Litchfield enquirer., 1867-08-01

from adding to the terror of the case was a
 circumstance from which he drew consola-
 tion. She .was beautiful white statue now. Her soul was far hence; and if that pure spirit could return, would 1t not be tC shield him with her love? It was impossi ble that the place should not engendel some thought of the kind He did not put l the thought entirely from him as he rose to his feet and stretched ont his hands in the darkness; but his mind was to healthy and practical to indulge long ill such spec ulations.
 Philip chanced to have in his pocket 8 boz of Wax tapers which smokers use. Ali ter several intellectual attempts he succeed ed ill lgniting one against the dank wall, and by its momenta,y glare perceived that the candle had been left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the fasten- ings of the vault. Ii he could force the in- her door by any means, and reach the gra- ting, of which he had an indistinct recol- lection, he might hope to make himself heard. But the oaken door was immova- ble--s.s solid as the wall itself, into which 1t fitted air-tight. Even if he had had the requisite tools, there were no fastenings to be removed-the hinges were set on the outside
 Having ascertained this he replaced the candle on the floor and leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame that wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. At al events" he thought, 'sthe place is ventilat- ed.,", Suddenly Philip sprang forward and extinguished the light His existence de- pended on that candle!
 He had read somewhere, in some account Of 4 SHlDWrpPty how h.a ho1 Iy- ed for days upon 8 few candles which one of the passengers had insanely thrown in to the long boat And here he had been burning away his very life
 By tine transient illumination of one of the tapers, he looked at his watch It had stopped at eleven-but at eleven that day or the proceeding night? The funeral, he knew, had left the church at ten. How many hours have passed since then? Of what duration had been his swoon? Alas! It was no longer possible to him to meas ure those hours which crawl like snails by the wretched, and fly like swallows over the happy.
 He picked up the candle and eated him. self OF the stone steps. He was san- guine man, this Wentworth; but, as he weighed the chances of escape, the pros pect did no seem encouraging. Of course he would be missed his disappearance, un- der the circumstances, would surely alarm his friends; they would inscigate Q search for him; but who would think of soarchin 2 for live man ln the cemetery of Mont martre? The Prefect of Police would set a hundred intelligences at work to find him: the Seine might be dragged, les msisera5les turned over at the dead house; Q minute description of him would be in every de- tective's pocket; and he-in M. Dorine's family tomb
 Yet, on the other hand, 1t was here he was last seen; from this point keen de- tective would naturally work up the case Then might not the undertaken return for the candlestick, probably not left by de- sign? Or, again, might not M. Dorine send fresh wreaths of flow IS to take the place of those which now difused pungent, ar- omatic odor throughout the chamber? An what unlikely chances! But if one of these things did not happen. How long could he keep life in himself?
 With unaccelerated pulse he quietly cut the half burned candle into four equal parts Tonight" he meditated, ''I will eat the
 first of these pieces; to morrow, the second; j; tomorrow evening, the third the next day, the fourth; and then-then IT wait!''
 He had taken no breakfast that morning unless a cup of coffee can be called break fast. He had never been very hungry be- fore. He was ravenoasly hungry now; but he postponed the meal as long as practical ble. It must have been near midnight. ac- cording to his calculation. when he deter mined to try the first of his four singular re- pasts. The bit of white wax was tasteless: but it served his purpose
 His appetite for the time disappeared, but he found a new discomfort The humidity of the walls, and the wind that crept through the unseen ventllator chilled him to the bone. To keep walking Was his only re- cource. A sort of drowsiness too, came. 1 over him occasionally. It took all his will to fight 1t off. To sleep, he felt, was to die; and he had made up his mind to live Very strange fancies fitted through his head as he groped up and down the stone floor of the dungeon, feeling his way along the wall to avoid the sepulchers. Voices that had long been silent spoke words that he..had long forgotten; faces he had known in childhood grew palpable against the dark. Ills whole life in Getail Was unrolled be- fore him like 8 panorama; the changes of 6 year, with his burden of love and death, It's sweets and it's bitterness were epitom- lzed ln a singe second. The desire to sleep had left him; but the keen hunger came again.
 "It must be near morning now," he unused; ''perhaps the sun is just gild- ing the pinnacles and domes of the city; or, may be, dull, drizzling rain is heating on Paris-sobbing on these m ounds above lie. Paris! 1t seems like dream Did ever walk in its gay streets in the golden air? O, the delight, and pain, and passion of that sweet human hfer'
 | Philip became conscious that the gloom the silence, and the cold, were gradually conquerlng him. The feverish activity of his brain brought on reaction. He grew letharglc; he sunk down on the steps, and thought of nothing. His hand fell by chance on one of the pieces of candle; he grasped It and devoured 1t mechanically.
 This revived him. ''How strange" he thought, that I am not thirsty. Is 1t possible that the dampness of the walls,
 which must inhale at every breath, has supplied the need of water? Not drop
 has passed my lips for two days, and still l experience no thirst. That drowsiness,
 thank Heaven, has gone. I think I was never wide awake till this hour It 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 1 KEA( T