A sergeant and constable were present,
but apparently for no reason whatever. Allen talked nonsense, grooms
and servants talked nonsense, everybody paid compliments to the
deceased--and really that was all. At last Mr. Hollis, the coroner,
said the very words that Dale would have liked to put into his
mouth--something to the effect that they had done their melancholy
duty and that it would be useless to ask any more questions.
But Dale, sitting firmly and staring gloomily, felt an internal
paroxysm of terror. Near the lofty doors of the fine state room common
folk stood whispering and nudging one another--cottagers, carters,
woodcutters; and Dale thought "Now I'm in for it. One of those chaps
is going to come forward and tell the coroner that his little girl saw
a strange man in the wood." He imagined it all so strongly that it
almost seemed to happen. "Beg pardon, your honor, I don't rightly know
as, it's wuth mentionin', but my lil' young 'un see'd a scarecrow sort
of a feller not far from they rocks, the mornin' afore."
It did not, however, happen. Nothing happened.
And nothing happened when he came to the Abbey again to attend the
real burial service--except that he found how wrong he had been in
supposing that the fear had reached its highest point.
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