'A knife, Daisy!' 'You didn't,' said John, looking about, as though he had lost his pocket-handkerchief, or some such slight article--'either of you gentlemen--see a--a coffin anywheres, did you ?' 'Willet!' cried Mr Haredale.

Solomon dropped the knife, and instantly becoming limp from head to foot, exclaimed 'Good gracious!' '-- Because,' said John, not at all regarding them, 'a dead man called a little time ago, on his way yonder.

I could have told you what name was on the plate, if he had brought his coffin with him, and left it behind.
If he didn't, it don't signify.' His landlord, who had listened to these words with breathless attention, started that moment to his feet; and, without a word, drew Solomon Daisy to the door, mounted his horse, took him up behind again, and flew rather than galloped towards the pile of ruins, which that day's sun had shone upon, a stately house.

Mr Willet stared after them, listened, looked down upon himself to make quite sure that he was still unbound, and, without any manifestation of impatience, disappointment, or surprise, gently relapsed into the condition from which he had so imperfectly recovered.
Mr Haredale tied his horse to the trunk of a tree, and grasping his companion's arm, stole softly along the footpath, and into what had been the garden of his house.

He stopped for an instant to look upon its smoking walls, and at the stars that shone through roof and floor upon the heap of crumbling ashes.