Part 41 (1/2)

Then followed a eulogy of his life and works, his gifts to the church, his kindness to the poor, together with many other things.

I looked beneath the tablet on the floor of the Communion, and saw that a large slab had been lately moved. No doubt, then, that Ruth had been buried in the family vault.

With trembling hands I placed my piece of iron beneath the joints of the floor, and with but little difficulty lifted it up; then I slipped my hands beneath the stone and lifted it still higher.

Air, stifling, unwholesome, came from underneath, and again I felt like leaving my purpose unfulfilled; but a stronger impulse urged me to proceed, and I moved the stone still farther. A minute later I had turned it back, and Ruth's grave was opened.

For a minute my heart ceased to beat; then it seemed as though my bosom were not large enough to contain it. Not that I feared the dead, at any rate not Ruth. Had I not been guilty of that awful deed the night before I do not think I should have been so moved; but with murder on my heart, to look on the face of my beloved was terrible. And yet I felt I could never rest until I had seen her.

I stared into the vault.

At one end were steps by which I could descend. At the other was a dark object.

My blood seemed to freeze in my veins, yet I went down the steps, slowly and steadily, until I stood in the abode of the dead.

Never shall I forget how I felt. Never while consciousness remains will the awful sensations that possessed me be altogether taken away.

Around me was the dust of departed generations of the Morton family, while close to me was the face of one whom ten years before I had seen a bright and beautiful maiden. Ruth, whom I had ever loved, and who had died of love for me, was there!

Vague thoughts of how she would look floated in my brain, and in my delirium I fancied that her spirit had come back to watch me as I took one last look at her dead face.

The coffin was placed in a recess in the tomb. I knew it was hers, for it was new, and had been only lately placed there.

I thought I had heard a sound above. I listened for a second, but could hear nothing save the wild beatings of my almost breaking heart.

Then I placed my hand on the coffin.

It was fastened with what looked like golden clasps, large and strong, which pressed closely on the grey oak of which the coffin was made.

Mechanically I moved the clasps, and then lifted my lantern nearer.

Again I listened, but all was silent. If the spirits of the dead were there they made no sound.

I lifted the coffin lid.

For a second I held it in my hand, then I turned it back.

Even then I could not bear to look in and see my darling's dead face, and stood trying to gather together sufficient courage.

I let the light fall upon the head of the coffin and looked.

Yes, it was Ruth, little altered from when I had seen her last, except that she looked thin and pale, oh! so pale.

She was not like anyone dead; in spite of her stony stillness, there was the shadow of colour upon her thin cheeks.

I looked at her like one entranced, then glanced fearfully around the vault, which was only faintly lit by the flickering candle burning in my lantern.

A longing came over me to get away, but I felt I dare not, I must remain longer with Ruth. I felt that she was glad I was there, and would not have me leave her so soon.