CHAPTER LIV.
The black funereal flag was waving from the towers of Gyllensten as Arwed slowly approached it with the remains of poor Christine. The tolling of bells was heard from the castle chapel and from Umea, and the domestics of the family surrounded the carriage with weeping eyes.
'How is my uncle?' asked Arwed, with fearful apprehension.
'I bring you his last greeting,' said the gray old steward, with a trembling voice. 'He went to his God early on the day before yesterday, about the third hour. His last word was, 'Christine!''