Daily Ohio statesman. [volume] (Columbus, Ohio) 1855-1870, 1867-06-29
1IlI3a9a,i
90 e6-D2lAG
VOL. XXXIV: ~ ARso

selle Dorine's death, broke the intelligence
with awkward cruelty, by showing him
directly to che, salon. 7 O. s1esg -ssid3 zIirsH
Il Madamoiselle Dorine's wealth, her bean
ty, the suddenness of her death, and the
romance that had in some way attached
itself to her love for the young American.
Il drew crowds to. witness the funeral cere-
monies which took place in the church in
the Rue d'Aguesseau. The body was to
be laid in NJ. Dorine's tomb, in the cemetery
of Montmartre. ~ ii"'--'-
This tomb requires few}swords of de-
scription. First there was, a grating oi
| filigraned iron; through this you looked
into q small yestibule or hall, at the end OF
which was a massive door of oak
| opening upon a., short flight of stone
steps descending into 8 the tomb
The Yanlt was fifteen or twenty feet
ceiling. but unlighted. 1t contained two
sarcophagf: the first held the remains of
Madame Dorine, long since dead; the 9TH
er was new, and bore on one side the let
ters j. d.. In monogram, interviewer with
/ fieurs-de-lis. on a.i.n e7si 99 e af.i-1
The funeral train stopped at the gate of
the small garden that enclosed the Place of
burial, onlysthe immediate relatives follow-
ing the bearers into the tomb. A slender
| wax candle, such as is used in Catholic
churches, burnt at the foot of the uncov-
cred sarcophagus, casting dim glow over
the centre of the apartment, and deepen
l. ing the shadows which seemed to huddle
together in the corners. By this f1ickerfng
flight the cofin5was placed in its granite
shell, the heavy slab laid over it reverent-
lly, and the oaken door reyOlved on its rus
ity hinges, shutting out the uncertain ray
of sunshine that had ventured to peep in
on the darkness. b .sL-l ,.. ..af sr1d 81
NJ. ,Dorine, muffied In his cloak, threw
himself on the back seat of the carriage.
too distracted in his grief to observe that
he was the only occupant of the vehicle.
There was sound of wheels grating on
the gravelled avenue, and then all was
silence again in the cemetery of Montmar-
tire. At the main entrance the carriages
parted company, dashing off into various
Streets at a pace that seemed to express
sense of relief. The band plays dead
march going to the grave, but Fra Dfaoolo
coming from it. ai.- Sc ---.-7-
IL is not with the retreating carriages
that our interest lies. Nor yet wholly, with
the. dead in her my sterious dream; but with
Philip Wentworth. YTigiI 5a lEA SjllA
The rattle of wheels had died out of the
air when Philip opened his eyes. bewilder-
ed, like man abruptly reused from slum-
Der. He raised himself on one arm and
stared into the surrounding blackness.
Where was he? In q second the truth
flashed upon him. He had been left in the
t6mbi While kneeling on the farther side
OF the stone box, perhaps he had tainted,
and in the last solemn rites his absence had
been unnoticed.
His first emotion was one OF natural ter
ror. But this passed as quickly as it came.
Life had ceased to be so very precious to
him and if it were his fate to die at dulles
side, was not that the fulfilment OF the de-
sire which he had expressed to himself
hundred times that mornings? What did 1t
matter, few years sooner or later? He
must lay down the burden at last Why
not then? A pang of selt-reproach follow
ed the thought. Could he so lightly throw
aside the love that had bent over his era
die? The sacred name of mother rose in
voluntarily to hislips. Was it not coward
ly to yield up without a struggle the life
which he should guard for her sake? Was
it not his duty to the living and the dead to
face. the difficulties of his position, and
overcome them if it were within human
power.
with an organization as delicate as
woman's, he had the spirit which,
however sluggish lin repose, can leap
with a kind of sexultation to measure
its strength with disaster. The vague fear
of the Supernatural, that would affect most
men in a Similar aituatieH, found no room
in his heart. He was simply shut in
chamber from which it was necessary that
he should obtain release within given pc
riod. That this chamber contained the body
to the terror of the case, was circum-
stance from which he drew consolation.
She was beautifulwhite statue now. Her
soul was far hence and if that pure spirit
could return, would-it not be to shield him
with her love 1t was impossible that the
place should not engender some thought of
the kind. He did not put the thought en-
tirely from him as he rose to his feet and
stretched out his hands in the darkness;
but his mind was too healthy and practical
to indulge long in such speculations.
Philip CHANGED to have in his pocket
box OF wax tapers which smokers use.o
After several Intellectual attempts, he
succeeded in ignitiDg. one; against the
dank wall, and by its momen-
had been left in the tomb. This would
serve him in examining the fastenfngs of
the vault. II he could force the inner door
by any means, and reach the grating, of
which he had an indistinct recollection. he
might hope to make himself heard. But
the oaken door was immovable, as solid as
the wall itself, into which it fitted air-tight.
EVENT. he had had the requisite tools,
there were no fastenings to be removed:
the hinges were set on the outside.
o Having ascertained this, he replaced the
candle on. the floor, and leaned against the
wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan
of flame that wayered to and fro, threaten
ii
all events" he thought, ''the place is venti
lated" Suddenly Philip sprang forward
aud extinguished the light. His existence
depended on that candle!
4 He had read somew here, in some account
of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived
for -daysrupot few candles which one of
the passengers had insanely thrown into
the long-beat. 1AI d here he had been
burning away his very life. ~ ..-
By the transient illumination of one of
the tapers, he looked at his watch. 1t had
stopped at eleven,-but at eleven that day,
or the preceding night? The funeral, he
knew, had left the church at ten. How
many hours had passed since then? OF
what duration had been his swoon? Alas
ure those hours which crawl like snails by
the wretched, and fly like swallows over
the happy. ..-i
He picked up the candle, and seated him
self on the stone steps. He was sanguine
man, this Wentworth, but, as he weighed
the chances of escape, the prospect did not
seem. encouraging. OF course he would be
missed. Hissdisappearance under the Cir
cumstanees would surely alarm hisfriends;
they would instigate search for him but
who would think of searching for live
man in the cemetery of Montmartre?
The Prefect of Police would set a
hundred intelligences at work to find
him; the Seine might be dragged les NUS
cradles turned over at the deadhouse;
minute description of him would be in
every detectives pocket; and helm NJ.
Dorine's family tomb! l. fs'.-3 aFTr
Yet, on the other hand, it was here he
was last seen; from this point keen de-
tective would naturally work up the case.
Then might not theundertaker return for
the candlestick, probably not left by design?
Or, again, might not M. Dorine send fresh
wreaths of flowers, to take the place of
those which now diffused pungent, aro-
matte odor throughout the chamber? All!
what unlikely chances! But if one of
these things did rot happen speedily, it