He almost lost consciousness.  He did not know if time passed or if everything stood still.  But after a while steps were heard, and he woke to a feeble consciousness.  He seemed to have been far, far away.  He saw a funeral procession draw near, and instantly a confused thought rose in him.  How long had he lain there?  Was Edith dead already?  Was she looking for him here?  Was the corpse in the coffin hunting for its murderer?  He shook and sweated.  He lay well hidden in the dark pine thicket; but he trembled for what might happen if the corpse found him.  He bent aside the branches and looked out.  A hunted deserter could not have spied more wildly after his pursuers.

The funeral was that of a poor man.  The attendance was small.  The coffin was lowered without wreaths into the grave.  There was no sign of tears on any of the faces.  Petter Nord had still enough sense to see that this could not be Edith Halfvorson’s funeral train.

But if this was not she, who knows if it was not a greeting from her.  Petter Nord felt that he had no right to escape.  She had said that he was to go up to the graveyard.  She must have meant that he was to wait for her there, so that she could find him to give him his punishment.  The funeral was a greeting, a token.  She wished him to wait for her there.

To his sick brain the low churchyard wall rose as high as a rampart.  He stared despairingly at the frail trellis-gate; it was like the most solid door of oak.  He was imprisoned.  He could never get away, until she herself came up and brought him his punishment.

What she was going to do with him he did not know.  Only one thing was distinct and clear; that he must wait here until she came for him.  Perhaps she would take him with her into the grave; perhaps she would command him to throw himself from the mountain.  He could not know—­he must wait for a while yet.

Reason fought a despairing struggle:  “You are innocent, Petter Nord.  Do not grieve over what you have not caused!  She has not sent you any messages.  Go down to your work!  Lift your foot and you are over the wall; push with one finger and the gate is open.”

No, he could not.  Most of the time he was in a stupor, a trance.  His thoughts were indistinct, as when on the point of falling asleep.  He only knew one thing, that he must stay where he was.

The news came to her lying and fading in emulation with the rootless birches.  “Petter Nord, with whom you played one summer day, is in the graveyard waiting for you.  Petter Nord, whom your uncle has frightened out of his senses, cannot leave the graveyard until your flower-decked coffin comes to fetch him.”

The girl opened her eyes as if to look at the world once more.  She sent a message to Petter Nord.  She was angry at his mad pranks.  Why could she not die in peace?  She had never wished that he should have any pangs of conscience for her sake.