The crowd had utterly dispersed, but the body of the dead man had been stretched upon a form which several of the company were bearing to the door.
“Lend us a hand, Clifdon,” said the voice that had before summoned him, “you are the strongest of us.”
“Not I,” said Clifdon, turning away to conceal the spasm that distorted his features. “I saw the whole—I am shaken with horror.”
There was something in his voice that silenced them, for, without further remonstrance, they passed on, leaving him standing alone with the clown.
“It is horrible!” said Clifdon, in a low tone, and with a shudder.
“Horrible!” echoed the jester. Then, after a pause, raising his eyes with a steady gaze, he continued. “The rope broke, it seems. This strong rope—incredible!”
The other replied not.
“You are freed from your debt, Captain Ned,” resumed the clown, playing carelessly, as he spoke, with the broken rope. “You are safe now.”
“Name it not,” said Clifdon hoarsely, and turning away.
An exclamation from his companion called him back.