...But when she began the seventh she found she had no more flax. She knew that the nettles she wanted to use grew in the churchyard, and that she must pluck them herself. How should she get out there? Oh, what is the pain in my fingers to the torment which my heart endures? said she. I must venture, I shall not be denied help from heaven. Then with a trembling heart, as if she were about to perform a wicked deed, she crept into the garden in the broad moonlight, and passed through the narrow walks and the deserted streets, till she reached the churchyard....
The Wild Swans.
watercolor + ink