the strange
visitant was gone. Ho tried to assure
himself that in his excited state, an Illu
sion had deceived him, yet he leaned
his face close to the bars to be satisfied
that It had quite disappeared. But now
his ear could not be mistaken ; there
was a sound, scaroely more distinct
than his own breathing, at the door of
his cell, and that of a key applied to
the lock. The hinges faintly creaked,
and the same unearthly figure stood in
the doorway, in strong relief against the
darkness beyond. The moonlight shone
full Into the large sunken eyes, and
upon the long, fair locks that bad escap
ed from the snowy head-covering, aud
he doubted, scarce leas than before, the
evidence of his senses, that it was
Jane.
: Without giving him time to recover
himself, she stepped backward into the
passage, and whispering the single mou
osyllable "Cornel" she beckoned blm
to follow her. Hardly conscious of his
own movements he obeyed, and guided
by the moonbeams, which through the
open door, faintly lighted a long vista
felt himself breathing the free air once
more. The tremulous hands of Jane
fell to her side as she attempted to turn
the key in the massive lock of the en
trance door, signing George to secure It
she preceded him to the gate from which
the steps descended.
"Why, Jane, Jane that's a brave
girl 1" he exclaimed, for the first time
feeling his liberty was real, when he
stood on the bare rocks with the gate
barred behind him ; "this timely rescue
will make me forget all the injury you
have done me, and I shall love you
better than ever 1 you have proven that
you are my friend, at last."
"No, no, George Slade I do not for a
moment believe that what I have done
is for your sake!" responded Jane,
with nervous rapidity; "for nothing
leRs than her memory could I have acted
this base part toward the good man, who
would have cherished me among his
own children, her whose last hour was
hurried on by your wickedness, and
filled with the bitterness of earthly
grief Instead of the triumph which
should have ended her Baiutly life.
With her dying breath she bade me
make known the dreadful secret that
clouded my soul, and I obeyed; but
when it was done, all that you had been
to her returned to my mind. I remem
bered that in her early days of trouble,
bIio had poured upon you all the tender
ness of her nature, that you were the
only thing In the world that could glad
den her heart. I remembered how fond
ly ,forgettlng all your late unworthlness,
she used to talk of your childish ways,
and to tell how much dearer you became
for every trial she endured for your sake
and I could not, Oh I I could not bear
the thought, that by my means any
thing she had so loved should perish 1
I rembered how careful she was of her
good name, that no stain should rest
upon it not through worldly pride-
but that not a BcofT,fof her error, should
fall upon the faith she professed, and I
could not endure to think, that, as borne
by her son, it should go abroad, blacken
ed by a most hideous crime, and be pre
served with the record of a shameful
death. Oh I it is for her memory I have
done this I that I deceived the kind
confidence of my protector, watching
every word and action that could show
me how you could be set free. My brain
almost grew wild again, George Slade,
when I crept into his chamber, where I
had always been trusted as freely as a
child of his own, and stole from it like
a base th lef, these instruments of your
release I but go I go I all that will be left
for me in this world, is to coness this
deed, to be accused of falsehood and In
gratitude at best, to be dealt with as a
maniac, and then to die 1"
"But, Jatfe why should that be'?
withdraw your charge against me; deny
the truth of what, it will be readily be
lleved, you uttered from a deranged
mind, and you may go again to your
old home and be happy."
"Happyl-happy in sight of the ground
that I saw wet with his blood I here, at
every step, I would fancy her eyes look
ing after me in pity for my load of sin I
man, man, it is you who are mad!"
"Yes, Jane, you may be happy, why
not V the heaviest loss can be forgotten,
if we take heart to bear it bravely. Could
my mother look back, would she not
rather see you keeping down useless
sorrow, and making the best of your llfeV
had Lewis Walton thought he should
die in his bed and leave you a widow,
could he have reasonably asked, that,
with your beauty and young feeling you
should remain so V no, no, Jane you
conld be happy yet, and might make
me so. In the home my mother's labor
earned by her, we might spend our days
together, for, if you would, you could
love me as well as you did Lewis Wal
ton."
