This accomplished, the same man turned to old Adam again, saying, abruptly: 

“Now finish your work as speedily as possible, I repeat the caution—­mind—­not a trace must be visible when you have accomplished your task, to mark the spot.”

No word from the old grave digger answered him.  He could not have uttered a single syllable if his very life had depended upon it.

While the other had been speaking, a gust of wind had for a single instant tossed aside the heavy cloth that covered the face, and old Adam saw beyond all doubt that it was indeed the lovely young creature who had within that hour been made a bride, and with that terrible discovery came another—­there was, as sure as fate, a flush upon the beautiful face of her whom they were consigning to the tomb.

“Hold!” he cried out with all his strength, drawing back from his work, shaking with terror.  “The—­the—­girl is not dead; there is color—­”

A fierce oath from the lips of both men simultaneously cut his words short.

“The girl is dead,” exclaimed the man who had so far done the talking.  “That is blood you see on her face.  She had a hemorrhage.  Go on with your work, you fool—­or, here! give me the spade.  I will make a short shift of it.”

But as the stranger uttered these words, stepping quickly forward to put the thought into execution, a sudden thought, like an inspiration, occurred to the ancient grave digger.

“No—­no—­I will finish my work,” he muttered.  “I—­I—­can do it best, as I—­I—­understand it—­and—­and—­you, would not.”

“Make all haste, then; it is growing bitter cold.  We shall all freeze to death.”

“Could you not get into the coach, sir, to keep warm?” suggested old Adam; “you can be of no aid to me, you know.  When I have finished—­you—­you can step out and see if it is done to your satisfaction.”

For a moment the stranger hesitated, then said, sharply: 

“I think I will take your advice, my man; my feet are about as numb as they could well be, I assure you; and as you say, my standing here will not help you.  I can watch from the carriage window, and when the work is done step out and look at it.”

With that he hurried quickly to the vehicle, and with a thankfulness in his heart that words are weak to describe, and with a mental “God be praised,” the old grave digger bent to his task with renewed energy.

Both men watched narrowly and anxiously, as spadeful after spadeful of dirt quickly disappeared from the white ground.  Then the white heaping snow was leveled over the dark narrow space, and the grave digger announced that his work was completed.

“I do not know as it is worth while to examine it; the old fellow knows his business,” remarked Halloran to his companion, who was by this time fairly well under the weather from large draughts of brandy he had drunk from a bottle he had seized from the bar.  “Step up on the box beside the driver”—­thrusting a bank note into the old grave digger’s nervous, trembling hand—­“we will take you along the road as far as we go.”