But John was nervous; he had never seen a dead man in his life and felt that natural repulsion to approaching death which is common to all living creatures.

There was no help for it, however, and he took Walter Goddard's limp hand in his and tried to find his pulse; he could not distinguish any beating.

The hand fell nerveless to the ground.
"I think he is dead," said John very softly, and he rose to his feet and drew back a little way from the body.
"Then just wait five minutes for me, if you do not mind," said Mr.Juxon, and he turned away dragging the reluctant and still struggling Stamboul by his side.
John shuddered when he was left alone.

It was indeed a dismal scene enough.

At his feet lay Walter Goddard's body, faintly illuminated by the struggling moonbeams; all around and overhead the east wind was howling and whistling and sighing in the dry oak branches, whirling hither and thither the few brown leaves that had clung to their hold throughout the long winter; the sound of the squire's rapidly retreating footsteps grew more faint in the distance; John felt that he was alone and was very uncomfortable.