Claverings and the uncoffined corpses lying on their biers by the edge
of the yawning graves; the mourners in their mail; the low voice of the
celebrating priest, a Frenchman, Father Nicholas, chaplain to Acour, who
hurried through the Latin service as though he wished to be done with
it; the deep shadows of the groined roof whereon the rain pattered--such
were the features of this interment. It was done at last, and the poor
dead, but a few days before so full of vigour and of passion, were left
to their last sleep in the unremembered grave. Then the mourners marched
back to the manor across the Middle Marsh and sought their beds in a sad
silence.

Shortly after daybreak they were called from them again by the news that
those who had followed Hugh de Cressi had returned. Quickly they rose,
thinking that these came back with tidings of accomplished vengeance, to
find themselves face to face with seven starved and miserable men who,
all their horses being dead, had walked hither from Dunwich.

The wretched story was learned at length, and then followed that violent
scene, which has been told already, when Acour cursed his followers as
cowards, and Clavering, sobered perhaps by the sadness of the midnight
burial or by the memory of Arnold's words, reproved him. Lastly, stung
by the taunts that were heaped upon them, Sir Pierre de la Roche gave
Hugh's message--that if they lifted hand against his love or his House
he would kill them like ravening wolves, "which I think he certainly
will do, for none can conquer him and his henchman," he added shortly.

Then Sir John's rage flared up again like fire when fresh fuel is thrown
on ashes. He cursed Hugh and Grey Dick; he cursed his daughter; he even
cursed Acour and asked for the second time how it came about that he who
had brought all this trouble on him was given the evil name of traitor.

"I know not," answered Sir Edmund fiercely, and laying his hand upon his
sword, "but this I know, that you or any man will do well not to repeat
it if you value life."

"Do you threaten me?" asked Sir John. "Because, if so, you will do well
to begone out of this house of shame and woe lest you be borne out feet
first. Nay, nay, I forgot," he added slowly, clasping his head in his
hands, "you are my daughter's affianced, are you not, and will give
her high place and many famous titles, and her son shall be called
Clavering, that the old name may not die but be great in England, in
Fra