All wished to end the torture of this scene.
At a sign from the judge, the crier called out for silence, and the clerk ordered the prisoner to stand up and receive the sentence of the court.
Eudora attempted to rise, but her limbs failed, and she sank powerless back into her seat.
“Help her—lift her up,” said an officer to the female turnkey that sat beside Eudora.
“Try to stand, my poor, poor child,” said the good woman, putting her arms around the waist of the wretched girl, and raising her to her feet, where she stood leaning for support against the shoulder of Mrs. Barton.
And then amid the awful stillness of the hall, the venerable chief baron arose to pronounce the doom of death. His fine face, usually so pale and woe-worn, was now convulsed with an anguish even greater than the terrible occasion seemed to warrant. He appeared to be incapable of uttering more than the few frightful words that doomed the body of that poor, shrinking, fainting girl to “hang by the neck until she should be dead,” and commended her soul to the mercy of that Being who alone could help her in this her utmost extremity.
Everyone looked to see how that young, delicate, sensitive creature would bear this cruel sentence. Ah! Eudora had not heard one syllable of all those awful words. The utter fainting of her heart, the sudden failing of her senses, the swift ebbing away of all her life-forces, saved her from that last torture.
And when the order was given that the prisoner should be removed from the court, the weeping woman who supported her, answered:
“My lord, she has fainted.”
And in this state of insensibility, Eudora was conveyed from the court to the prison, and laid upon the iron bedstead of the condemned cell.