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 'GOD'S PEACE' 367

Then suddenly the door of the miller's house openSj and a cold air sweeps over the many happy people, for a young woman lies cold and pale on her white bed. A man stands at her side. It is the stranger from Rough-Hill. His eyes do not weep any longer; he has no tears left. But he says, as he bends over his cold, pale bride : ' Spring is dead ! '

30"" OF MARCH.

TO-DAY Greta was laid to rest in the grave- XXXIX yard. In the small church of the Institution the service took place. All the old women sat round and wept tears of real sorrow for Greta, be- cause she, who had brought youth and beauty into their withered hearts, was taken from us in the midst of her youthful joy. On her coffin they had laid wreaths made by their own trembling hands, wreaths of ivy and moss, adorned with immortelles and simple farewell inscriptions in black and white beads. And now they sang for her, who had sung for them, sang in their old quavering voices, the beautiful hymn : 'Think when at last the mist has lifted.' O my God, my God ! It was here she should have stood as a bride, here where she now lay in her coffin, the bride of death clad in the white gown she had made herself for her bridal iMy tired, tortured head sank on my old friend's shoulder. She stroked me and talked to me as to M unhappy child, as she had done so often before m the old days. I think that both she and I