Turn her head she would not, or could not, and, rigid in this position, she was conscious of a rough coffin passing her shoulder, borne by four men.

It was open, and in it lay the body of a young man, wearing the smockfrock of a rustic, and fustian breeches.

The corpse had been thrown into the coffin so hastily that the skirt of the smockfrock was hanging over.

The burden was temporarily deposited on the trestles.
By this time the young woman's state was such that a gray mist seemed to float before her eyes, on account of which, and the veil she wore, she could scarcely discern anything: it was as though she had nearly died, but was held up by a sort of galvanism.
'Now!' said a voice close at hand, and she was just conscious that the word had been addressed to her.
By a last strenuous effort she advanced, at the same time hearing persons approaching behind her.

She bared her poor curst arm; and Davies, uncovering the face of the corpse, took Gertrude's hand, and held it so that her arm lay across the dead man's neck, upon a line the colour of an unripe blackberry, which surrounded it.
Gertrude shrieked: 'the turn o' the blood,' predicted by the conjuror, had taken place.