the forecast of advancing winter. Why did this day, this
hour, this very moment, seem to her more painful than the preceding?
Often ships are delayed a fortnight; even a month, for that matter.

But surely there was something different about this particular morning;
for she had come to-day for the first time to sit in the porch of this
chapel and read the names of the dead sailors, perished in their prime.

IN MEMORY OF
GAOS YVON
Lost at Sea

NEAR THE NORDEN-FJORD

Like a great shudder, a gust of wind rose from the sea, and at the same
time something fell like rain upon the roof above. It was only the
dead leaves, though;--many were blown in at the porch; the old
wind-tossed trees of the graveyard were losing their foliage in this
rising gale, and winter was marching nearer.

Lost at Sea
NEAR THE NORDEN-FJORD
In the storm of the 4th and 5th of August, 1880

She read mechanically under the arch of the doorway; her eyes sought to
pierce the distance over the sea. That morning it was untraceable
under the gray mist, and a dragging drapery of clouds overhung the
horizon like a mourning veil.

Another gust of wind, and other leaves danced in whirls. A stronger
gust still; as if the western storm which had strewn those dead over
the sea wished to deface the very inscriptions which kept their names
in memory with the living.

Gaud looked with involuntary persistency at an empty space upon the
wall which seemed to yawn expectant. By a terrible impression, she was
pursued by the thought of a fresh slab which might soon perhaps be
placed there,--with another name which she did not even dare think of
in such a spot.

She felt cold, and remained seated on the granite bench, her head
reclining against the stone wall.

NEAR THE NORDEN-FJORD
In the storm of the 4th and 5th of August, 1880
at the age of 23 years
_Requiescat in pace_!

Then Iceland loomed up before her, with its little cemetery lighted up
from below the sea-line by the midnight sun. Suddenly, in the same
empty space on the wall, with horrifying clearness she saw the fresh
slab she was thinking of; a clear white one, with a skull and
crossbones, and in a flash of foresight a name,--the worshiped name of
"Yann Gaos"! Then she suddenly and fearfully drew herself up straight
and stiff, with a hoarse wild cry in her throat like a mad creature.

Outside, the gray mist of the dawn fell over the land, and the de