Nothing so terrible had happened within their experience.
They had the old Cumbrian horror of an accident to the dead.

No prospect was dearer to their hope than that of a happy death, and no reflection was more comforting than that one day they would have a suitable burial.

Neither of these had Angus had.

A violent end, and no grave at all; nothing but this wild ride across the fells that might last for days or months.

There was surely something of Fate in it.
The dalesmen gathered about the fire at the Red Lion with the silence that comes of awe.
"A sad hap, this," said Reuben Thwaite, lifting both hands.
"I reckon we must all turn out at the edge of the dawn to-morrow, and see what we can do to find old Betsy," said Mr.Jackson.
Matthew Branthwaite's sagest saws had failed him.