A true bill was found, and two hours afterwards Jane Eccles was placed in the dock.  The trial did not last more than twenty minutes, at the end of which, an unhesitating verdict of guilty was returned, and she was duly sentenced to be hanged by the neck till she was dead.  We had retained the ablest counsel practicing in the court, but, with no tangible defence, their efforts were merely thrown away.  Upon being asked what she had to say why the sentence of the law should not be carried into effect? she repeated her previous statement—­that the notes had been given her to change by a person in whom she reposed the utmost confidence; and that she had not the slightest thought of evil or fraud in what she did.  That person, however, she repeated once more, could not be produced.  Her assertions only excited a derisive smile; and all necessary forms having been gone through, she was removed from the bar.

The unhappy woman bore the ordeal through which she had just passed with much firmness.  Once only, whilst sentence was being passed, her high-strung resolution appeared to falter and give way.  I was watching her intently, and I observed that she suddenly directed a piercing look towards a distant part of the crowded court.  In a moment her eye lightened, the expression of extreme horror which had momently darkened her countenance passed away, and her partial composure returned.  I had instinctively, as it were, followed her glance, and thought I detected a tall man enveloped in a cloak engaged in dumb momentary communication with her.  I jumped up from my seat, and hastened as quickly as I could through the thronged passages to the spot, and looked eagerly around, but the man, whosoever he might be, was gone.

The next act in this sad drama was the decision of the Privy Council upon the recorder’s report.  It came.  Several were reprieved, but amongst them was not Jane Eccles.  She and nine others were to perish at eight o’clock on the following morning.

The anxiety and worry inseparable from this most unhappy affair, which, from Mr. Flint’s protracted absence, I had exclusively to bear, fairly knocked me up, and on the evening of the day on which the decision of the Council was received, I went to bed much earlier than usual, and really ill.  Sleep I could not, and I was tossing restlessly about, vainly endeavoring to banish from my mind the gloomy and terrible images connected with the wretched girl and her swiftly-coming fate, when a quick tap sounded on the door, and a servant’s voice announced that one of the clerks had brought a letter which the superscription directed to be read without a moment’s delay.  I sprang out of bed, snatched the letter, and eagerly ran it over.  It was from the Newgate chaplain, a very worthy, humane gentleman, and stated that, on hearing the result of the deliberations of the Privy Council, all the previous stoicism and fortitude exhibited by Jane Eccles had completely given way,