Their first duty was to hasten
the burial, so as to prevent the spread of contagion, and they went
at once their different ways to make the preparations. No form of
conventional respect could be used, but it was the three who so
deeply loved him who laid him in the rough-made coffin, hastily put
together the same evening, with the cross that had served him in his
conflict on his breast, and three camellia buds from Viola's tree.
Dermot had thought of her and ridden over to fetch them. There had
been no disfigurement. If there had been he might have lived, but
still it was a comfort to know that the dear face was last seen in
more than its own calm majesty, as of one who lay asleep after a
mighty conquest. Over the coffin they placed the lion's skin. It
had been left in the room during his illness, and must have been
condemned, and it made his fit pall when they took it to be buried
with him. It was before daybreak that, with good old Richardson's
help, they carried him down to a large cart belonging to the
potteries, drawn by the two big horses he used to pet, and driven by
George Yolland himself. They took him to our own family burial-place
in Arghouse churchyard, where the grave had been dug at night. They
meant no one to be there, but behold! there was a multitude of heads
gathered round, two or three hundred at least, and when the faithful
four seemed to need aid in carrying that great weight the few steps
from the gate, there was a rush forward, in spite of the peril, and
disappointment when no help was accepted.
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