Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. He seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. He was painfully in earnest, too. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. He loved you. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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