hands were; the touch chilled him to the heart.
The snow had now begun to fall in large scattered
flakes, whirling fitfully through the air,
following every chance gust of wind, but still
falling, falling, and covering the earth with its
white, death-like shroud.

But surely--there was Edith again,--how
wonderful!--in a long snow-white robe, grave
and gracious, still with the wistful smile on her
lips. See, she beckons to him with her hand,
and he rises to follow, but something heavy
clings to his feet and he cannot stir from the
spot. He tries to cry for help, but he cannot,--
can only stretch out his hands to her, and feel
very unhappy that he cannot follow her. But
now she pauses in her flight, turns about, and
he sees that she wears a myrtle garland in her
hair like a bride. She comes toward him, her
countenance all radiant with love and happiness,
and she stoops down over him and speaks:

"Come; they are waiting for us. I will follow
thee in life and in death, wherever thou
goest. Come," repeats Edith, "they have long
been waiting. They are all here."

And he imagines he knows who they all are,
although he has never heard of them, nor can
he recall their names.