It was left that the friends might remove it, and that night I felt would be the time for ghosts.

So I went over alone, and while I crouched by the open grave, peering in, a cloud passed, and the moon poured down a flood of light, by which I could see the quiet sleeper, with folded hands, taking her last, long rest.
It was inexpressibly grand, solemn and sad.

There were no gaslights, no paved street near, no one stirring.

Earth was far away and heaven near at hand, but no ghost came, and I went home disappointed.

Afterwards I had a still more disheartening adventure.
I had gone an errand to cousin Alexander's, on Fifth street, stayed late, and coming home, found Wood street deserted.