He encountered an obstacle—the fence—and climbing over, his hand met, as high as his own head, a smooth cold face. It was only a marble figure, as dead and silent as the earth beneath his feet; but it reminded him that he was still capable of fear. He was now in the cemetery; and, according to his calculation, not far from the grave. But which way to turn he knew not. He laid the shovel against the fence, in order not to lose the knowledge of where he had entered, for by feeling along the fence he might return to it at any time. Absolutely nothing could be seen except some gray spots that lay scattered through the darkness. To move with any speed was impossible; for the mounds and monuments were so profusely and irregularly crowded that he might be at any instant precipitated to the ground. Crawling on his hands and knees, never more than two steps from the fence, he felt for fresh earth. The green and the withered grass and weeds were wet with dew; the slabs that lay on the ground felt cold; the monuments and headstones continually intercepted his progress; and an occasional
