Scandinavian Mystery Stories
the train, then came the bridegroom and the bride, and as the latter raised her eyes to me I saw that it was the young girl of the garden. Her eyes were so full of pain, so full of sad entreaty that I could scarce endure them; but how shall I explain the feeling that shot through me as I suddenly discovered that the right sleeve of her white satin gown hung empty at her side? The train disappeared, and the tone of the church bells changed to a strange, dry, creaking sound, and the gate below me complained as it turned on its rusty hinges. I faced toward my own door. I knew that it was shut and locked, but I knew that the ghostly procession were coming to call me to account, and I felt that no walls could keep them out. My door flew open, there was a rustling as of silken gowns, but the figures seemed to float in in the changing forms of swaying white mists. Closer and closer they gathered around me, robbing me of breath, robbing me 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 at-
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