"Under this stone, and waiting for a joyful
resurrection, lie buried all the mortal
remains of
JOHN MORTON,
OF MORTON HALL,
Who lived and died in the fear of the Lord.
He was hated by none, and beloved by all."
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.