Then he turned away to help in carrying the dead man to his home.
The silent procession, with its awful burden, went back through the streets, lighted yet by the pulsing glare of the fire.

John walked beside the still figure with his head bent upon his breast.

That first impulse of human exultation in a brave deed was gone; there was a horror of pity instead.

Just before they reached Tom's home, he stopped, by a gesture, the men who bore the body.
"Oh, my people," he said, his hands stretched out to them, the snow falling softly on his bared head, "God speaks to you from the lips of this dead man.

Listen to his words: the day or the hour knoweth no man; and are you ready to face the judgment-seat of Christ?
Oh, be not deceived, be not deceived! Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." It was long past midnight when the knot of men about Tom Davis's door dispersed; the excitement of the fire faded before that frank interest in death, which such people have no hesitation in expressing.