After
marriage, however, this gentleman neglected, and, perhaps, even more
positively ill-treated her. Having passed with him some wretched
years, she died,- at least her condition so closely resembled death as
to deceive every one who saw her. She was buried- not in a vault,
but in an ordinary grave in the village of her nativity. Filled with
despair, and still inflamed by the memory of a profound attachment,
the lover journeys from the capital to the remote province in which
the village lies, with the romantic purpose of disinterring the
corpse, and possessing himself of its luxuriant tresses. He reaches
the grave. At midnight he unearths the coffin, opens it, and is in the
act of detaching the hair, when he is arrested by the unclosing of the
beloved eyes. In fact, the lady had been buried alive. Vitality had
not altogether departed, and she was aroused by the caresses of her
lover from the lethargy which had been mistaken for death. He bore her
frantically to his lodgings in the village. He employed certain
powerful restoratives suggested by no little medical learning.
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