The weekly Oskaloosa herald. [volume] (Oskaloosa, Iowa) 1855-1885, 1873-12-04

tionary motive. He had taken il Al
man takes some disagreeable druo
upon the result of which hangs safe.
ty. The time was rapidly approach.
Ing when even this poor neurishmen
would be exhausted. He DELAYED
that moment. He gave himself a long
fast this time. The halfinch of can
die which he held in his hand was q
sacred thing to him. 1t was his last
defence against death.
AT length, with such sinking al
heart as he had not known before,
he raised it to his lips. Then be
paused then he hurled the fragments
across the tomb, then the oaken door
was flung open, and Philip with daz.
zling eyes, saw, M. Dorine's form
sharply defined against the blue sky.
When they led him out halt blind
ed into the broad daylight. M. Do.
rlne noticed that Philips hair, which
short time since was as black as a
crows wing, had actually turned
gray in places. The mans eyes, too,
had faded the darkness had dim
med the luster.
"And how long was he really con.
fined In the tomb?" l asked as Mr..
H-concluded the story.
"Just one hour md taoeaaty min
utes I" replied Mr.. H-smiling
blandly.
As he spoke the Lilliputian sloops,
with their sails all blown out like
white roses, came floating bravely
into port, and Philip Wentworth
lounged by us wearily, in the pleas
ant April sunshine.
Mr.. H-'s narrative haunted
me. Here was a man who had un-
dergone strange ordeal. Here was
a man whose sufferings were unique.
His was no threadbare experience.
Eighty minutes had seemed like two
days to him If he had really been
immured two days in the tomb, the
story, from my point of view, would
have lost its tragic element.
After this it was but natural l
should regard Mr.. Wentworth with
deep curiosity. AS met him from
day to day, passing through the COM
mon with that same introspective
air, there was something in his lone.
illness which touched me. / wonder
ed that | had not read before in his
pale, meditative face some such sad
history as Mr.. H--had confded to
me. l formed the resolution of
speaking to him, though with no lu-
cid purpose. One morning we came
face to face at the intersection of the
two paths. He halted courteously
to allow me the precedence.
"Mr. Wentworth,"I begun, "I-'
He interrupted me.
"My name, sir" he said, in an off
hand manner, sis Jones'"
"Jo-Jo Jones -
"No, not joseph JONES'" he return
ed, "Frederick.
A dim light, in which the perfdy
of my friend H--was becoming
discernable, began to break upon my
mind.
1t will probably be a standing
wonder to Mr.. Frederick Jones why
a strange man accosted him one
morning on the common as ""Mr.
Wentworth" aud then dashed mad
ly down the nearest footpath and
disappeared in the crowd.
The fact is, l had been duped by
Mr.. H, who is gentleman of
literary proclivities, and has it is
whispered, become somewhat de-
mented in brooiing over his Great
American Nevel-not yet hatched.
He had actually tried the effect of
one of its chapters on me!
My hero, as | subsequently learned
is commonplace young person who
had some connection, l do not know
what, with the building of that grace
tul granite bridge which spans the
crooked silver lake in the Public
Garden.
When l think of the readiness with
which H--built up his airy fabric
on my credulity, l feel half inclined
to laugh, though I am deeply morti
fed at having been the unresisting
victim of his black art.