, 1885-05-13

resting-place. AwaN. candle was burn
ing at the foot of the open sarcophagus,
which threw a dim light over the corpse.
The coffin was lowered into its reposi-
tory OF granite, the last prayer was said
and the heavy oaken door swung back
on its hinges, as the mourners slowly
left the vault,
Mr.. Dorine drew his mantle tightly
about him and stepped into the car.
riage. lie was SO overcome with grief
that he bad not noticed the absence of
Philip.
Long after the noise of the receding
wheels had ceased to be heard Philip
opened his eyes, as il awakening from a
dream. lie stood up and looked into
the darkness which surrounded him.
Where was hel In IN instant the truth
flashed across his mind: he had been
left behind in the vault. Whilst kneel-
ing behind the sarcophagus he had
tainted, and during the last solemn rites
his absence had o been noticed. The
first feeling which overpowered him vas
naturally an imdeseribable terror, but
only for a moment. Life had 10 more
charm for him His burning desire to
rest by the side of his Julie; a desire
which he had expressed n hundred times
during the course of the night, could
now be realized. The few years which
he had vet to live had no more worth
for him.
With Philip Wentworth's fine organi-
cation was coupled n mind which never
formed a judgment hastily, but which
rushed on with enthusiasm when there
was a question Of struggling with mis-
fortune, and the horror which would
certainly have taken possession OF any
other person in q similar situation, had
no hold on his heart. He looked upon
himself simply as locked-up, and hoped
for a speedy delivery. The oircum
stance that he was in the same in%closure
with the body of his beloved bride,
filled him with consolation rather than
with terror. Her pure soul already
dwelt in the region Of eternal Light, and
could she do otherwise than protect him
by her prayers at the foot of Gods
throneg frof.
As Philip was ~passionately fond Of
smoking he happened 10 have q box of
matches in his pocket. After several
useless attempts he succeeded in light
ing one, and to his great delight dis
covered that the candle had been left
behind, by the light Of which he forth
with examined the vault. He tried TO
force the heavy door from its hinges,
but his labor was all In vain.
Philip now saw that all hopes of free
ing himself were useless. lie placed
the candle on the ground, and contem-
plated the small, Pickering fame. Sud
denly he blew out the light with fever
ish haste His life depended on the
candle. .,.
He had read in an account of a ship
wreck how a person had lived several
days on a few pieces of wax.
By the light of a match he looked at
his watch. 1t vas s~topping-the hand
pointed TO II. Was it II o'clock a. m,
or had he forgotten to wind his watch
the evening beforel lie knew that the
mourners had left the cemetery at 10
O'Clock q. IN. but how many hours his
swoon had lasted he could not tell.
Notwithstanding his sanguine temper
ament he could no longer shake OIL a
certain fear. He did not doubt that he
would be missed and that his disap-
pearance under such circumstances
would fill his friends with terror, but
how could it occur to them the he was
in the churchyard of Montmartre?
What would IL help him even if
the project of police sent a hundred
detectives on his trail2 of what use
would it be to fish in the Seine or make
investigations in the morgue, while he
himself was in the family vault Of Mr..
Dorinel On the other hand the fact
that he had been seen here last would
undoubtedly be an important considers
ton to an experienced detective. The
sexton might, perhaps, return in order
to get the candle which might acct
dentally have been forgotten. And
might not Mr.. Dorine send some fresh
flowers the next day! What various
hopesl and still how long would lie live
in such a place. 3d. ll.. -.
With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut
the candle into four equal parts. This
evening" he said, ~ will eat one piece
tomorrow morning the second
towards evening the third-the next
day the fourth-and then-then help
must come"
That morning he had taken nothing
but a cup of coffee, and the pangs of
hunger now began to assail him. Still
he postponed his meal as long as posi-
BILE, and only when midnight was
passed, according TO his calculation, he
ate the first piece of wax. Although it
was insipid it FULFILLED its end. He
now became sensible of another evil.
The dampness Of the walls and the wind
which penetrated through the air-holes
in the roof caused all his limbs TO be-
come stiff, so hat there was nothing
left for him but constantly to walk up
and down, The fatigue which soon over
eaTna him had to be conquered by all
the force of his will, for here sleep and
death were one and the same. and he
had made up his mind 10 live.
Wonderful pictures OF long ago
crossed his mind as his heavy step re.
sounded on the stone floor; familiar
forms of his childhood days doomed up
before him; the Joys and the sniferings
of the past year, his love and his loss,
passed in review before his troubled
Imagination. Sleep was banished from
his eyes, and the pangs of hunger again
made themselves felt. According to
his calculation IL was now morning.
Perhaps the sun was Just rising behind
the towers and cupolas; perhaps a
heavy rain was enyeloping Paris in a
thick mist. Paris, hal what n dream
BY degrees Philip saw that the damp
ness was becoming master of him. He
sank in a half-senseless condition to the
ground. Accidentally his hand touched
a piece of wax-he grasped it mechanic
ally and swallowed il. How curious,
thought he, that l am not thirsty
Meanwhile the minutes glided by like
hours. There was but one piece OF
candle left. Philip had eaten the third
piece, not to satisfy his hunger, but to
anticipate it, He had swallowed it rs
though il were q disgusting medicine, on
the effects Of which life depended
III.