When he saw the snow-covered plain in its pale uniformity lying before his eyes a terror overcame him, for he saw no sign by which to distinguish his mother’s grave. There was no cross on the mound, for he had not had money to buy one, but the mound itself lay dead under the levelling expanse of snow.
A torturing anxiety seized him; he felt as if he had now lost the very last thing that he possessed in life.
And with a trembling hand he began to grope about in the snow, from one mound to the other—a long row, from among which, here and there, a wreath or a little cypress-tree stood out in the dusk.
“Here rests this one, here that one.” He knew almost every grave and who reposed beneath it.
And at last his groping hand hurt itself against a piece of glass that stuck out from underneath.... He stopped and felt carefully all round.... The fragment must be the one which Greta had carried out in early spring to plant asters in; a piece of a green bottle with sharp-pointed edges—yes, here it was. The faded stalks were still in it. And near it the wreath, the heather wreath, which appeared to be frozen stiff, like a stone ring; he had put it there himself the last time he had been here.
When he saw the little heap of snow, which hid all that was dearest to him, lying so white and still, he fell on his knees, and buried his face in the cool, soft flakes.
“It is all my fault, mother,” he lamented; “I have not watched over them, I have let them run wild. Do not judge them, mother, they knew not what they did!... But I implore you, mother, show me how to act! Send me only one word from beyond the grave.... See, I kneel here and do not know what to do.”
And then he suddenly felt as if he had no right to lie in that place; he felt as if the shame which his sisters had brought upon themselves was resting on him, too. He called himself a coward, selfish and lazy, because he had remained inactive for such a long time without daring the worst.
“I will do it, mother, this very night,” he cried, springing up. “There shall be no question of myself. I will relinquish the last remnant of pride, if only my sisters can be saved.” He vowed it with uplifted arms, and hurried out onto the heath.
For wellnigh three hours he struggled along the snowed-up roads. It might have been eight o’clock when he stopped, tired and breathless, before the gates of Lotkeim.