Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - A Story.
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It was autumn. The leaves fell from the
trees; the grave, severe clergyman sat by the
bedside of a dying person; a pious believer
closed her eyes–it was the clergyman’s own
wife.
"If any one find peace in the grave, and
grace from God, then it is thou," said the
clergyman, and he folded her hands, and read a
psalm over the dead body.
And she was borne to the grave: two heavy
tears trickled down that stern man’s cheeks;
and it was still and vacant in the parsonage;
the sunshine within was extinguished:–she
was gone.
It was night. A cold wind blew over the
clergyman’s head; he opened his eyes, and it
was just as if the moon shone into his room.
But the moon did not shine. It was a figure
which stood before his bed–he saw the spirit
of his deceased wife. She looked on him so
singularly afflicted; it seemed as though she
would say something.
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