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white, shimmering satin and wearing a bridal crown
and veil. Thus attired, she went to be married at
the grave of her bridegroom.
Following her came couple after couple, stately
matrons and dignified gentlemen. The ladies wore
dazzling jeweled buckles and brooches, strings of
milk-white pearls, and bracelets of gold. The ostrich
plumes on their lace-trimmed bonnets nodded
above their ringlets, and from their shoulders
floated shawls of fine-spun silk over dresses of
brocaded satin. Their husbands were arrayed in their
best, with starched frills and gold buttons in their
high-collared dress-coats, and with waistcoats of stiff
brocade or richly embroidered velvet. Verily, it was
a wedding procession, as the Captain’s wife had
wished it to be.
She herself walked next to Anna Stjärnhök on
the arm of her husband. Had she possessed a dress
of shining brocade, she would have worn it; had
she possessed jewels and a fine bonnet, she would
have worn those too in honor of her son’s fête day.
But she had only the old black silk frock with the
yellowed laces, which had seen service at many a
festival—and she also wore it on this occasion.
Although the mourners were in gala attire, there
was not a dry eye among them, as they went toward
the grave to the faint tolling of the church bells.
They wept not so much for the dead as for themselves.
There walked the bride; there the
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