One of her arms was outside the sheet, and her hand lay with the palm upward, in its centre a dark spot.

Next to her was the stalwart figure of a man of middle age.

His arm too was outside the sheet, the strong hand almost closed, as if clenched on the grip of a sword.

I thought he must be a king who had died fighting for the truth.
"Will you hold the candle nearer, wife ?" whispered the sexton, bending down to examine the woman's hand.
"It heals well," he murmured to himself: "the nail found in her nothing to hurt!" At last I ventured to speak.
"Are they not dead ?" I asked softly.
"I cannot answer you," he replied in a subdued voice.

"I almost forget what they mean by DEAD in the old world.