The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1867-07-13
Prom the Atlantic Monthly for July.l
A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.

A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
One morning last April, asl was pass
ing through Boston Common, met a
gentleman lounging along The Mall.
This mans face forced itself upon me,
and very singular face it was. His
eyes were faded, and his hair, which he
wore long, was tlecked gray. His hair
and eyes, if may say so, were seventy
wears old, the rest of him not thirty.
The youthfulness OF his figure, the
elasticity of his gait, and the venerable
appearance of his head, were incOngru-
tiles that '!rew more than one pair of
curious eyes toward him.
The next morning l again encoun-
tered him ON The Mall.
would you" replied voice a. my
side. turned and faced Mr.. H, II
neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily
at finding me talking to myself. WELL"
he added, rehectingly, Il can tell you
this mans story; and if you will match
the narrative with anything as curious,
| shall be glad to hear it,"
"You know him, them
ayes aud no. | happened to be in
Paris when he was buried"
Buried" ,"
"Well, strictl; speaking, not buried;
but something quite like it. If you
have spare hour" continued my in
tcrlocutor, well sit OH this bench, and
| will tell you all know OF an affair
that made some noise i'll Paris Il couple
of years ago.
Three pesple were sitting i'll a cham
Der whose one window overlooked the
Place Nendome. NJ. Dorine, with his
back half turned OH the other two occu-
pants of the apartment, was reading 'ho
.Honitc"r, pausinS nom time TO time TO
wipe his glasses, and taking scrupulous
pains not to glance towards the lounge
on his right, OH which were seated
Mademoisellc Dorine and young Amer
lean gentleman, whose handsome face
rather frankly told his position in the
family. There was not i happier man
in Paris that afternoon than Phillip
Wentworth. In certain natures the
deepest JOY has always something of
melanc holy in it, 4 presentiment, fleet
ing sadness, Il feeling without name.
Wentworth was conscious of this subtle
shadow that night when he rose from
the lounge and thoughtfully held jules
hand to his lips for moment before part
ing.
NJ. DOrine laid down his paper and
came forward. "If the house." he said,
sis such rs NJ. Martin describes it, ad-
wise you 10 close with him at once. i
would accompany you, Philip, but the
truth is, am too sad at losing this lit
tie bird to assist you in selecting Il cage
for her. BY tomorrow night" he added
laughingly, "little Julie here will be an
old lady-'tis such an age from now I'M
til then"
The next morning the train bore
Philip to one of the loveliest spots with
in thirty miles of Paris. An hours walk
through green lanes brought him to NJ.
Martins estate. In kind of dream the
young man wandered from room to
room, and, after dining with NJ. Martin,
completed the purchase and turned his
steps toward the station just in time
to catch the express train.
On reaching Paris he drove to his ho-
tel, where he found several letters lying
on the table. He did not trouble him
self even to glance ut their superscrlp-
tions as he threw aside his travelling
surtout for Il more appropriate dress.
| If, in his impatience to see Made
moiselle Dorine, the cars had appeared to
walk, the tiacre which he had secured
at the station appeared to creep. AT
last it turned into the Place Nendome,
and drew up before NJ. Dorine's resi-
dence. The door opened as Phillips
foot touched the first step. The servant
silently took his cloak and hat, with a
special Difference, Phillip thought; but
was he not one of the family!
M. Dorine," said the servant slowly,
sis unable to see Monsieur ut present.
He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to
the salon.
as Mademoiselle- ="
eyes, Monsieur"
"Alone
"Alone, Monsieur" repeated the man,
looking curiously ut Philip, who could
scarcely repress an exclamation el
pleasure.
1t was the first time that such priv
ilege had been accorded him.
Philip did not linger on the staircase
his heart sank i'll his bosom rs he flew
up the steps, two ut time.
The room was darkened. Under
meath the chandelier stood dim black
casket on trestles. A lighted candle, q
crucitix, and some white flowers wert
on table near by. Julie Dorine wa'
dead.
When NJ. Dorine heard the indescri
bable cry that rang though the silen
house he found Philip standing like :
ghost in the middle of the chamber.
On the previous night Mademoisell'
Dorine had retired to her room in seem
ingly perfect health. She dismissed
her maid with request to be awakened
early the next morning. At the ap
pointed hour the girl entered the cham
Der. Mademoiselle Dorine was sitting
in an armchair, apparently asleep
The candle had burnt down to the
socket; a book lay half open on the car
pet at her feet. The girl started wher
she saw that the bed had not been oc
cupied, and that her mistress still wor'
an evening dress. She rushed to Made
Inoiselle Dorine's side. 1t was no
I slumber. 1t was death.
Mademoiselle Dorine's wealth, he
beauty, the suddenness of her death
and the romance that had in some wa.
attached itself to her love for the youn,
American, drew crowds to witness tn
funeral ceremonies which took place II
the Rue d,Aguosseau. The body was 4