The gloomy day grew darker as he
spoke; a curtain of cloud underspread the sky and
a few drops of rain fell audibly. It seemed as if all
nature were weeping for John Mortonson.
When the minister had finished his eulogy with
prayer a hymn was sung and the pall-bearers took
their places beside the bier. As the last notes of the
hymn died away the widow ran to the coffin, cast
herself upon it and sobbed hysterically. Gradually,
however, she yielded to dissuasion, becoming more
composed; and as the minister was in the act of
leading her away her eyes sought the face of the
dead beneath the glass. She threw up her arms and
with a shriek fell backward insensible.
The mourners sprang forward to the coffin, the
friends followed, and as the clock on the mantel
solemnly struck three all were staring down upon
the face of John Mortonson, deceased.
They turned away, sick and faint. One man, try-
ing in his terror to escape the awful sight, stumbled
against the coffin so heavily as to knock away one
of its frail supports. The coffin fell to the floor, the
glass was shattered to bits by the concussion.
From the opening crawled John Mortonson's cat,
which lazily leapt to the floor, sat up, tranquilly
wiped its crimson muzzle with a forepaw, then
walked with dignity from the room.
[1] Rough notes of this tale were found among the papers of
the late Leigh Bierce. It is printed here with such revision only
as the author might himself have made in transcription.
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