No one saw or molested him as he made his hasty preparation to carry the body away. He slowly and painfully made his way to the straggling village north of where he stood. He stepped more softly as he neared the village, for he had no mind to awaken the inmates of the huts around him. He had wrapped the body up in a quilt, and now he laid it carefully down just outside the window of the dwelling, whence shone the light that proved to him that his friends were awaiting him. He stood a moment, to collect his strength a little before he met anyone; then he knocked softly. Aunt Clara came to the door, and asked as soon as she saw him, "Have you found her?" John bowed his head; he could not speak. "Is she dead or disgraced?" Aunt Clara never knew why she asked such a question, but it broke the calm of the man before her, and he leaned upon his arm against the doorpost, unable to control his voice. His body was quivering with a man's rare and awful sobs; they shook him as a heavy wind shakes the mighty canyon pines. Aunt Clara stood gazing at him with glazed eyes of anguish. She could not speak, as Diantha followed her and asked: "What is it, John; what have you found? Can't you speak? Where is Ellen? Why don't you tell us? Why don't you bring her here?" "Dead or disgraced?" quivered Aunt Clara's lips, as she looked imploringly up into John's averted eyes. John straightened himself, and answered with a shiver: "Both!" And poor Aunt Clara fainted at his feet. XXXVIII. SEGO-LILIES The death of Ellen Tyler cast a heavy gloom over the whole community. The terrible circumstances surrounding it gave an added cause of enmity between the people and the army. The funeral, which was held in the ward school house, was attended by nearly every one in the city. The people assembled in the quiet and undemonstrative fashion usual on such occasions; and long before ten o'clock, the time set for the services, the house was filled to overflowing. The windows were raised, and temporary benches arranged outside, so that as many as possible could hear the sermon. The simple cortege made its way down the street. As the mourners entered the hall, no one wondered to see John Stevens assist the foster-mother of the girl as she leaned heavily on his arm. Aunt Clara's face was very pale, for her heart was well-nigh broken; and yet her eyes were lifted and clear while all who glanced at her saint-like, controled face, felt calmed and quieted. Diantha was among the chief mourners, but she was not as tearless and as calm as Aunt Clara; her convulsed face betrayed her mute agony. The whole awful story had swept from mouth to mouth, and some of the men who sat watching the sad procession file in felt the hot blood of revenge pour from heart to temple, and there were few present who would not gladly have taken up the ghastly burden of swift revenge in behalf of the dead girl.