But we never knew just what she wanted. The dim, large eyes closed, and
then the lids lifted slowly a little; there was a sigh, and Elsket's
watching was over; the weary spirit was at peace.
"She is with God," he said, calmly.
I closed the white lids gently, and moved out. Later I offered to help
him, but he said "No," and I remained out of doors till the afternoon.
About sunset he appeared and went up toward the old church, and I went
into the house. I found that he had laid her out in the large room, and
she lay with her face slightly turned as if asleep. She was dressed
like a bride in the bridal dress she had sewn so long; her hair was
unbound, and lay about her, fine and silken, and she wore the old
silver ornaments she had showed me. No bride had ever a more faithful
attendant. He had put them all upon her.
After a time, as he did not come back, I went to look for him. As I
approached I heard a dull, thumping sound. When I reached the cleared
place I found him digging. He had chosen a spot just in front of the
quaint old door, with the rude, runic letters, which the earliest
sunbeams would touch. As I came up I saw he was digging her grave.
I offered to help, but he said "No." So I carried him some food and
placing it near him left him.
Late that evening he came down and asked me if I would sit up that
night. I told him, yes. He thanked me and went into the house. In a
little while he came out and silently went up the path toward the
mountain.
It was a strange night that I spent in that silent valley in that still
house, only I, and the dead girl lying there so white and peaceful.
I had strange thoughts, and the earth and things earthly disappeared
for me that night shut in by those mountain walls. I was in a world
alone. I was cut off from all but God and the dead. I have dear ones in
heaven, and I was nearer to them that night, amid the mountain-tops of
Norway, than I was to earthly friends. I think I was nearer to heaven
that night than I ever shall be again till I get there.
Day broke like a great pearl, but I did not heed it. It was all peace.
Suddenly there was a step outside, and Olaf, with his face drawn and
gray, and bowing under the weight of the burden upon his shoulder,
stepped wearily in at the door.
To do Elsket honor he had been over the mountain to get it. I helped
lift it down and place it, and then he waited for me to go. As I passed
out of the door I saw him bend over the quiet sleeper. I looked in
later; he had placed her in the coffin, but the top was not on and he
was on his knees beside her.
He did not bury her that day; but he never left her side; he sat by her
all day and all night. Next day he came to the door and looked at me.
I went in and understood that he wanted me to look for the last time
on her face. It was fairer than I ever saw it. He had cut her flowers
and placed them all about her, and on her breast was a small packet
of letters. All care, all suffering, all that was merely of the earth
were cleansed away, and she looked as she lay, like a dead angel. After
I came out I heard him fastening on the top, and when he finished I
went in again. He would have attempted to carry it by himself, but I
restrained him, and without a word he took the head and I the foot, and
so lifting her tenderly we went gently out and up toward the church. We
had to pause and rest several times, for he was almost worn out. After
we had lowered her into the grave I was in doubt what to do; but Olaf
drew from his coat his two books, and standing close by the side of the
grave he opened first the little Bible and began to read in a low but
distinct voice: "Lord, thou hast been our refuge, from one generation
to another. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth
and the world were made, thou art God from everlasting, and world
without end."
When he finished this he turned and read again: "Now is Christ risen
from the dead, and become the first-fruits of them that slept," etc.
They were the Psalm and the chapter which I had heard him read to
Elsket that first day when she became excited, and with which he had so
often charmed her restless spirit.
He closed, and I thought he was done, but he opened his hymn-book and
turning over a few leaves sang the same hymn he had sung to her that
day. He sang it all through to the end, the low, strange, dirge-like
hymn, and chanted as it was by that old man alone, standing in
the fading evening light beside the grave which he had dug for his
daughter, the last of his race, I never heard anything so moving.
Then he knelt, and clasping his hands offered a prayer. The words,
from habit, ran almost as they had done when he had prayed for Elsket
before, that God would be her Shepherd, her "Herder," and lead her
beside the still waters, and give her peace.
When he was through I waited a little, and then I took up a spade to
help him; but he reached out and took it quietly, and seeing that he
wanted to be alone I left him. He meant to do for Elsket all the last
sacred offices himself.
I was so fatigued that on reaching the house I dropped off to sleep and
slept till morning, and I do not know when he came into the house, if
he came at all. When I waked early next morning he was not there, and I
rose and went up to the church to hunt for him. He was sitting quietly
beside the grave, and I saw that he had placed at her head a little
cross of birchwood, on which he had burned one word, simply,
"ELSKET."