"Love you, Qeorge Slade I God
knows how bard I strive not to hate
you with a hatred equal to my horror of
your utter wickedness."
"Lower your voice, Jane, and answer
me truly," said George assuming an
air of regretful concern ; "doyotf,lndeed
believe me guilty of the act of which
you accused me? though, through my
love for you.I felt no grief for the death
of one I looked upon as a rival, and did
not affect it, could you really have
thought that I had taken bis life?"
"Did I not see you do all but plunge
the weapon into his heart?" exclaimed
Jane ; "did I not see you spring upon
him like a wild beast, and see your arm
fell him to the earth ? did I not see you
drag his body to where you thought It
could He, without betraying you to the
world, which has no tortures terrible
enough for the crime? did I not bear
upon my own person the print of your
guilt which sent your mother to the
grave?" and her manner grew wild
and her voice shrill at the recapltu lation
"Hush I hush, Jane ! you will raise
an alarm, your mind is wandering again
poor girl ! come here into the shadow
or you will petray yourself and me ;'
and he stretched out his hand to draw
her into the darkened recess of the gate
way, for she stood in the open moon
light, and a few feet from the edge of a
precipice along which the wall extended
"Did I not see it all, and, Ob, God I
I can Bend this man forth in safety, who
had no mercy on my own ! my own I
does not his spirit cry for vengeance ?
yet vengeance is mine thine, Lord !
she continued, with increased vehe
mence; off! off I dare you lay that
hand again on me?" and as he forcibly
caught her arm, she sprang backward to
escape from his grasp. For a moment
she struggled, with the instinct of na
ture, to regain her foothold, and the
next she had disappeared over the preci
pice.
In his surprise, I know not if I might
use a stronger word, George Slade forgot
his fear of discovery. He stepped hastl-
ly to the spot from which she had fallen.
He could see, far below, a heap of white
drapery without foim or motion. "Poor
fool I she will raise her voice against me
no more, no living creature could sur
vive that tremendous fall. Poor, pretty
fool I yet I loved her as I never did any
one before, and, I think, I am sorry for
her now. But she Is out of my way,
and shall I brave this trial ! If I
were sure tne law would make me
the heir, I would take my lodgings
again within the walls. To have scorn
ed a chance of escape would be more
than a trifle In my favor. I believe I'll
go back yet that handkerchief that
cursed handkerchief It may after all,
be better to fly ;" aud flinging the keys
over the precipice, he turned his steps
toward the most secluded road which
led through the settlement.
The next morniug the body of Jane
was found caught upon a clumu of arbor
vitas in the sheriff's garden. She must
have been senseless before her fall was
thus broken, for the limbs hung with a
relaxation that evinced neither effort nor
pain. Her white dress was stained with
blood, and a crimson stream which had
flowed from her Hps across her bosom,
proved that her life had ebbed from some
internal source. That her fate was con
nected with the escape of the prisoner
no one doubted, but In what manner it
could have been so, was a mystery.
And a mystery It remained for long,
long years, but it was revealed at last.
Many, even now, remember the execu
tion of a noted criminal for an atrocious
crime upon the high seas, a man whose
character was marked bveverv trait that
could dishonor humanity. In his revolt
ing confession it was easv to recognize
tne history or ueorge Kiarto, while one of
Us episodes supplied all that was want
ing to complete mat or "1'retly Jane."
THE GREAT
Neuralgia, Sciatica, Lumbago,
Backache, Soreness of tho Chest, Gout,
Quinsy, Soro Throat, Swellings and t
Sprains, Burns and Scalds,
General Bodily Pains,
Tooth, Ear and Headache, Frosted Fczi
and Ears, and all other Pains
and Aches.
No Preparation on arth qua1i St. Jaooiw Oit. a
1 ar. Mimpim and cp External Remedy.
A trial cnlaili but the comparatively trifiinr outlay
of 0 and evert one atifTerlnir with jma
can taava chaap and poaltlve proof of lu claims.
Direction In Eleven Languages.
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Mar 3. 1881 ly
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October 18, 1881. ly
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