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At this ghastly sight the terrified sextons fled in abject panic. Richmodis recovered by degrees, and gradually realizing where she was, she concluded that she must have been buried while alive. In her terror she cried aloud for help. But nobody could hear her; it was the lone hour of midnight, when all nature reposes.
Deep piety remained the motive power of Richmodis' being, and nobody ever saw her smile again. If you come to Cologne, reader, you will still see the old house of the Aduchts at the New-market, with two white wooden horses' heads looking out of the top window. The Goblins This story goes back to the "good old times" of which we modern people always speak with a sigh of regret.
Not a sound, save the soughing of the wind, was heard within Gods peaceful acre, for over the wrecks of Time Silence lay motionless in the arms of Death. The moons pale rays illumined the buildings when Richmodis arrived at her house in the New Market. She knocked repeatedly, but at first received no response to her summons.
They were present when the lid of the coffin was screwed down, and had with hungry looks coveted the glittering precious stones Richmodis was to be buried with. Now they had come to rob the dead body. With spade and shovel the wreaths and flowers were quickly removed from the mound, the earth dug up, and the coffin laid bare.
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