Though he could not understand why such sorrow had befallen him any more than before, he had come back to something of his childlike trust; he kept saying to himself in a whisper, as he mounted the weary steps, 'It is the Lord's doing'; and the repetition soothed him unspeakably.

Behind this old couple followed their children, grown men and women, come from distant place or farmhouse service; the servants at the vicarage, and many a neighbour, anxious to show their sympathy, and most of the sailors from the crews of the vessels in port, joined in procession, and followed the dead body into the church.
There was too great a crowd immediately within the door for Sylvia and Molly to go in again, and they accordingly betook themselves to the place where the deep grave was waiting, wide and hungry, to receive its dead.

There, leaning against the headstones all around, were many standing--looking over the broad and placid sea, and turned to the soft salt air which blew on their hot eyes and rigid faces; for no one spoke of all that number.

They were thinking of the violent death of him over whom the solemn words were now being said in the gray old church, scarcely out of their hearing, had not the sound been broken by the measured lapping of the tide far beneath.
Suddenly every one looked round towards the path from the churchyard steps.

Two sailors were supporting a ghastly figure that, with feeble motions, was drawing near the open grave.
'It's t' specksioneer as tried to save him! It's him as was left for dead!' the people murmured round.
'It's Charley Kinraid, as I'm a sinner!' said Molly, starting forward to greet her cousin.
But as he came on, she saw that all his strength was needed for the mere action of walking.