The nearer he approached the west, the more serious became his frame of mind; it was as if the desolate scenery and cold sea-mist entered his soul. The pictures of the gay country-seat at Funen were supplanted by recollections of his home with his grandfather. He became more and more low-spirited. It was only when a single mile separated him from his home that the thought of surprising his dear friends conquered his melancholy.
He caught sight of the red roof of the house, saw the willow plantations, and heard the bark of the yard-dog. Upon the hillock before the gate stood a group of children. Otto could no longer endure the slow driving through the deep ruts. He sprang out of the carriage, and ran more than he walked. The children on the hillock became aware of him, and all looked toward the side from whence he came.
The slow driving, and his being absorbed in melancholy fancies, had relaxed his powerful frame; but now in one moment all his elasticity returned: his cheeks glowed, and his heart beat loudly.
From the court resounded singing—it was the singing of a psalm. He stepped through the gateway. A crowd of peasants stood with bared heads: before the door stood a carriage, some peasants were just raising a coffin into it. In the doorway stood the old preacher, and spoke with a man clad in black.
“Lord Jesus! who is dead?” were Otto’s first words, and his countenance became pale like that of a corpse.
“Otto!” all exclaimed.
“Otto!” exclaimed also the old preacher, astonished; then seized his hand, and said gravely, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”
“Let me see the face of the dead!” said Otto. Not a tear came to his eye; surprise and sorrow were too great.
“Shall I take out the screws?” inquired the man who had just screwed up the coffin.
“Let him sleep the eternal rest!” said the preacher.