When the mould was cast upon the coffin, black Wena came between peopleʼs legs, gave a cry, and jumped in after it, thinking to retrieve her master, like a stick from the water. She made such a mournful noise in the grave, and whimpered, and put her head down, and wondered why no one said “Wena, dear”, that all the school–girls burst out sobbing—having had apples from Clayton lately—and Octavius Pell, the great cricketer, wanted something soft for his throat. That evening, when all was over, and the grave heaped snugly up, and it was time to think of other things and begin to wonder at sorrow, John Rosedew went to Sir Cradock Nowell, not only as a fellow–mourner and a friend of ancient days, but as a minister of Christ. It had cost John many struggles; and, what with his sense of worldly favours, schoolday–friendship, delicacy, he could scarce tell what to make of it, till he just went down on his knees and prayed; then the learned man learned his duty. Sir Cradock turned his head away, as if he did not want him. John held out his hand, and said nothing. “Mr. Rosedew, I am surprised to see you. And yet, John, this is kind of you”. John hoped that he only said “Mr. Rosedew”, because the footman was lingering, and he tried not to feel the difference. “Cradock, you know what I am, as well as I know what you are. Fifty years, my dear fellow, fifty years of friendship”. “Yes, John, I remember when I was twelve years old, and you fought Sam Cockings for me”. “And, Cradock, I thrashed him fairly; you know I thrashed him fairly. They said I got his head under the form; but you know it was all a lie. How I do hate lies! I believe it began that day. If so, the dislike is subjective. Perhaps I ought to reconsider it”. “John, I know nothing in your life which you ought to reconsider, except what you are doing now”. Sir Cradock Nowell began the combat, because he felt that it must be waged; and perhaps he knew in that beginning that he had the weaker cause. “Cradock, I am doing nothing which is not my simple duty. When I see those I love in the deepest distress, can I help siding with them”? “Upon that principle, or want of it, you might espouse, as a duty, the cause of any murderer”. The old man shuddered, and his voice shook, as he whispered that last word. As yet he had not worked himself up, nor been worked up by others, to the black belief which made the living lost beyond the dead. “I am sure I donʼt know what I might do”, said John Rosedew, simply, “but what I am doing now is right; and in your heart you know it. Come, Cradock, as an old man now, and one whom God has visited, forgive your poor, your noble son, who never will forgive himself”. But for one word in that speech, John Rosedew would perhaps have won his cause, and reconciled son and father.