of the power to move. There was a
silence as of the grave--and then I saw before me the old priest with
his gold-lettered book. He raised his hand and spoke with a soft, deep
voice: "The grave is sacred! Let no one dare to disturb the peace of
the dead."

"The grave is sacred!" an echo rolled through the room as the swaying
figures moved like reeds in the wind.

"What do you want? What do you demand?" I gasped in the grip of a
deathly fear.

"Give back to the grave that which belongs to it," said the deep voice
again.

"Give back to the grave that which belongs to it," repeated the echo
as the swaying forms pressed closer to me.

"But it's impossible--I can't--I have sold it--sold it at auction!" I
screamed in despair. "It was buried and found in the earth--and sold
for five marks eight shillings----"

A hideous scream came from the ghostly ranks. They threw themselves
upon me as the white fog rolls in from the sea, they pressed upon me
until I could no longer breathe. Beside myself, I threw open the window
and attempted to spring out, screaming aloud: "Help! help! murder!
they are murdering me!"

The sound of my own voice awoke me. I found myself in my night clothes
on the window sill, one leg already out of the window and both hands
clutching at the center post. On the street below me stood the night
watchman, staring up at me in astonishment, while faint white clouds
of mist rolled out of my window like smoke. All around outside lay the
November fog, gray and moist, and as the fresh air of the early dawn
blew cool on my face I felt my senses returning to me. I looked down
at the night watchman--God bless him! He was a big, strong,
comfortably fat fellow made of real flesh and blood, and no ghost
shape of the night. I looked at the round tower of the church--how
massive and venerable it stood there, gray in the gray of the morning
mists. I looked over at the market place. There was a light in the
baker shop and a farmer stood before it, tying his horse to a post.
Back in my own room everything was in its usual place. Even the little
paper bag with the sugar lay there on the window sill, and the
imprisoned fly buzzed louder than ever. I knew that I was really awake
and that the day was coming. I sprang back hastily from the window and
was about to jump into bed, when my foot touched something hard and
sharp.

I stooped to see what it was, felt about on the floor in the half
light, and touched a long, dry, s