t in the
direction in which the church lay, and as she proceeded she felt her
invisible burden become lighter--it left her; and again she returned
to the shore to reach her home as speedily as possible. But no sooner
did her foot tread the sands than the wild sound seemed to moan around
her, and it seemed ever to repeat, "Bury me--bury me!"

The fog was cold and damp; her hands and her face were cold and damp.
She shivered in her fright. Without, space seemed to close up around
her; within her there seemed to be endless room for thoughts that had
never before entered her mind.

During one spring night here in the north the beech groves can sprout,
and the next day's early sun can shine on them in all their fresh
young beauty. In one single second within us can the germ of sin bud
forth, swelling by degrees into thoughts, words, and deeds, though all
remorse for them lies dormant. _It_ is quickened and unfolds itself in
one single second, when conscience awakens; and our Lord awakens
_that_ when we least expect it. Then there is nothing to be excused;
deeds stand forth and bear witness, thoughts find words, and words
ring out over the world. We are shocked at what we have permitted to
dwell within us, and not stifled; shocked at what, in our
thoughtlessness or our presumption, we have scattered abroad. The
heart is the depository of all virtues, but also of all vices; and
these can thrive in the most barren ground.

Anne Lisbeth reviewed in thought what we have expressed in words. She
was overwhelmed with it all. She sank to the ground, and crawled a
little way over it. "Bury me--bury me!" she still seemed to hear. She
would rather have buried herself, if the grave could be an eternal
forgetfulness of everything. It was the awakening hour of serious
thought, of terrible thoughts, that made her shudder. Superstition
came, too, by turns heating and chilling her blood; and things she
would scarcely have ventured to mention rushed on her mind. Noiseless
as the clouds that crossed the sky in the clear moonlight floated past
her a vision she had heard of. Immediately before her sped four
foaming horses, flames flashing from their eyes and from their
distended nostrils; they drew a fiery chariot, in which sat the evil
lord of the manor, who, more than a hundred years before, had dwelt in
that neighbourhood. Every night, it is said, he drives to his former
home, and then instantly turns back again. He was not white, as the
d