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I looked back with my mother's blessing yet in my ears, to where the gilt weather-vanes glistened on her father's house, and the tears brimmed over again. And yet, such is life, presently I felt my heart bound with a new courage. All was not lost yet. The world was before me. But yesterday the chance befell that, in going to communion in the old Domkirke, I knelt beside her at the altar rail.
But there is the hoary tower of the old Domkirke in which I was baptized and confirmed and married, rising out of the broad fields, and all the familiar landmarks rushing by, and now the train is slowing up for the station, and a chorus of voices shout out the name of the wanderer.
The cargo of the ship was sold by auction. A seaman of Aarhus bought the model, which is that of a ship of war with seventy-four cannon, and gave it to the Domkirke, at Whitsuntide, 1720." "Thank you very much, Herr Pastor," said Mrs. Hardy.
I saw the venerable Domkirke, my father's gray head in his pew, and Her, young and innocent, in the women's seats across the aisle. I heard the old pastor's voice in the solemn calm, and my tears fell upon her picture that had called up the vision.
Ah, those were the Yule-tide seasons, when the old Domkirke shone with a thousand wax candles on Christmas eve; when all business was laid aside to let the world make merry one whole week; when big red apples were roasted on the stove, and bigger doughnuts were baked within it for the long feast! Never such had been known since. Christmas to-day is but a name, a memory.
Hardy, and they were much interested in the details he gave of the old vestments preserved in the Domkirke and the ancient folding pictures at the altar, the date of which is 1479, but the pictures are Italian and older. "The old church tradition," said the Pastor, "is that the patron saint, St.
Clement, after suffering martyrdom, came ashore after floating about the sea for eleven hundred years, bound to a ship's anchor, which circumstance is delineated in more than one place in the Domkirke. One of the stories of the Domkirke is recorded on a stone," continued the Pastor. "It is the figure of a woman with a hole in her left breast.
Then the Domkirke shone with a thousand wax candles that made the gloom in the deep recesses behind the granite pillars seem deeper still, and brought out the picture of the Virgin Mary and her child, long hidden under the whitewash of the Reformation, and so preserved to our day by the very means taken to destroy it.
The old town turned out, to the last man and woman, and crowded the Domkirke on that March day, twenty-five years ago when I bore Her home my bride.
She was shot by a rejected lover, as she went to the Domkirke to attend the church service of the times. The stone must have been once in an horizontal position, as it is worn as if it had been placed at the entrance of the Domkirke, as is believed to be the case, and much trodden on." "Are there more stories connected with the Domkirke?" asked Mrs. Hardy. "Yes, many," replied the Pastor.
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