The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1867-10-25
A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.

lounging along The Mall This mans face
forced itself upon me, and very singular face
it His eyes were faded, and hts hair,
which he wore long, was Gecked with gray.
His hair and cycs, If ! may say so, were So
yenty years old, The rest of him not over
thirty. The youthfulncss of his figure, The
elasticity OF his gait, and the venerable ap-
pearance of his head, were tncCngruIllcS that
drew more than one pair of curious eyes to-
wards him.
Then, next morning again encountered him
on The Mall.
Would YOU 90 replied 4 voice al my side.
| turned and faced Mr.. Ii 4 neighbor of
mine. who laughed heartily 1T finding me
talking TO myself. WE'LL" he added, re
nrc,mclv, IL can tell you this ma@' 5 story;
and if y0u can match the narrative with any
thing rs curious, shall be glad TO hear 1t.
You know him, then -
Yes and no. | happened TO be i'll Paris
when he WAS buried.
Buried
"Well, strictly speaking, not buried; bnt
something quite like it. If you have Il spare
hour. continued my intcrlocutor, tive II sit
on this bench and l will Tell You AL know of
an affair that made some noise III Paris Il con-
pie of years ago.
Three persons were sitting in chamber
whose one window overlooked The Place en-
dome NJ Dorinc, with his back half turned
| on the other two occupants OF The apartment
| was reading the Montt,"r, pausing from tlnc
| TO time 10 wipe his glasses, and taking scr'lpu-
| ulIS not 10 pllnCt low 'il'iN WI
| his right on which were seated Nadelnoselle
| Doriue and Il Young American gentleman,
| whose handsome face frankly told ms position
| in the family. There ~as not Il happier man
in Paris that afternoon than PhIhp Went
,rorth In certain natures Id" deepest Joy
has something of melancholy III IT, Il present.
mcnt, u ileetng sadness, Il icelll% without Il
name Wentworth was conscious OF Tins
subtle shadow that night, when he rose from
| the lounge, and thoughtfully held jules
hand TO his lips for Il moment before parting.
NJ Dorinc laid down his paper and came
forward "lf the house, he Stld : Is Such
rs NJ. Martin describes II TO De, l aa'lse you 10
close with him 1T once. l would accompany
YOU Philip, but the truth Is, am too sad ut
losing this little bird 10 assist you III selecting
| a cage for her. BY 10 morrow night, ne add
| ed, laughingly, little JUNE mere VIII De ;.n
old lady-'tis such an age from no" "''l
then"
The next morning III" tram bore fhlllp to
one of the loy"lirst spots within thIrtF miles
of Paris An hours walk through green lanes
brought him to NJ. Martin : estate. Ina kind
of Il dream the young man wandered from
room to ROOM and after dining with vi. Mar
tin, completed the purchase, ana turned his
steps towards the station just III tlme TO catch
the express train.
| IN rrnchiug Paris he drove to- his hotel
| where he found several letters lying on the
| table lie did not trouble himself even TO
| glance at their superScrlptlons us he threw
| aside his travelling surtout Tor Il more appro-
pirate dress.
| If, in his Impotence 10 see MademoiEclle
| Dorine the cars had appeared 10 walk, the
| tacrc to creep, 1t last il turned into the Place
| Eendomc and drew up before NJ. Dorinc' 5
residence. The door opened us Philips foot
! touched the first step. The servant silently
took his cloak and hat with special defer
cnce. he thought; but, was he not now one of
the family?
M Dorine, said the servant, slowly, "is
| unable TO see Monsieur IL present. He wishes
Mon inrr ~ b, shown TO the SIlDH, ~
| Ills Monsieur
"Tes, Monsieur
"Alouc?"
looking seriously at Philip, who could scarce
" r.press an exclamation of pleasure.
1t was the first time that such privilege
had been accorded him. -
| Philip did not lnger OH the staircase; ms
| heart sank in MS BOSOM us nc ne" w ''ie
steps two at Il time.
