I dropped Adam’s old spade, and the dull sound of its fall on the clay floor seemed reverberated from the chamber beyond: a childish terror seized me; I sat and stared at the coffin-door.--But father Adam, mother Eve, sister Mara would soon come to me, and then--welcome the cold world and the white neighbours! I forgot my fears, lived a little, and loved my dead. Something did move in the chamber of the dead! There came from it what was LIKE a dim, far-off sound, yet was not what I knew as sound. My soul sprang into my ears. Was it a mere thrill of the dead air, too slight to be heard, but quivering in every spiritual sense? I KNEW without hearing, without feeling it! The something was coming! it drew nearer! In the bosom of my desertion awoke an infant hope. The noiseless thrill reached the coffin-door--became sound, and smote on my ear. The door began to move--with a low, soft creaking of its hinges. It was opening! I ceased to listen, and stared expectant. It opened a little way, and a face came into the opening. It was Lona’s. Its eyes were closed, but the face itself was upon me, and seemed to see me. It was white as Eve’s, white as Mara’s, but did not shine like their faces. She spoke, and her voice was like a sleepy night-wind in the grass. “Are you coming, king?” it said. “I cannot rest until you are with me, gliding down the river to the great sea, and the beautiful dream-land. The sleepiness is full of lovely things: come and see them.” “Ah, my darling!” I cried. “Had I but known!--I thought you were dead!” She lay on my bosom--cold as ice frozen to marble. She threw her arms, so white, feebly about me, and sighed-- “Carry me back to my bed, king. I want to sleep.” I bore her to the death-chamber, holding her tight lest she should dissolve out of my arms. Unaware that I saw, I carried her straight to her couch. “Lay me down,” she said, “and cover me from the warm air; it hurts--a little. Your bed is there, next to mine. I shall see you when I wake.” She was already asleep. I threw myself on my couch--blessed as never was man on the eve of his wedding. “Come, sweet cold,” I said, “and still my heart speedily.” But there came instead a glimmer of light in the chamber, and I saw the face of Adam approaching. He had not the candle, yet I saw him. At the side of Lona’s couch, he looked down on her with a questioning smile, and then greeted me across it. “We have been to the top of the hill to hear the waters on their way,” he said. “They will be in the den of the monsters to-night.--But why did you not await our return?” “My child could not sleep,” I answered. “She is fast asleep!” he rejoined. “Yes, now!” I said; “but she was awake when I laid her down.” “She was asleep all the time!” he insisted. “She was perhaps dreaming about you--and came to you?” “She did.” “And did you not see that her eyes were closed?” “Now I think of it, I did.”