the sun had set， and the evening bells sounded through the air from the tower of thevillage church， but to her it was not the bells， but the cry of the frogs in the marshes. Thenthey ceased， and all around became still; not a bird could be heard， they were all at rest，even the owl had not left her hiding place; deep silence reigned on the margin of the wood bythe sea-shore. As Anne Lisbeth walked on she could hear her own footsteps in the sands;even the waves of the sea were at rest， and all in the deep waters had sunk into silence.There was quiet among the dead and the living in the deep sea. Anne Lisbeth walked on，thinking of nothing at all， as people say， or rather her thoughts wandered， but not awayfrom her， for thought is never absent from us， it only slumbers. Many thoughts that havelain dormant are roused at the proper time， and begin to stir in the mind and the heart， andseem even to come upon us from above. It is written， that a good deed bears a blessing forits fruit; and it is also written， that the wages of sin is death. Much has been said and muchwritten which we pass over or know nothing of. A light arises within us， and then forgottenthings make themselves remembered; and thus it was with Anne Lisbeth. The germ of everyvice and every virtue lies in our heart， in yours and in mine; they lie like little grains of seed，till a ray of sunshine， or the touch of an evil hand， or you turn the corner to the right or tothe left， and the decision is made. The little seed is stirred， it swells and shoots up， andpours its sap into your blood， directing your course either for good or evil. Troublesomethoughts often exist in the mind， fermenting there， which are not realized by us while thesenses are as it were slumbering; but still they are there. Anne Lisbeth walked on thus withher senses half asleep， but the thoughts were fermenting within her.
From one Shrove Tuesday to another， much may occur to weigh down the heart; it is thereckoning of a whole year; much may be forgotten， sins against heaven in word andthought， sins against our neighbor， and against our own conscience. We are scarcely awareof their existence; and Anne Lisbeth did not think of any of her errors. She had committed nocrime against the law of the land; she was an honorable person， in a good position—thatshe knew.
She continued her walk along by the margin of the sea. What was it she saw lying there?An old hat; a man's hat. Now when might that have been washed overboard? She drewnearer， she stopped to look at the hat; “Ha! what was lying yonder?” She shuddered; yetit was nothing save a heap of grass and tangled seaweed flung across a long stone， but itlooked like a corpse. Only tangled grass， and yet she was frightened at it. As she turned towalk away， much came into her mind that she had heard in her childhood： old superstitions ofspectres by the sea-shore; of the ghosts of drowned but unburied people， whose corpseshad been washed up on the desolate beach. The body， she knew， could do no harm to anyone， but the spirit could pursue the lonely wanderer， attach itself to him， and demand tobe carried to the churchyard， that it might rest in consecrated ground. “Hold fast! holdfast!” the spectre would cry; and as Anne Lisbeth murmured these words to herself， thewhole of her dream was suddenly recalled to her memory， when the mother had clung to her，and uttered these words， when， amid the crashing of worlds， her sleeve had been torn，and she had slipped from the grasp of her child， who wanted to hold her up in that terriblehour. Her child， her own child， which she had never loved， lay now buried in the sea， andmight rise up， like a spectre， from the waters， and cry， “Hold fast; carry me toconsecrated ground!”
As these thoughts passed through her mind， fear gave speed to her feet， so that shewalked faster and faster. Fear came upon her as if a cold， clammy hand had been laid upon herheart， so that she almost fainted. As she looked across the sea， all there GREw darker; aheavy mist came rolling onwards， and clung to bush and tree， distorting them into fantasticshapes. She turned and glanced at the moon， which had risen behind her. It looked like apale， rayless surface， and a deadly weight seemed to hang upon her limbs. “Hold，” thoughtshe; and then she turned round a second time to look at the moon. A white face appearedquite close to her， with a mist， hanging like a garment from its shoulders. “Stop! carry meto consecrated earth，” sounded in her ears， in strange， hollow tones. The sound did notcome from frogs or ravens; she saw no sign of such creatures. “A grave! dig me a grave!”was repeated quite loud. Yes， it was indeed the spectre of her child. The child that lay beneaththe ocean， and whose spirit could have no rest until it was carried to the churchyard， anduntil a grave had been dug for it in consecrated ground. She would go there at once， andthere she would dig. She turned in the direction of the church， and the weight on her heartseemed to grow lighter， and even to vanish altogether; but when she turned to go home bythe shortest way， it returned. “Stop! stop!” and the words came quite clear， though theywere like the croak of a frog， or the wail of a bird. “A grave! dig me a grave!”
the mist was cold and damp， her hands and face were moist and clammy with horror， aheavy weight again seized her and clung to her， her mind became clear for thoughts that hadnever before been there.
In these northern regions， a beech-wood often buds in a single night and appears in themorning sunlight in its full glory of youthful GREen. So， in a single instant， can theconsciousness of the sin that has been committed in thoughts， words， and actions of ourpast life， be unfolded to us. When once the conscience is awakened， it springs up in theheart spontaneously， and God awakens the conscience when we least expect it. Then wecan find no excuse for ourselves; the deed is there and bears witness against us. Thethoughts seem to become words， and to sound far out into the world. We are horrified at thethought of what we have carried within us， and at the consciousness that we have notovercome the evil which has its origin in thoughtlessness and pride. The heart conceals withinitself the vices as well as the virtues， and they grow in the shallowest ground. Anne Lisbethnow experienced in thought what we have clothed in words. She was overpowered by them，and sank down and crept along for some distance on the ground. “A grave! dig me agrave!” sounded again in her ears， and she would have gladly buried herself， if in the graveshe could have found forgetfulness of her actions.