"Thank God!" he cried, and the tears burst forth. We waited in silence until the storm of grief was past. At last he wrapped the coat about the child again, and came to us where we stood beside the grave.
"Friends," he said, "does either of you know the burial service? These were virtuous and Christian women, and would wish a Christian burial."
Spiltdorph sadly shook his head, and the man turned to me. Could I do it?
I trembled at the thought. Yet how could I refuse?
"I know the service," I said, and took my place at the head of the grave.
The mists of evening were stealing up from the forest about us, and there was no sound save the plashing of the brook over the stones at our feet. Then it all faded from before me and I was standing again in a willow grove with an open grave afar off.
"'I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord,'" It was not my voice, but another ringing up to heaven from beside me. And the voice kept on and on until the last amen.
We filled in the shallow grave and covered it with logs and rocks. Night was at hand before we finished.
"You must come with us," said Spiltdorph to the stranger. "The doctor at the fort will do what he can for the child. If you still think of vengeance, you can march with us against the Indians and the French who set them on."
He made a gesture of assent, and we set off through the forest.
"Stewart," asked Spiltdorph, in a low voice, after we had walked some time in silence, "how does it happen you knew the burial service?"