The murdered man had been buried the previous day, and a vast concourse of people had attended the funeral. Reginald--still very weak--and Florence were the chief mourners, and in their carriage were Inspector Robson and his wife. There was but one other mourning carriage, and this was occupied by Dick and the poor charwoman who had been fitfully employed domestically by the deceased. The newspapers devoted columns to descriptions of the funeral and to those pictorial sketches of personages and incidents which have become almost a craze in up-to-date journalism. Standing by the grave, Dick, looking over the heads of the people, saw Gracie and her mother and Dr. