rain and glittering with icy moisture, was
blown about by the gale. At sight of the squire he touched his forelock.

"The hour is getting late, squire," he said hesitatingly, "we carriers
be ready.... 'Tis an hour or more down to Minster ... walking with a
heavy burden I mean.... If your Honor would give the order, mayhap we
might nail down the coffin lid now and make a start."

Marmaduke de Chavasse, too, had turned towards the doorway. Both men
looked out on the little crowd which had congregated beyond the little
gate. It was long past three o'clock now, and the heavy snow clouds
overhead obscured the scanty winter light, and precipitated the approach
of evening. In the gray twilight, a group of men could be seen standing
somewhat apart from the others. All were bareheaded, and all wore rough
shirts and breeches of coarse worsted, drab or brown in color, toning in
with the dull monochrome of the background.

Between them in the muddy road stood the long deal coffin. The sheet
which covered it, rendered heavy with persistent wet, flapped dismally
against the wooden sides of the box. Overhead a group of rooks were
circling whilst uttering their monotonous call.

A few women had joined their men-folk, attracted by the novelty of the
proceedings, yielding their momentary comfort to their feeling of
curiosity. They had drawn their kirtles over their heads and looked like
gigantic oval balls, gray or black, with small mud-stained feet peeping
out below.

Sue had thrown an appealing look at Squire Boatfield, when she saw that
dismal cortege. Her husband, her prince! the descendant of the Bourbons,
the regenerator of France lying there--unrecognizable, horrible and
loathsome--in a rough wooden coffin hastily nailed together by a village
carpenter.

She did not wish to look on him: and with mute eyes begged the squire to
spare her and to spare the old woman, who, through the doorway had
caught sight of the drabby little crowd, and of the deal box on the
ground.

Lambert, too, at sight of the cortege had gone to the Quakeress, the
kind soul who had cared for him and his brother, two nameless lads,
without home save the one she had provided for them. He trusted in
Squire Boatfield's sense of humanity not to force this septuagenarian to
an effort of nerve and will altogether beyond her powers.

Together the two young people were using gentle persuasion to get the
old woman to the back room, whence she could not see the