ightly 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 yield up without a struggle the life when 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 it were
within human power?

With an organization as delicate as a woman's he had that spirit which,
however sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind of exultation to measure
its strength with disaster.

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 a
chamber from which it was necessary that he should obtain release 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 return, would it
not be to shield him with her love? It was impossible that the place
should not engender some thought of the kind. He did not put the thought
entirely from him as he rose to his feet and stretched out his hands in
the darkness; but his mind was too healthy and practical to indulge long
in such speculations.

Philip, being a smoker, chanced to have in his pocket a box of
_allumettes_. After several ineffectual essays, he succeeded in igniting
one against the dank wall, and by its momentary glare perceived that the
candle had been left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the
fastenings of the vault. If he could force the inner door by any means,
and reach the grating, of which he had an indistinct recollection, he
might hope to make himself heard. But the oaken door was immovable, as
solid as the wall itself, into which it fitted air-tight. Even if he
had had the requisite tools, there were no fastenings to be removed; the
hinges were set on the outside.

Having ascertained this, Philip replaced the candle on the floor, and
leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame
that wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. "At
all events," he thought, "the place is ventilated." Suddenly he sprang
forward and extinguished the light.

His existence depended on that candle! He had read somewhere, in some
account of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived for days upon a
few c