The magnificent new church had shrivelled up to the original mean little edifice Anna had known all her life. The square was deserted, the cold faint glimmer of coming dawn was visible over the eastern mountain-tops, but stars still shone in the sky. With a cry of pain, like a wounded beast, Anna ran hither and thither seeking a refuge, and then fled to the one home and resting-place of the troubled soul--the church. She thrust open the swing-door, pushed in, sped over the uneven floor, and flung herself on her knees before the altar. But see! before that altar stood a priest in a vestment of black-and-silver; and a serving-boy knelt on his right hand on a lower stage. The candles were lighted, for the priest was about to say Mass. There was a rustling of feet, a sound as of people entering, and many were kneeling, shortly after, on each side of Anna, and still they came on; she turned about and looked and saw a great crowd pressing in, and strange did it seem to her eyes that all--men, women, and children, young and old--seemed to bear in their faces something, a trace only in many, of the Arler or the Voss features. And the little serving-boy, as he shifted his position, showed her his profile--it was like her little brother who had died when he was sixteen. Then the priest turned himself about, and said, "Oremus." And she knew him--he was her own son--her Joseph, named after his dear father. The Mass began, and proceeded to the "Sursum corda"--"Lift up your hearts!"--when the celebrant stood facing the congregation with extended arms, and all responded: "We lift them up unto the Lord." But then, instead of proceeding with the accustomed invocation, he raised his hands high above his head, with the palms towards the congregation, and in a loud, stern voice exclaimed-- "Cursed is the unfruitful field!" "Amen." "Cursed is the barren tree!" "Amen." "Cursed is the empty house!" "Amen." "Cursed is the fishless lake!" "Amen." "Forasmuch as Anna Arler, born Voss, might have been the mother of countless generations, as the sand of the seashore for number, as the stars of heaven for brightness, of generations unto the end of time, even of all of us now gathered together here, but she would not--therefore shall she be alone, with none to comfort her; sick, with none to minister to her; broken in heart, with none to bind up her wounds; feeble, and none to stay her up; dead, and none to pray for her, for she would not--she shall have an unforgotten and unforgettable past, and have no future; remorse, but no hope; she shall have tears, but no laughter--for she would not. Woe! woe! woe!" He lowered his hands, and the tapers were extinguished, the celebrant faded as a vision of the night, the server vanished as an incense-cloud, the congregation disappeared, melting into shadows, and then from shadows to nothingness, without stirring from their places, and without a sound.