The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1874-09-10


looking curiously at Philip, who could
scarcely repress an exclamation Of pleas
ure.
1t was the first time such privilege had
been accorded him. His interviews had
always taken place in the presence of NJ.
Dorine. or some member of the household
A well bred Partisan girl has but a for
NAL acquaintance with her lover.
Philip did not ling, on the staircase :;
with light heart he went up the steps,
two at time, hastened through the sof ly
lighted hall. in which he detected the faint
scent of his favorite flowers, and stealthily
opened the door of the salon.
The room was darkened. Underneath
the chandelier stood slim casket on tres
ties A lighted candle, a crucifiX, and
some white flowers were on a table near
by. Julia DOrine was dead.
When NJ. Dorine heard the sudden cry
that rang through the silent house, he
from the library, and found Phil
ip standing like ghost in the middle of
the chamber.
1t was not until long afterwards that
Wentworth learned the details of the ca
lamity that had befallen him. On the
previous night Mile. Dorine had retired to
her room in seemingly perfect health, and
lldu ulSlllSS6u UCI Will IL IGQuCSO ~
be awakened early the next morning. AT
the appointed hour the girl entered the
chamber. Mile. DOrine was sitting in an
arm. chair apparently asleep. The candle
i'm the bOugeOir had burned down to the
socket: abook lay half open on the carpet
at her feet. The girl started when she
saw that the bed had not been occupied,
and that her mistress still wore an eve
ming dress. She rushed to the young
lady's side. 1t was not slumber; i: was
death.
Two messages were at once dis
patched to Philip. one to the station at
q -, the other to his hotel. The first
missed him on the road. the other he had
neglected to open. On his arrival at NJ.
DOrine's house, the valet, under the sup
position that Wentworth had been advised
of Mile. Dorine's death, broke the intelli-
gence with awkward cruelty, by show
ing him directly to the salon where she
lay
Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty, the
suddenness of her death, and the romance
that had in some way attached itself to
her love for the young American, drew
crowds to witness the funeral ceremonies
which took place in the church in the rue
The body was to be laid in
NJ. Dorine's tomb, in the Cemetery OF
MOntmartre.
This tomb requires few words of de-
scriptiOn. First, there was a grating of
tiligrand iron; through this you looked
into small vestibule or hall, at the end of
which was massive door of oak opening
upon short flight of stone steps descend
ing into the tomb. The vault was fifteen
or twenty feet square, ingeniOusly ventila-
ted from the ceiling. but unlighted. it
contained two sarcOphagi; 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, inter-
woven with fieurs-de-lis.
The funeral train stopped at the gate of
the small garden that inclosed the place OF
burial, only the immediate relatives fol-
lowing the bearers into the tomb. A
slender wax candle. such as is used in Cath
Ole churches, burned at the foot of the un-
covered sarcOphagus, casting a dim glow
over the center of the apartment. and
deepening the shadows which seemed to
huddle together in the corners. BY its
Pickering light the coffin was placed in its
granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it
reverently. and the open door revOlved on
its dusty hinges, shutting out the uncer-
,ain raw that had ventured 10 peep in on
the darkness.
NJ Dorine, muffied in his cloak. threw
himself on the back seat of the landau, too
abstracted in his grieftO notice that he was
the only occupant of the vehicle. There
was sound of wheels grating on the
graveled avenue. and then all was silence
again i'm the Cemetery of MOntmartre. At
the main entrance the carriages parted
company. dashing off into various streets
at pace that seemed to express sense OF
relief.
The rattle of wheels had died out on the
air when Philip opened his eyes, bewilder-
ed like man abruptly aroused from sium-
Der. He raised himself on one arm and
stared into the surrounding darkness.
Where was he? In a second the truth
flashed upon him. While kneeling on the
further side of the stone box, perhaps, he
he had tainted, and during the last solemn
rites his absence had been unnoticed.
His first emotion was one of natural ter
ror. But this passed as quickly as il
came. Life had ceased to be so very pre-
cious to him; and if it were his fate to die
at Julia'S side. was not that the full
flllment of the desire which he had eX-
pressed to himself hundred times that
morning? What did it matter few years
burden at last. Why not then? A pang
of self-reproach followed the thonght.
Could he so lightly throw aside the love
that had bent over his cradle? The sacred
name of mother rose invOluntarily to his
lips. Was it not cOwardly to 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 il were within human
power?
With an organization as delicate as a
wOman's he had that spirit which, how
ever sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind
of eXultatiOn to measure itself with diSas-
ter. The vague fear of the supernatural
that would affect most men in a similar
situation found no room in his heart. He
was simply shut in chamber from which
it was necessary that he should obtain re-
lease within a given period That this
chamber contained the body of the woman
he loved, so far from adding to the terror
of the case. was a circumstance from
which he drew consolation. She was a
beautiful white statue now. Her soul was
! far hence; and if that pure spirit could re-
turn. would it not be to shield him with
| her love? 1t was impossible that the place
should not engender some thought of the
KIND. lie Ulu uOJ put lIle u8uItuIlI6ly y
! from him as he rose to his feet and stretch,
ed out his hands in the darkness but his
mind was too healthy and practical TO in
dulge long in such speculations.
Philip being smoker, CHANGED to have
/ In his pocket box of allumettes. After
several Intellectual essays, he Succeeded il
| igniting one againstthe dark wall, and by
its momentary glare perceived that tho
candle had been left in the tomb. This
would serve him in examining the fasten
| ings of the vault. If he could force th'
inner door by any means and reach th'
| grating, of which he had an indistinct re
COLLECTION, he might hope to make himsel
heard. But the Oaken door was immova
BILE, as solid as the vault itself, into which
it fitted air-tight. Even if he had the re
quisite tools, there were no fastenings tha
could be removed the hinges were set OIL
the outside ~ - -
Having ascertained this, Philip, re
placed the candle on the floor and leaned
against the wall, thoughtfully watching
the blue fan of flame that wavered TO ant
fro, threatening TO detaeh itself from the
wick. ''At all events,'i he thought, s'th
place is ventilated" Suddenly he spran!
forward and eXtinguished the light.
His existence depended upon the can