On the Sunday se'ennight
(Sunday the _octave_ from the event), took place the funeral of the
Marrs; in the first coffin was placed Marr; in the second Mrs. Marr, and
the baby in her arms; in the third the apprentice boy. They were buried
side by side; and thirty thousand laboring people followed the funeral
procession, with horror and grief written in their countenances.
As yet no whisper was astir that indicated, even conjecturally, the
hideous author of these ruins--this patron of grave-diggers. Had as much
been known on this Sunday of the funeral concerning that person as became
known universally six days later, the people would have gone right from
the churchyard to the murderer's lodgings, and (brooking no delay) would
have torn him limb from limb. As yet, however, in mere default of any
object on whom reasonable suspicion could settle, the public wrath was
compelled to suspend itself. Else, far indeed from showing any tendency to
subside, the public emotion strengthened every day conspicuously, as the
reverberation of the shock began to travel back from the provinces to the
capital. On every great road in the kingdom, continual arrests were made
of vagrants and 'trampers,' who could give no satisfactory account of
themselves, or whose appearance in any respect answered to the imperfect
description of Williams furnished by the watchman.
With this mighty tide of pity and indignation pointing backwards to the
dreadful past, there mingled also in the thoughts of reflecting persons an
under-current of fearful expectation for the immediate future.
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