For the moment, Iris was angry.

"Why didn't you tell me of it," she asked sharply, "before I sent away the carriage?
How can I walk back, with everybody laughing at me ?" She paused--reflected a little--and led the way off the high road, on the right, to the fine clump of fir-trees which commands the famous view in that part of the Heath.
"There's but one thing to be done," she said, recovering her good temper; "we must make my grand bonnet suit itself to my miserable cloak.

You will pull out the feather and rip off the lace (and keep them for yourself, if you like), and then I ought to look shabby enough from head to foot, I am sure! No; not here; they may notice us from the road--and what may the fools not do when they see you tearing the ornaments off my bonnet! Come down below the trees, where the ground will hide us." They had nearly descended the steep slope which leads to the valley, below the clump of firs, when they were stopped by a terrible discovery.
Close at their feet, in a hollow of the ground, was stretched the insensible body of a man.

He lay on his side, with his face turned away from them.

An open razor had dropped close by him.