“Death is disgusting,” he thought.
Suddenly he ceased to weep, and a silence seemed to fill him.
“I cannot bear to think of her as dead,” he thought. “And yet I have planned to do that which will ruin her life—to kill her love, and strike her soul the cruellest blow that any human being can inflict upon another. What a desperate tangle it all is. Would it not be better for her to die? Would it not be better if I were to end her life—kill her at once? Surely it would. But it was not her I was thinking of. I was only thinking of myself; not of what would be best for her, but of what would hurt me least. And if it were better for her to die, then what I am about to do is a greater crime than if I took her life....”
Ørlygur was so deep in thought that he did not observe the progress of the party until they had reached the churchyard, and the others dismounted. Only when the coffin in front, on which his eyes were fixed, was lowered to the ground did he come to himself and get down from his horse.
His last thoughts had almost stunned him; his brain seemed incapable of normal action. As if in a trance he followed the coffins into the church, and remained standing with bowed head while the psalms were sung and the priest delivered his oration. He noticed nothing of what was passing round him.
In a few minutes now they would be at the graveside; the coffins would be lowered, and then, as was the custom, he would be expected to say something himself.
What should he say? There was no clear idea in his mind—well, no doubt something would occur to him when the moment came. What he said did not matter much, as long as he said something.
The coffins were brought out, and the mourners gathered close round the double grave. Ørlygur stood just behind the mound of earth that had been thrown up.
The coffins were lowered into the earth, the mourners singing and weeping; the priest cast earth into the grave, and the last hymn was sung. Mechanically Ørlygur stepped up on to the mound. He felt that all eyes were upon him—that all were waiting expectantly for him to speak. He raised his eyes, and looked round.
His gaze fell on a pair of tear-stained blue eyes on the other side of the grave. There was a look in them almost of fear—an anxious uncertainty such as he had never before seen on her face. But no sooner had her eyes met his than her expression changed, and the strange look vanished.