He asked rather if Robert thought that the old man had consciously awakened from his trance of expectation, and they both, in spite of all that pressed, stooped with a lantern some one had lit to look again at the dead face.
Just as he might have looked when the heavens seemed to open above him, so he looked now.

They talked together, wondering who he really was, as men find words for what is easiest to say, although not relevant to the moment's necessity.
So absorbing is the interest of death to those who live in peaceful times that, now that there was a lamp, all there required to slake their curiosity by lingering gaze and comment before they would turn away.
Even the prisoner, when he saw the lantern flashed near the face of the dead, demanded to be allowed to look before they led him down the hill.
His poor wife, who had expected his violence to fall only on herself, kept by him, hysterically regretting that she had not been the victim.
Yet, although all this had taken place, it was only a short time before the energy of a few, acting upon the paralysed will of others, had cleared the ground.

The white-dressed women crossed the open to the descending path, huddling together as they walked, their eyes perforce upon the rough ground over which they must pick their steps.

There was many a rift now in the breaking clouds above them, but only a few turned an upward passionate glance.

Sophia moved away in their midst.