And there he stood now upon the hill, hiding his face from the sweetness of the morning, and the cheerful rays of the sun, as if he feared to pollute the glorious gifts which God had bestowed on creation, and felt that they were not intended for his enjoyment. Suddenly, he flung himself down, and buried his face amidst the early dew that stood upon the ground, mingling with it the hot tears that chased each other swiftly down his cheeks. At that moment, a soft hand was gently laid upon his head, and a mild voice exclaimed--
'But, Johan! why are you lying here? What can be the matter with you?'
And when he raised his head, and Ellen saw his disturbed look, she sat down by him, and put her arm affectionately round him.
'Do you believe that we shall be happy, Ellen?' he asked mournfully, as he laid his head on her shoulder. 'Tell me--do you really believe that we shall be happy?'
'Why not, dear Johan?' said Ellen, in a soothing manner. 'We are both young--we have a sincere affection for each other--we will do all we can for our mutual happiness through life--and when one has a good conscience, everything goes well.'
Her last words pierced Johan to the very soul; he felt perfectly wretched--he became as pale as death--and a confession which would have crushed his hearer's heart trembled on his lips; but he forced it back to the depths of his own soul, and was silent. Ellen, too, sat silent. After a few moments she seemed to be listening to something, and suddenly she exclaimed--
'Hark! the church bells are ringing! They are coming--I must hasten to our poor mother.'
After she had left him, Johan remained for a time in speechless anguish. 'When one has a good conscience,' he repeated at length. 'Yes--it is true! But I, who have not a good conscience, how shall I become fortunate and happy? Oh! if she adored me--if she would be everything to me--of what avail would that be to me? Do I not feel that every endearment is a crime--every word of love an offence to him in his grave? Oh! if she knew all, she would spurn me from her, order me out of her presence, and heap curses on my head! But soon--soon--she will not be able to do that. We shall become man and wife--ay, man and wife before God's holy altar ... but--will that ever be? When I walk with her up the church aisle--when the bells are ringing, the church adorned with green branches and flowers, and the rich tones of the organ make the heart swell in one's breast--can I be proud or happy? Can I help looking back to see if a bloody shadow be not following me amongst my kindred and my friends, who are the bridal guests? Oh! horror, horror! And when the pastor pronounces that those whom God has joined together no man shall put asunder--oh! the blood will freeze in my veins. No--no living man--but a shadow from the tomb--a spectre--a murdered brother's revengeful ghost--will appear. Oh! George, George! arise from your grave, and let me change places with you!'
Drops of agony are falling from his brow, every joint seems rigid in his closely-clasped hands, and every limb of the unhappy sinner is trembling. But what angel from heaven is yon? He kneels by his side--he pushes back the thick hair, and wipes off the clammy dew of mortal anguish from his forehead. Johan looks up.
'Oh! is it a spectre from the grave, or is it he? George!--George! No--no--no!--he smiles--it cannot be himself!'