Gathering, gathering along the narrow street, came a hollow,
measured sound; now forcing itself on their attention. Many
voices were hushed and low: many steps were heard not moving
onwards, at least not with any rapidity or steadiness of motion,
but as if circling round one spot. Yes, there was one distinct,
slow tramp of feet, which made itself a clear path through the
air, and reached their ears; the measured laboured walk of men
carrying a heavy burden. They were all drawn towards the
house-door by some irresistible impulse; impelled thither--not by
a poor curiosity, but as if by some solemn blast.
Six men walked in the middle of the road, three of them being
policemen. They carried a door, taken off its hinges, upon their
shoulders, on which lay some dead human creature; and from each
side of the door there were constant droppings. All the street
turned out to see, and, seeing, to accompany the procession, each
one questioning the bearers, who answered almost reluctantly at
last, so often had they told the tale.
'We found him i' th' brook in the field beyond there.' 'Th' brook!--why there's not water enough to drown him!' 'He was a determined chap. He lay with his face downwards. He was
sick enough o' living, choose what cause he had for it.' Higgins crept up to Margaret's side, and said in a weak piping
kind of voice: 'It's not John Boucher? He had na spunk enough.
Sure! It's not John Boucher! Why, they are a' looking this way!
Listen! I've a singing in my head, and I cannot hear.' They put the door down carefully upon the stones, and all might
see the poor drowned wretch--his glassy eyes, one half-open,
staring right upwards to the sky. Owing to the position in which
he had been found lying, his face was swollen and discoloured
besides, his skin was stained by the water in the brook, which
had been used for dyeing purposes. The fore part of his head was
bald; but the hair grew thin and long behind, and every separate
lock was a conduit for water. Through all these disfigurements,
Margaret recognised John Boucher. It seemed to her so
sacrilegious to be peering into that poor distorted, agonised
face, that, by a flash of instinct, she went forwards and softly
covered the dead man's countenance with her handkerchief. The
eyes that saw her do this followed her, as she turned away from
her pious office, and were thus led to the place where Nicholas
Higgins stood, like one rooted to the spot. The men spoke
together, and then one of them came up to Higgins, who would have
fain shrunk back into his house.