At this moment, a loud shout as from a multitude of persons came upon
their ears and Flora started from her seat in alarm. The cause of the
alarm we shall proceed to detail. CHAPTER LXX. THE FUNERAL OF THE STRANGER OF THE INN.--THE POPULAR COMMOTION, AND MRS.
CHILLINGWORTH'S APPEAL TO THE MOB.--THE NEW RIOT.--THE HALL IN DANGER. [Illustration]

As yet the town was quiet; and, though there was no appearance of riot
or disturbance, yet the magistracy had taken every precaution they
deemed needful, or their position and necessities warranted, to secure
the peace of the town from the like disturbance to that which had been,
of late, a disgrace and terror of peaceably-disposed persons. The populace were well advertised of the fact, that the body of the
stranger was to be buried that morning in their churchyard; and that, to
protect the body, should there be any necessity for so doing, a large
body of constables would be employed. There was no disposition to riot; at least, none was visible. It looked
as if there was some event about to take place that was highly
interesting to all parties, who were peaceably assembling to witness the
interment of nobody knew who. The early hour at which persons were assembling, at different points,
clearly indicated that there was a spirit of curiosity about the town,
so uncommon that none would have noticed it but for the fact of the
crowd of people who hung about the streets, and there remained, listless
and impatient. The inn, too, was crowded with visitors, and there were many who, not
being blessed with the strength of purse that some were, were hanging
about in the distance, waiting and watching the motions of those who
were better provided. "Ah!" said one of the visitors, "this is a disagreeable job in your
house, landlord." --"Yes, sir; I'd sooner it had happened elsewhere, I
assure you. I know it has done me no good." "No; no man could expect any, and yet it is none the less unfortunate
for that." --"I would sooner anything else happen than that, whatever it
might be. I think it must be something very bad, at all events; but I
dare say I shall never see the like again." "So much the better for the town," said another; "for, what with
vampyres and riots, there has been but little else stirring than
mischief and disturbances of one kind and another." "Yes; and, what between Varneys and Bannerworths, we have had but little
peace here." "Precisely. Do you know it's my opinion that the least thing would upset
the whole town. Any one unlucky word would do it, I am sure," said a
tall thin man. "I have no doubt of it," said another; "but I hope the military would do
their duty under such circumstances, for people's lives and property are
not safe in such a state of things." --"Oh, dear no." "I wonder what has become of Varney, or where he can have gone
to." --"Some thought he must have been burned when they burned his
house," replied the landlord. "But I believe it generally understood he's escaped, has he not? No
traces of his body were found in the ruins."--"None. Oh! he's escaped,
there can be no doubt of that. I wish I had some fortune depending upon
the fact; it would be mine, I am sure." "Well, the lord keep us from vampyres and suchlike cattle," said an old
woman. "I shall never sleep again in my bed with any safety. It
frightens one out of one's life to think of it. What a shame the men
didn't catch him and stake him!" The old woman left the inn as soon as she had spoke this Christian
speech. "Humane!" said a gentleman, with a sporting coat on. "The old woman is
no advocate for half measures!" "You are right, sir," said the landlord; "and a very good look-out she
keeps upon the pot, to see it's full, and carefully blows the froth
off!"--"Ah! I thought as much." "How soon will the funeral take place, landlord?" inquired a person, who
had at that moment entered the inn.--"In about an hour's time, sir." "Oh! the town seems pretty full, though it is very quiet. I suppose it
is more as a matter of curiosity people congregate to see the funeral of
this stranger?" "I hope so, sir." "The time is wearing on, and if they don't make a dust, why then the
military will not be troubled." "I do not expect anything more, sir," said the landlord; "for you see
they must have had their swing out, as the saying is, and be fully
satisfied. They cannot have much more to do in the way of exhibiting
their anger or dislike to vampyres--they all have done enough." "So they have--so they have." "Granted," said an old man with a troublesome cough; "but when did you
ever know a mob to be satisfied? If they wanted the moon and got it,
they'd find out it would be necessary to have the stars also." "That's uncommonly true," said the landlord. "I shouldn't be surprised
if they didn't do something worse than ever." --"Nothing more likely,"
said the little old man. "I can believe anything of a mob--anything--no
matter what." The inn was crowded with visitors, and several extra hands were employed
to wait upon the customers, and a scene of bustle and activity was
displayed that was never before seen. It would glad the heart of a
landlord, though he were made of stone, and landlords are usually of
much more malleable materials than that. However, the landlord had hardly time to congratulate himself, for the
bearers were come now, and the undertaker and his troop of
death-following officials. There was a stir among the people, who began now to awaken from the
lethargy that seemed to have come over them while they were waiting for
the moment when it should arrive, that was to place the body under the
green sod, against which so much of their anger had been raised. There
was a decent silence that pervaded the mob of individuals who had
assembled. Death, with all its ghastly insignia, had an effect even upon the
unthinking multitude, who were ever ready to inflict death or any
violent injury upon any object that came in their way--they never
hesitated; but even these, now the object of their hatred was no more,
felt appalled. 'Tis strange what a change comes over masses of men as they gaze upon a
dead body. It may be that they all know that to that complexion they
must come at last. This may be the secret of the respect offered to the
dead. The undertakers are men, however, who are used to the presence of
death--it is their element; they gain a living by attending upon the
last obsequies of the dead; they are used to dead bodies, and care not
for them. Some of them are humane men, that is, in their way; and even
among them are men who wouldn't be deprived of the joke as they screwed
down the last screw. They could not forbear, even on this occasion, to
hold their converse when left alone. "Jacobs," said one who was turning a long screw, "Jacobs, my boy, do you
take the chair to-night?" --"Yes," said Jacobs who was a long
lugubrious-looking man, "I do take the chair, if I live over this
blessed event." "You are not croaking, Jacobs, are you?