The room was darkened. Underneath the
chandelier stood Il dim black caskel or tres tie.
| A Uuhted candle, a cruciiiX, and some white
| flowers were on Il ttple he'ti ny. uiie boiih'
| When NJ. Dorine heard the indcscrbable
| crv that rang through the silent house, he
found Philip standing like ghost III the mid
| die of the chamber
| ON the previous night Madcmoiselle Dorine
| had retired TO her room IN seemingly perfect
| health. She dismissed her maid with Il re
! quest to be awakened early the next morning
/ Al
| chamber MademoiSele Dorinc WAS sitting
| i'm un arm chair, apparenely asleep. The can
| die had burnt down 10 the socket; book lay
| half opeu on the carpet 1T her feet. Inc girl
| started when she saw .illt tle Deu n;iu llot
| been occupied, and that her mistress still wore
| an evening dress. She rushed IL Madcnol-
| selle Dorine's side. 1t was not slumber. 1t
| was death.
| M,demoisclfe Dorine's wealth, her beauty,
the sadness of her death, and the romance that
| had in some way attached itself 10 her love
| for the Young American, drew crowds TO wit
| ness the funeral ceremonies which took place
| i'm the Rue d Agursseau. The body was 10 be
laid i'll NJ. DorlneS tolnD, III the cemetery
| Montmartre.
This tomb requires Il few words of descrip-
ton. First, there was grating OF Migrated
iron through this you look into Il small vestl-
| bule or hall, Ut the end Of which WAS Il mas.
sive door of oak, opening upon short Hight
| of steps descending into the tomb. Ihc vault
| was fifteen or twenty feet square, lnScnlously
ventilated from the ceiling but unlishtcd. 1t
| contained two sarcophaSi; the first held the
| remains of Madame Dorine, long since dead !;
| the other was new, and bore on one side the
| letters J. D., in monogram, interviewer with
| feurS lie lis.
| The funeral train stopped II The gate of the
| small garden that enclosed the place OF burial,
only the immediate relatives following the
bearers 10 the tomb. a slender WAX candle,
| such rs are used III Catholic churches, burnt
| III the foot of the uncovered sarcophagi, cast
| ing 4 DIM glO" OVER TIE centre VI lHc tll'tl /
ment, and deepening the shadows which
| seemed to huddle together III the corners. BY
this flickcring light the collin was placed III
| its granite shell, the heavy slab laid over ii
| reyerently, and the oalien door reyolved on its
rusty hinges, shutting out the uncertain ray
| of sunshine that liu Nentuieu 10 peep III OH
| the darkness.
NJ. Dorine muttled in his cloak, threw him
self OH the back seat of the carriage, too abb
Stractcd in his grief to observe that he was
4 49,. Ift "A lpl
| The rattle Of wheels had died out of the air
when Philip opened his eyes, beWlldered, like
! 4 man abruptly reused from slumber. He
| raised one arm, and stared INTO the surround.
| ing blackness. Where was heF In Il second
The truth flashed upon him. He had been left
i'm the tomb 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 terror
But this passed us quickly as III came. Lie
had ceased TO be so very precious TO nun ana
| if IL were his fate TO die 1T J ulles side, was
not that the fultilment OF the desire winch ne
| had expressed 10 himself hundred times ll;it
| morning. Was it not cowardly 10 yieid up
| without a struggle the life which he should
| guard for her sake? Was it not his duty 10
| the living and the dead TO face the diillcultles
vi ms position and overcome Them II II were
within human power? The vague fear OF the
| supernatural that would affect most men III L
| Si'iliaf situation found no room in his heart.
| iiS WAS SIMPLY shut into Il chamber from
| "iicA II was necessary that he obtain release
| WITHIN given period. That this chamber
| contained The body of the woman he loved, so
| far from adding TO the terror of the case was
| circumstance from which he drew consola-
| tIon. She was beautiful statue now. Her
soul was far hence; and if that pure spirit
could return, would 1t not be 10 shield him
with her love? 1t was impossible that the
place should not engender some thoughts OF
the kind.