What the Swallow Sang

The sexton's wife did not venture to make any reply, and turned away. The stranger looked after her retreating figure a few minutes. «Strange,» he murmured, «it seems as if it would be committing a sacrilege to utter my name aloud in this place! It was really a relief to my mind that the woman did not know me. How we are all under the ban of gloomy feelings which we should be ashamed to confess to others! To be sure it is not strange that these emotions should almost overpower me here; here, in this spot which should be my home, where my cradle stood, and yet where I was not allowed to return until the grave had closed over him to whom I owe my life.»