The Palatka daily news. (Palatka, Fla.) 1884-1888, 1885-10-13

| few years before, and on the other,
/ which was new, were raised the initials
y. d."
The funeral procession halted at the
little gate of the garden, which sur
rounded the vault, and only the nearest
| friends followed the coffin to its final
| resting place. A wax 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 tho vault.
Mr. Dorine drew his mantle tightly
about him and stepped into the car
riage. lie was 50 overcome with grief
| that no had not noticed the absence of
Philip.
Long after the noise of the receding
wheels had ceased to be heard Philip
opened his eyes, as if awakening from a
dream. He stood up and looked into
the darkness which surrounded him.
Where was he, In an instant the truth
flashed across his mind: he had been
left behind in the vault. Whilst kneel-
ing behind tho sarcophagus he had
tainted, and during the last solemn rites
his absence had not been noticed. The
first feeling which Overpowered him was
naturally an indescrbable terror but
only for moment Life had no more
charm for him. His burning desire to
rest by the side of his Julie; a desire
which he had expressed hundred times
during the course of the night, could
now be realized. The few years which
he had yet to live had ITO more worth
for him.
With Philip WentwOrth's fine Organi-
zatiOn was coupled mind which never
formed 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 a similar situation, had
no hold on his heart. He looked upon
himself simply as locked-up, and hoped
for speedy delivery. The circum
stance that he was in the same inclosure
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
thrOne2
AS Philip was passionately fond OF
smoking her happened to have box of
matches i'll 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. He placed
tho candle on tho ground, and cOntem-
r1IotaI tho cp,aI fiokoriprr Hanna Su1-
denly he blow out the light with fever
ish haste. His life depended on the
candle.
He had read in an account of n ship
wreck how person had lived several
days on n few pieces of wax.
BY the light of a match he looked at
his watch. 1t was stOpping-the hand
pointed to II. Was it II o'clock a. m,
or had he forgotten to wind his watch
the evening bofOre2 He knew that the
mourners had left the cemetery at 10
O'Clock a. m; but how many hours his
swoon had lasted no could not tell.
Notwithstanding his sanguine temper
ament he could no longer shake Off
certain fear. lie did not doubt that he
would be missed aud that his disap-
pearancc 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 it help him even if
the project of police sent 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..
Dorinef ON the other hand the fact
that he had been seen here last would
undoubtedly be an important considera
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 tho next day. What various
hopes! and still how long would he live !
in such place!
With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut
the candle into four equal parts. This |
evening" he said, 81 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 cup of coffee, and the pangs of |
hunger now began to asSail him. Still |
he postponed his meal as long as posi- |
bic, 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. lie |
now became sensible of another evil |
The dampncss of the walls and the wind |
which penetrated through the air holes |
in the roof caused all his limbs to be |
come stitl, so that there was nothing |
lett Tor him but constantly to walk up /
and down. The fatigue which soon over /
came him had to be conquered by all I
the force of his will, for here sleep and /
death We're one and the same. and he |
had made up his mind 10 live.
Wonderful pictures of long ago /
crossed his mind rs his heavy step re |
sounded on the stone floor; familiar /
forms of his childhood days doomed up |
before him; the Joys and the suferings /
of the past year, his love and his loss, /
nasal in I.f Ii