Her little boy spoke in the grave. There was only one reasonable explanation. Benjamin was no ghost. He must have been buried alive and only seemed to be dead.

"Mum!" Repeated the boys tender voice. "Come down to me please. I am so lonely and cold." Marianne felt afraid, terribly afraid.

"Why did you murder me, Mum?"

Marianne couldn't remain silent. She had to defend herself against such an unjust accusation.

"I didn't murder you! How can you say such a thing?"

"But you pushed me mum," said Benjamin reproachfully. "I wouldn't have fallen off the precipice if you hadn't pushed me so hard."

Marianne decided to dig up her little son. She couldn't just let him fade away down there in the eternal darkness of the coffin. She searched for something to dig with and luckily found a spade by the dreary stone wall of the church which a gravedigger must have forgotten to lock up with the other tools. So she began the long process of digging which wasn't completed until dawn.

When Marianne was ready she opened the lid of the coffin. Benjamin was alive but so stiff and tired that he had to be carried home.