It was then for the first time in its fulness that--undisturbed in that solemn hour by coarser fears--he realized the depth of his grief for the loss of Ewan. That saintly soul came back to his memory in its beauty and tenderness alone, and its heat and uncontrollable unreason were forgotten. When he touched on the mystery of Ewan's death his large wan face quivered slightly and he paused; but when he spoke of the hope of an everlasting reunion, and how all that was dark would be made plain and the Judge of all the earth would do right, his voice grew bold as with a surety of a brave resignation. The Deemster listened to the short night-service with alternate restlessness--tramping to and fro by the side of the grave--and cold self-possession, and with a constant hardness and bitterness of mind, breaking out sometimes into a light trill of laughter, or again into a hoarse gurgle, as if in scorn of the Bishop's misplaced confidence. But the crowds that were gathered around held their breath in awe of the mystery, and when they sang it was with such an expression of emotion and fear that no man knew the sound of his own voice. More than once the Deemster stopped in his uneasy perambulations, and cried "What's that?" as if arrested by sounds that did not break on the ears of others. But nothing occurred to disturb the ceremony until it had reached the point of its close, and while the Bishop was pronouncing a benediction the company was suddenly thrown into a great tumult. It was then that the coroner arrived, panting, after a long run. He pushed his way through the crowd, and burst in at the graveside between the Bishop and the Deemster. "They've come ashore," he said, eagerly; "the boat's in harbor and the men are here." Twenty voices at once cried "Who?" but the Deemster asked no explanation. "Take them," he said, "arrest them;" and his voice was a bitter laugh, and his face in the light of the torches was full of malice and uncharity. Jarvis Kerruish stepped out. "Where are they?" he asked. "They've run across the Head in the line of the Cross Vein," the coroner answered; "but six of us will follow them." And without more ado he twisted about and impressed the five men nearest to him into service as constables. "How many of them are there?" said Jarvis Kerruish. "Five, sir," said the coroner, "Quilleash, Teare, Corkell, Crennell, and the lad Davy." "Then is he not with them?" cried the Deemster, in a tone that went to the Bishop's heart like iron. The coroner glanced uneasily at the Bishop, and said, "He was with them, and he is still somewhere about." "Then away with you; arrest them, quick," the Deemster cried in another tone. "But what of the warrant, sir?" said the coroner. "Simpleton, are you waiting for that?" the Deemster shouted, with a contemptuous sweep of the hand. "Where have you been, that you don't know that your own warrant is enough? Arrest the scoundrels, and you shall have warrant enough when you come back."