“Aye, but—there’s another over here!” cried the Corporal from the denser shadows. “Aye—another o’ them ... and it looks—it looks like ... bring the light!”
Coming where stood the Corporal, Mr. Potter bent down, lanthorn in hand, only to start to his feet again very suddenly.
“Lord!” he exclaimed in awestruck voice. “Why, lord, sirs, this ’un be Sturton, sure enough ... aye, an’ sure enough dead.... Rackon ’e won’t never want no more.... But who—who lays over yonder?”
They came back to the first still form and, while Sir John held the lanthorn, Potter and the Corporal turned it over and, recoiling, stood mute a while and motionless; for there, scowling up at them in death as he had so often done in life, was the dead face of my Lord Sayle.
CHAPTER XLVI
TELLS HOW SIR JOHN DERING FLED THE DOWN-COUNTRY
The ancient cross was casting its shadow far athwart the silent street, for it was very early and the sun but new-risen, therefore the birds were jubilant, raising a chorus of welcome to the new day; but Sir John, leaning out from his bedchamber window, gazed down at the battered old cross very wistfully and sighed deep and often. To him presently entered Corporal Robert, bearing a valise.
“You ordered the chaise for half after four, Bob?”
“I did, sir.”
“And you ha’ told no one of my proposed departure ... Sir Hector, for instance?”