The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1885-05-26

! the purchase, and wended his steps 10
! the depot in order to be in time for the
express train. When the evening twi-
light began to set in and Paris ap-
peared in the distance. it seemed TO
the young man as if he had been travel
ing a year. Arrived in the depot he
quickly betOok himself TO his hotel,
where he found several letters on his
table. But he hardly looked at the
addresses, and quickly changed his
travelling costume for an evening toilet
His warming desire to see Mile.
DorIne made the Journey appear
long; at last the coach halted before
the house of Mr.. Dorine. The door
was opened as Philip mounted the steps.
and the servant silently relieved him of
his coat and hat.
"Is no one at home?" he asked.
"Mr. Dorine can not see you at hits
moment" answered the servant slowly.
HE desires YOU to wait in the parlor."
els Mademoiselle-"
"Yes, sir"
"Alone?"
"Yes, SIR" answered the servant.
with a peculiar look. Philip could
=
it was the first time that such a privi-
lege had been allowed him. Hitherto
his meetings with Julie had been
only in presence of MIR. Dorine or some
other member of the family. A we'll
bred Partisan lady makes only for
NAL acquaintance with her affianced.
Philip did not stop to consider for one
moment. He softly opened the door
of jules room. Under the large
chandelier stood a small black coffin.
A burning candle, crucitiX and a few
white flowers stood on a table near by.
Julie Dorine was dead.
When Mr.. Dorine heard the SHREK
of anguish, which broke the solemn
stiffness of the hour, he FASTENED to the
room and found Philip standing like
statue in the center of the room.
1t was only after the lapse of some
time that Wentworth learned the full
particulars of the Unreasonable mis-
fortune which had befallen him. The
previous evening Mile. Dorine had be-
taken herself to her room, apparently
in perfect health. She had told her
maid TO wake her early the next morn
ing. When the girl came at the APP
pointed time, Mile. Dorine sat in her
armchair, where she had evidently
been overtaken BY sleep. At her feet
lay book half open. The maid was
terrified when she saw that the bed
was untouched, and that her mistress
had not yet laid aside her toilet. She
tried to awake her, but in vain. She
was not asleep-but deadi
Two letters were Immediately sent to
Philip, one to the depot in g., and the
other to his hotel. The former had
reached its place of destination too
late; the latter had not been opened by
Philip.
The wealth of the young lady. her
sudden death and the romantic COURT
ship of the young American caused a
large multitude of persons to be pres,
ent at the funeral The corpse was to
be placed in the family vault of Mr..
Dorine, in the Cemetery of Montmar-
tire. This vault was surrounded by an
iron railing, through which could be
seen a heavy oaken door. which opened
into the vault proper. The vault was
about twenty feet square, had a small
air-hole in the roof, and contained two
sarcophagi. One of these inclosed the
remains of Mrs. Dorine, who had died q
few years before. and on the other,
which was new, were raised the initials
81. 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
burning at the foot of the open sarco-
phagus, which threw dim light over
the corpse. The coffin was lowered
into its repository of granite. the last
prayer was said and the heavy oaken
door was swung back on its hinges,
as the mourners slowly left the vault.
DR.. Dorine drew his mantle tightly
about him and stepped into the car
riage. He was so overcome with grief
that he had not noticed the absence of
Philip.
Long after the noise of the recc,l-"e
wheels had ceased to be heard, ~
opened his ewes, as if awakening from
a dream. He stood up and looked il ,
the darkness which surrounded hif!.
Where was he? In an instant the
truth flashed across his mind; he had
been left behind in the vault. Whilst
kneeling behind the 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 indescribable ter
ror, but only for a 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 hum
dred times during the course of the
night could now be realized. The few
years which he had yet to live had no
more worth for him.
With Philip Wentworth's fine organ
ization was coupled mind which never
formed judgment hastily, but which
rushed on with enthusiasm when there
was question of struggling with mis-
fortune, and the horror which would