“An’ my brother is lyin’ in his death bed on account of him,” shouted a third.
“Come on, let’s go,” said the burly ruffian. “Some o’ you boys grab hold o’ them handles, an’ we’ll change shifts goin’ out.”
“Yah. Ve vill proceed,” said Glitch. “Vorwarts!”
“If you will permit me, I will go and reassure my daughter before accompanying you,” said the professor. “She is very nervous and may be prostrated with fear if I do not calm her.”
“Go ahead and be quick about it,” said the ruffian. “Don’t try no funny stunts, though, or we’ll use the stake on you, too.”
The professor hurried upstairs and, on his return a moment later, the funeral cortege proceeded.
It was pitch dark outside, and therefore necessary for some of the men to carry lanterns. One of these led the way. Immediately after him walked six men bearing the casket, behind which the professor and I walked with an armed guard on either side of us.
Following, were the remainder of the men, some twenty-five all told. There was no talking, except at intervals when the pall-bearers were relieved by others. This occurred a number of times, as the burden was heavy and the way none too smooth.
I walked as one in a trance. It seemed that my feet moved automatically, as if directed by a power outside myself. Sometimes I thought it all a horrible nightmare from which I should presently awaken. Then the realization of the terrible truth would come to me, engendering a grief that seemed unbearable.
I mentally reviewed the many kindnesses of my uncle. I thought of his generous self-sacrifice, that I might be educated to cope with the world; and now that the time had come when I should be of service to him—when his very life was to be taken—I was failing him, failing miserably.