‘Why—and then I came back the same road I went down.’ ‘You did not go into the bushes in search?’ ‘How should I?’ answered Joseph, ‘I’d my best uniform on. I’d come out courting, not thief-catching.’ ‘And you know nothing further?’ ‘How should I? Didn’t I say I went back up the road same way as I’d come down? I warn’t bound to get my new cloth coat and trousers tore all abroad by brimbles, not for nobody. I know my duty better than that. The county pays for ‘em.’ Directed by this poor indication, Jasper led the men back into the wood and down the woodman’s truck road, that led by a long sweep to the bottom of the cliffs. The search was for a long time ineffectual; but at length, at the foot of a rock, they came on the object of their quest—the body of Martin—among fragments of fallen crag, and over it, clinging to his brother with one arm, the hand passed through the ring of a battered lantern, was Walter. The light was extinguished in the lantern and the light was beaten out of the brothers. Jasper looked into the poor boy’s face—a scornful smile still lingered on the lips. Apparently he had discovered his brother’s body and then had tried to drag it away down the steep slope towards the old mine, in the hopes of hiding there and finding that Martin was stunned, not dead; but in the darkness he had stumbled over another precipice or slidden down a run of shale and been shot with his burden over a rock. Again the sad procession was formed. The two gates that had been already used were put in requisition a second time, and the bodies of Martin and Watt were carried to Morwell and laid in the hall, side by side, and he who carried a light placed it at their head. Mr. Coyshe had arrived. For three of those brought in no medical aid was of avail. Barbara, always practical and self-possessed, had ordered the cook to prepare supper for the men. Then the two dead brothers were left where they had been laid, with the dull lantern burning at their head, and the hungry searchers went to the kitchen to refresh. Joseph ensconced himself by the fire, and Jane drew close to him. ‘I reckon,’ said the policeman, ‘I’ll have some hot grog.’ Then he slid his arm round Jane’s waist and said, ‘In the midst of death we are in life. Is that really, now, giblet pie? The cold joint I don’t fancy’—he gave Jane a smack on the cheek. ‘Jane, I’ll have a good help of the giblet pie, please, and the workmen can finish the cold veal. I like my grog hot and strong and with three lumps of double-refined sugar. You’ll take a sip first, Jane, and I’ll drink where your honeyed lips have a-sipped. When you come to consider it in a proper spirit’—he drew Jane closer to his side—’there’s a deal of truth in Scriptur’. In the midst of death we _are_ in life. Why, Jane, we shall enjoy ourselves this evening as much as if we were at a love-feast. I’ve a sweet tooth, Jane—a very sweet tooth.’ CHAPTER LV. WHAT EVERY FOOL KNOWS.