St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1888-02-09
that he had not noticed the absence of


ceased to be heard, Philip opened his
eyes, as if awakening from a dream.
He stood up and looked into the dark
ness which surrounded him. Where
was he {? In an instant the truth flash
ed 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 terror,
but only for a moment. Life had no
more charm for him. His burning de-
sire to rest by the side of his Julie, a
desire which he had expressed hun
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 new
err formed a judgment hastily, but
which rushed on with enthusiasm when
there was question of struggling with
misfortune, and the horror which
would certainly have taken possession
of any other person in a similar situa-
ton, had no hold on his heart. He
looked upon himself simply as locked
up, and hoped for speedy delivery.
The circumstance that he was in the
same Enclosure with the body of his
beloved bride, filing him with conso-
latiOn rather than with terror. Her
pure soul already dwelt in the region
of eternal light, and could she do 9TH
erwise than protect him by her pray
ers at the foot of Gods throne?
AS Philip was passiOnately fond of
smoking he happened to have box Of
matches in his pocket. After severay
useless attempts he succeeded in liglf-
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
the candle on the ground, and he con-
templated the small, Pickering flame.
Suddenly he blew out the light with
feverish haste. His life depended on
the candle.
He had read in an account of ship
wreck how a person had lived several
days on few pieces of wax. By the
light of match he looked at his
watch. 1t was stopping-the hand
pointed to IL. Was it IL o'clock q. M,
or had he forgotten to wind his watch
the night before7 He knew that the
mourners had left the cemetery at 10
o'clock a. IN. but how many hours his
swoon had lasted he could not tell.
Notwithstanding his sanguine tenn
permanent he could no longer shake off
certain fear. He did not doubt that
he would be missed and that his dis
appearance under such circumstances
would fill his friends with terror, but
how could it occur to them that he
was in the churchyard of Montmartre ?
What would it help him even if the
project of police sent hundred detec
tives on his trail Of what use would
it be to fish in the Seine or make in
vestigatiOns in the morgue, while he
himself was in the family vault of Mr..
Dorineq On the other hand the fact
that he had been here last would I'M
doubtedly be an important cOnsidera-
ton to an experienced detective. The
sexton might, perhaps, return in order
to get the candle which might acciden-
tally have been forgotten. And might
not Mr.. DOrine send some flowers the
next day7 What various hopes and
still how long would he live in such a
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 sec
ond-tOward 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 pos
sible, and only when midnight was
passed, according to his calculation, he
ate the first piece of wax. Although 1T
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-hole in the roof caused his limbs
to become stiff, so that there was moth
ing left for him but constantly to walk
up and down. The fatigue which soon
overcame 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 to live.
Wonderful pictures of long ago
crossed his mind as his heavy steps re-
sounded on the stone floor familiar
forms of his childhood days doomed up
before him the joys and the sufferings
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 it was now morning.
Perhaps the sun was just rising behind
the towers and cupOlas perhaps a
heavy rain was enveloping Paris in a
thick mist. Paris, ha what dream
By degrees Philip saw that the
dampness was becoming master of him.
He sank in half-senseless condition
to the ground. Accidentally his hand
touched piece of wax-he grasped it
mechanically and swallowed it. How
curious thought he, that | am thirsty
Meanwhile the minutes glided by
like hour. 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 swallow
ed it as though it were a disgusting
medicine, on the effects of which life
depended. The moment was approach
ing nearer and nearer when the last
piece would be gone, but in order to
protract this moment, he resolved to
fast this time. He still held the last
piece of wax in his hand finally in
wild despair, he pressed it to his lips,
then suddenly cast it from him-for
the door was opened and he saw the
form of Mr.. Dorine sharply outlined
against the blue horizon.
When Mr.. Dorine led the young
man into the open air, he saw that his
hair, which had been raven black, was
nnW gray and his eyes were dim