'I'm _all_ smashed. Don't move me;' and, in a minute more--'Don't mind that d--d brute; she's killed. Let her lie.' It appeared very odd, but so it was, he appeared eager upon this point, and, faint as he was, almost savage. 'Tell them to let her lie there.' Wealdon and I, however, scrambled down the bank. He was right. The mare lay stone dead, on her side, at the bottom. He lifted her head, by the ear, and let it fall back. In the meantime the dogs continued their unaccountable yelling close by. 'What the devil's that?' said Wealdon. Something like a stunted, blackened branch was sticking out of the peat, ending in a set of short, thickish twigs. This is what it seemed. The dogs were barking at it. It was, really, a human hand and arm, disclosed by the slipping of the bank; undermined by the brook, which was swollen by the recent rains. The dogs were sniffing and yelping about it. 'It's a hand!' cried Wealdon, with an oath. 'A hand?' I echoed. We were both peering at it, having drawn near, stooping and hesitating as men do in a curious horror. It was, indeed, a human hand and arm, disclosed from about the elbow, enveloped in a discoloured coat-sleeve, which fell back from the limb, and the fingers, like it black, were extended in the air. Nothing more of the body to which it belonged, except the point of a knee, in stained and muddy trousers, protruding from the peat, was visible. It must have lain there a considerable time, for, notwithstanding the antiseptic properties of that sort of soil, mixed with the decayed bark and fibre of trees, a portion of the flesh of the hand was decomposed, and the naked bone disclosed. On the little finger something glimmered dully. In this livid hand, rising from the earth, there was a character both of menace and appeal; and on the finger, as I afterwards saw at the inquest, glimmered the talismanic legend 'Resurgam--I will rise again!' It was the corpse of Mark Wylder, which had lain buried here undiscovered for many months. A horrible odour loaded the air. Perhaps it was this smell of carrion, from which horses sometimes recoil with a special terror, that caused the swerving and rearing which had ended so fatally. At that moment we heard a voice calling, and raising our eyes, saw Uncle Lorne looking down from the rock with an agitated scowl. 'I've done with him now--_emeritus_--he touches me, no more. Take him by the hand, merciful lads, or they'll draw him down again.' And with these words Uncle Lorne receded, and I saw him no more. As yet we had no suspicion whose was the body thus unexpectedly discovered.