But there was no need for her to stand back: she had seen what he would have hidden from her. In the darkness and loneliness, unobserved, Mr. Jordan had torn away his bandages, and his blood had deluged the turf. It had ceased to flow now—for he was dead. CHAPTER LIV. ANOTHER LOAD. THE sad procession moved to Morwell out of the wood, preceded by the man Westlake, mounted on Jasper’s horse, riding hard for the doctor. Then came a stable-boy with the lantern, and after the light two gates—first, that on which was laid the dead body of Mr. Jordan; then another, followed closely by Barbara, on which lay Eve breathing, but now not even moaning. As the procession was half through the first field the bell of the house tolled. Westlake had communicated the news to the servant-maids, and one of them at once went to the bell. Lagging behind all came Joseph Woodman, the policeman. The King of France in the ballad marched up a hill, and then marched down again, having accomplished nothing. Joseph had reversed the process: he had leisurely marched down the hill, and then more leisurely marched up it again; but the result was the same as that attained by the King of France. On reaching Morwell Jasper said in a low voice to the men, ‘You must return with me: there is another to be sought for. Who saw the boy with the lantern last? He may have found him by this time.’ Then Joseph said slowly, ‘As I was down by the boathouse I saw something.’ ‘What did you see?’ ‘I saw up on the hill-side a lantern travelling this way, then that way, so’—he made a zigzag indication in the air with his finger. ‘It went very slow. It went, so to speak, like a drop o’ rain on a window-pane, that goes this way, then it goes a little more that way, then it goes quite contrary, to the other side. Then it changes its direction once again and it goes a little faster.’ ‘I wish you would go faster,’ said Jasper impatiently. ‘What did you see at last?’ ‘I’m getting into it, but I must go my own pace,’ said Joseph with unruffled composure. ‘You understand me, brothers—I’m not speaking of a drop o’ rain on a window-glass, but of a lantern-light on the hill-side—and bless you, that hill-side was like a black wall rising up on my right hand into the very sky. Well then, the light it travelled like a drop o’ rain on a glass—first to this side, then to that. You’ve seen drops o’ rain how they travel’—he appealed to all who listened. ‘And I reckon you know how that all to once like the drop, after having travelled first this road, then that road, in a queer contrary fashion, and very slow, all to once like, as I said, down it runs like a winking of the eye and is gone. So exactly was it with thicky (that) there light. It rambled about on the face of the blackness: first it crawled this way, then it crept that; always, brothers, going a little lower and then—to once—whish!—I saw it shoot like a falling star—I mean a raindrop—and I saw it no more.’ ‘And then?’