“Ye need ha’ no fear ’bout that,” rejoins the other, who has now unshipped the oars, and stowed them fore and aft along the thwarts, they not being the things asked for. Then, stooping down, he lifts something out of the boat’s bottom, and passes it over the side, repeating the movement three or four times. The things thus transferred from one to the other are handled by both as delicately, as though they were pheasant’s or plover’s eggs, instead of what they are—an ordinary set of grave-digger’s tools—spade, shovel, and mattock. There is, besides, a bundle of something soft, which, as there is no danger of its making noise, is tossed up to the top of the bank.
He who has flung follows it; and the two gathering up the hardware, after some words exchanged in muttered tone, mount over the cemetery wall. The younger first leaps it, stretching back, and giving a hand to the other—an old man, who finds some difficulty in the ascent.
Inside the sacred precincts they pause; partly to apportion the tools, but as much to make sure that they have not hitherto been heard. Seen, they could not be, before or now.
Becoming satisfied that the coast is clear, the younger man says in a whisper—
“It be all right, I think. Every livin’ sinner—an’ there be a good wheen o’ that stripe ’bout here—have gone to bed. As for him, blackest o’ the lot, who lives in the house adjoinin’, ain’t like he’s at home. Good as sure down at Llangorren Court, where just now he finds quarters more comfortable. We hain’t nothin’ to fear, I take it. Let’s on to the place. You lay hold o’ my skirt, and I’ll gie ye the lead. I know the way, every inch o’ it.”
Saying which he moves off, the other doing as directed, and following step for step.
A few paces further, and they arrive at a grave; beside which they again make stop. In daylight it would show recently made, though not altogether new. A month, or so, since the turf had been smoothed over it.
The men are now about to disturb it, as evinced by their movements and the implements brought along. But, before going further in their design—body-snatching, or whatever it be—both drop down upon their knees, and again listen intently, as though still in some fear of being interrupted.
Not a sound is heard save the wind, as it sweeps in mournful cadence through the trees along the hill slopes, and nearer below, the rippling of the river.
At length, convinced they have the cemetery to themselves, they proceed to their work, which begins by their spreading out a sheet on the grass close to and alongside the grave—a trick of body-stealers—so as to leave no traces of their theft. That done, they take up the sods with their hands, carefully, one after another; and, with like care, lay them down upon the sheet, the grass sides underneath. Then, seizing hold of the tools—spade and shovel—they proceed to scoop out the earth, placing it in a heap beside.