They were already turning off to the churchyard lane, when the Squire came up with them, got down from his carriage, and accompanied the coffin on foot—a thing of some difficulty, because the road was narrow, and planted thickly with birch-trees on either side of the surrounding cornfields. When the priests had done chanting, Dominikova, who was led by Yagna, and walked bent down, almost blind, struck up as well as she could the psalm: “He that dwelleth...,” which they all sang with great fervour, relieving their depressed spirits with this declaration of unbounded trust in God. And thus they entered the burial-ground. The foremost husbandman now carried the coffin, the Squire himself lending a hand to hold it up as they went along the yellow pathway, past grass and crosses and graves, till beyond the chapel they came to the tomb just dug amongst hazel-trees and elder-bushes. At the sight, the wailing broke forth again, and still louder. The tomb was surrounded with banners and lights, and the people thronged with sinking hearts to gaze into that empty pit of sand. Now the priest mounted a heap of sand thrown up, and turned round and lifted up his voice, saying to the people: “Christian folk and men of Lipka!” Every sound was instantly hushed, save the distant tolling of the bells, and the sobbing of Yuzka, who had put her arms round her father’s coffin and held it embraced. The priest took snuff, wiped the tears from his eyes, and spoke thus: “Brethren, who is it ye are burying this day? who, I ask? “Matthias Boryna, ye will answer. “And I will tell you, it is also your foremost husbandman, and an honest man, and a true son of the Church, that ye are now burying. “I, who have known him this many a year, can testify how exemplary and religious his life was, how regularly he confessed and went to Communion, and how he helped the poor. “How he helped the poor, I say,” the priest repeated with emphasis, and stopping to draw a long breath. As he paused, the crying broke out again more loudly. And now he resumed in a sad voice: “Poor Matthias! And he is with us no longer! “Gone!—Taken by death, that wolf that chooses for himself the goodliest ram in the flock—in broad day, unhindered by any. “Like the lightning that strikes a lofty tree and cleaves it in twain, so the cruel hand of death has struck him down. “But, as Holy Scripture saith, he has not died altogether. “For behold him, a wanderer from this earth, standing at the gate of Paradise, and knocking, and crying pitifully to be let in, till at last Saint Peter asks him: “‘Who, then, art thou, and what wouldst thou have?’ “‘I am Boryna of Lipka; and I pray God in His mercy....’ “‘What! have thy brethren tormented thee so that thou couldst live no longer?’ “‘I will tell thee all, Saint Peter,’ quoth Matthias; ‘but prithee set the gate ajar, that I may warm me a little in the heat of God’s mercy, for I am icy cold after my sojourn upon earth.’