Bitterworth and Sir Rufus Hautley. Other gentlemen were there, followers
or pall-bearers; the tenants followed; the servants came last. A long,
long line, slow and black; and spectators gathered on the side of the
road, underneath the hedges, and in the upper windows at Deerham, to see
it pass. The under windows were closed.
A brave heir, a brave master of Verner's Pride! was the universal
thought, as eyes were turned on Lionel, on his tall, noble form, his
pale face stilled to calmness, his dark hair. He chose to walk
bare-headed, his hat, with its sweeping streamers, borne in his hand.
When handed to him in the hall he had not put it on, but went out as he
was, carrying it. The rest, those behind him, did not follow his
example; they assumed their hats; but Lionel was probably unconscious of
it, probably he never gave it a thought.
At the churchyard entrance they were met by the Vicar of Deerham, the
Reverend James Bourne. All hats came off then, as his voice rose,
commencing the service. Nearly one of the last walked old Matthew Frost.
He had not gone to Verner's Pride, the walk so far was beyond him now,
but fell in at the churchyard gate.
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