The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1867-11-01

drOwsineSS, too, occasionally came owe
him. 1t took all his will to fight 1t of
To sleep, he felt was to die and he ha,
made up his mind to live.
Very strange fancics fitted through
his head as he CROPPED up and down tn,
stone floor OF the dungeon, feeling hi
way along the wall to avoid the sepul
chres. Voices that had long been silen
spoke words that had long been forgot
ten; faces he had known in childhood
grew palpable against the dark. Hi
whole life in detail was unrolled before
him like panorama; the changes o
a year, with its burden of love and death
its sweets and its bittornesses, were epit.
omized in single second. The desire
to sleep had left him. But the keen
hunger came again.
1t must be near morning now, he
mused perhaps the sun is just gliding
the domes and pinnacles ofthe city; or,
may be, dull drizzling rain is beating
on Paris, sobbing on these mounds
above me. Paris ii seems like a dream.
Did I ever walk in its gay streets in the
golden air? o the delight and pain and
passion of that sweet human life!
Philip became conscious that the
gloom, the silence, and the cold were
gradually conquering him. The fever
ish activity of his brain brought on n
reaction. He grew lethargic, he sunk
down on the steps, and thought Of moth
ing. His hand fell by chance on one of
the pieces of candles he grasped it and
devoured it mechanically. This re-
vived him. "How strange" he thought,
"that l am not thirsty. Is it possible
that the dampness of the walls, which
l must inhale with every breath, has
supplied the need of water? Not drop
has passed my lips for two days, and
still ] experience no thirst. That drow-
siness, thank heaven, has gone. | think
/ was never wideawake until this hour.
1t would be an anodyne like poison that
could weigh down my eyelids. No
doubt the dread of sleep has something
to do with this"
The minutes were like hours. Now
he walked as briskly as he dared up
and down the tomb now he rested
against the door. More than once he
was tempted to throw himself upon
the stone coffin that held Julie, and
make no further struggle for his life.
Only one piece of candle remained.
He had eaten the third portion, not to
satisfy hunger, but from precautiona-
ry motive. He had taken it rs q man
takes some disagreeablc drug upon the
result Of which hangs safety. The time
was rapidly approaching when oven
this poor substitute for nourishment
would be exhausted. He delayed that
moment. He gave himself long fas,
this time. The half-inch of candle
which he held in his hand was a sacred
thing to him. 1t was his last defenc,
against death.
At length, with such a sinking Il
heart as he had not known before, h
raised it to his lips. Then he paused
then he hurled the fragment across tn
tomb, then the oaken door was fun,
open, and Philip, with dazzled eyes
saw NJ. Dorine's form sharply dehne
against the blue sky.
When they led him out, halfblindet
into the broad daylight, NJ. Dorine NJ
ticed that Philips hair, which a shoI
time since was rs black as Il crow
wing, had actually turned gray in pli
ces. The mans eyes, too, had faded
the darkness had spoiled their lustre.
"And how long was he really cor
fined id the tomb? ?" ] asked, as NJ
H concluded the story.
"J,tSt one hour and t,Cepty minutes
replied Mr.. II, smiling blandly.
AS he spoke, the little sloops, wit
their sails all blown out like white rC
ses, came floating bravely into port, an
Philip Wentworth lounged by us, wea
rily, in the pleasant April sunshine.
Mr.. H-'s narrative made dee
impression on me. Here was q ma
who had undergone a strange ordea
Here was a man whose sufferings wer
unique. His was no threadbare exper
ence. Eighty minutes had seemed lik
two days to him ! If he had really bee
immured two days in the tomb. the ste
ry, from my point of view, would hav
lost its tragic element.
After this it was but natural ] shoul
regard Mr.. Wentworth with deepene
interest. AS l met him from day t
day, passing through the Common wit
the same distracted air, there was some
thing in.his loneliness which touche
me. | wondered that had not befor
read in his pale meditative face som
such sad history as Mr. H ha
confided to me. | formed the resoll
tion of speaking to him, though wit
what purpose was not very clear to IN
mind. One May morning we met t
the intersection of two paths. He coul
teously halted to allow me the prcc,
dence.
"Mr. Wentworth, began, ~ -"
He interrupted me.
=" My name, sir" he said, in an of
hand manner, sis JONES'
"Jo-Jo-Jones!" !" Igaspcd.
"Not Jo JONES'" he returned coldl,
Frederick"
Mr.. Jones, or whatever his name /
will never know, unless he reads the
pages, why q man accostcd him or
morning n "Mr. Wentworth" an
then abruptly rushed down the neare
path, and disappeared in the crowd,
The fact is, had been duped by NJ
| Il. Mr.. Il occasionally co
tributes story to the magazines.
had actually tried the effect of one
his romances ON me!
My hero, rs l subsequently learne,
is no hero at all, but commonpla
young man who has some connecti'
with the building of that pretty grant
bridge that will shortly span the croo
~