Alec saw that his brother was limping, that he seemed in actual pain; he
was anxious to know how this was, yet he did not say so. He asked rather
if Robert thought that the old man had consciously awakened from his
trance of expectation, and they both, in spite of all that pressed,
stooped with a lantern some one had lit to look again at the dead face.
Just as he might have looked when the heavens seemed to open above him,
so he looked now. They talked together, wondering who he really was, as
men find words for what is easiest to say, although not relevant to the
moment's necessity.

So absorbing is the interest of death to those who live in peaceful
times that, now that there was a lamp, all there required to slake their
curiosity by lingering gaze and comment before they would turn away.
Even the prisoner, when he saw the lantern flashed near the face of the
dead, demanded to be allowed to look before they led him down the hill.
His poor wife, who had expected his violence to fall only on herself,
kept by him, hysterically regretting that she had not been the victim.

Yet, although all this had taken place, it was only a short time before
the energy of a few, acting upon the paralysed will of others, had
cleared the ground. The white-dressed women crossed the open to the
descending path, huddling together as they walked, their eyes perforce
upon the rough ground over which they must pick their steps. There was
many a rift now in the breaking clouds above them, but only a few turned
an upward passionate glance. Sophia moved away in their midst. Seeing
her thus surrounded, Alec did not feel that he need approach.

"I don't know who she is," he said, pointing her out to Robert. "I
happened, in a queer way, to come up here with her." He paused a moment.