“Steady!” called Morel, out of breath.
He and his fellow mounted the steep garden step, heaved into the candlelight with their gleaming coffinend. Limbs of other men were seen struggling behind. Morel and Burns, in front, staggered; the great dark weight swayed.
“Steady, steady!” cried Morel, as if in pain.
All the six bearers were up in the small garden, holding the great coffin aloft. There were three more steps to the door. The yellow lamp of the carriage shone alone down the black road.
