Carmilla

She sometimes alluded for a moment to her own home, or mentioned an

adventure or situation, or an early recollection, which indicated a

people of strange manners, and described customs of which we knew

nothing. I gathered from these chance hints that her native country was

much more remote than I had at first fancied.

As we sat thus one afternoon under the trees a funeral passed us by. It

was that of a pretty young girl, whom I had often seen, the daughter of

one of the rangers of the forest. The poor man was walking behind the

coffin of his darling; she was his only child, and he looked quite

heartbroken.

Peasants walking two-and-two came behind, they were singing a funeral

hymn.

I rose to mark my respect as they passed, and joined in the hymn they

were very sweetly singing.

My companion shook me a little roughly, and I turned surprised.

She said brusquely, "Don't you perceive how discordant that is?"

"I think it very sweet, on the contrary," I answered, vexed at the

interruption, and very uncomfortable, lest the people who composed the

little procession should observe and resent what was passing.

I resumed, therefore, instantly, and was again interrupted. "You pierce

my ears," said Carmilla, almost angrily, and stopping her ears with her

tiny fingers. "Besides, how can you tell that your religion and mine are

the same; your forms wound me, and I hate funerals. What a fuss! Why you

must die--everyone must die; and all are happier when they do.

Come home."

"My father has gone on with the clergyman to the churchyard. I thought

you knew she was to be buried today."

"She? I don't trouble my head about peasants. I don't know who she is,"

answered Carmilla, with a flash from her fine eyes.

"She is the poor girl who fancied she saw a ghost a fortnight ago, and

has been dying ever since, till yesterday, when she expired."

"Tell me nothing about ghosts. I shan't sleep tonight if you do."

"I hope there is no plague or fever coming; all this looks very like

it," I continued. "The swineherd's young wife died only a week ago, and

she thought something seized her by the throat as she lay in her bed,

and nearly strangled her. Papa says such horrible fancies do accompany

some forms of fever. She was quite well the day before. She sank

afterwards, and died before a week."

"Well, her funeral is over, I hope, and her hymn sung; and our ears

shan't be tortured with that discord and jargon. It has made me nervous.

Sit down here, beside me; sit close; hold my hand; press it

hard-hard-harder."

We had moved a little back, and had come to another seat.