As he spoke somebody approached, and Nathan Baskerville, clad in black, stood beside them.
"I want you, Gollop," he said. "Who are you digging for here? 'Tis long since Chrisomers' Hill was opened."
"For Mark Baskerville," answered the sexton stoutly. "'Tis here he's earned his place, and here he'll lie if I'm anybody."
Nathan regarded Thomas with dislike.
"So old and so crooked-hearted still!" he said. "I'm glad you've had your trouble for your pains, for you deserve it. Poor Mark is to be buried with his mother. You'd better see about it, and pretty quick too. The funeral's the day after to-morrow."
"I'll discourse with the reverend Masterman," answered Thomas; "and I'll also hear what the coroner have got to say."
"You're a nasty old man sometimes, Gollop, and never nastier than to-day. As to Mr. Masterman, you ought to know what stuff he's made of by this time; and as for the inquest, 'tis ended. The verdict could only be one thing, and we decided right away."
"What about Jack Head?"
"Jack's not a cross-grained old fool, whatever else he may be," answered the innkeeper. "I convinced him in exactly two minutes that my nephew couldn't have been responsible for what he did. And everybody but a sour and bitter man, like you, must have known it. Poor Mark is thrown over by a girl—not to blame her, either, for she had to be true to herself. But still he won't believe that she's not for him, though she's put it plain as you please in writing; and he goes on hoping and dreaming and building castles in the air. Always dreamy and queer at all times he was—remember that. Then comes the crashing news for him that all is over and the maiden has taken another man. Wasn't it enough to upset such a frail, fanciful creature? Enough, and more than enough. He hides his trouble and his brain fails and his heart breaks—all unseen by any eye. And then what happens? He rings his own passing-bell! Was that the work of a sane man? Poor chap—poor chap! And you'd deny him Christian burial and cast him here, like a dog, with the poor unnamed children down under. I blush for you. See to his mother's grave and try and be larger-hearted. 'Tis only charity to suppose the bitter cold weather be curdling your blood. Now I'm off to my brother Humphrey, to tell him what there is to tell."
Then Mr. Nathan buttoned up his coat and turned to the grinning labourer.