"No, I daren't. Tell him to send. I must go home," she answered. A loud noise persisted in the bar, but he did not enter it. He took his hat and an old umbrella from the corner of the sick-room, then descended and went out into the night. CHAPTER XIII The doctor who attended Nathan Baskerville in his last illness heard from Eliza Gollop what had been done, and he took a serious view of it. From the standpoint of his opinions Humphrey Baskerville had struck a blow at society and the established order. The physician was sober-minded and earnest. He communicated with the coroner of the district, stated the case impartially and left the official to act as seemed proper to him. But the coroner was also a medical man, and he reduced the problem to its simplest possible dimensions. Death had been hastened by an uncertain measure of time for one who was enduring extreme agony. He judged the case on its own merits, after a rare judicial faculty peculiar to himself. He made no effort to consider its general bearing and tendency; he did not enlarge his survey to the principles involved. His sympathy was entirely on the side of Humphrey Baskerville; he applauded the old man in his heart and declared no inquest necessary. None was therefore held. Those interested in Nathan's end took opposite views, and as for Humphrey himself, he was hidden for a time from the people and did not appear again in public until his brother's funeral. He failed, therefore, to learn the public opinion. Jack Head and those who thought as he did, upheld the action; but not a few shared the faith of Thomas Gollop, openly expressed at the bar of 'The White Thorn' while still the dead master lay above. For two days Nathan kept a sort of humble state, and the folk from far and near enjoyed the spectacle of his corpse. Many tramped ten miles to see him. The humblest people appeared; the most unexpected persons acknowledged debts of unrecorded kindness. He lay in his coffin with a face placid and small behind the bush of his silver beard. Women wept at the sight and took a morbid joy in touching his folded hands. Then he was hidden for ever and carried with difficulty down the narrow and winding stair of the inn. Thomas Gollop dug the grave and Joe Voysey helped him. No younger men assisted them. They felt a sort of sentiment in the matter. "'Tis the last pit I shall open, Joe," said Mr. Gollop; "and for my part, if I had my way, I shouldn't make it very deep. In these cases the law, though slow, is sure, and it may come about that he'll have to be digged up again inside a month to prove murder against that dark, awful man to Hawk House."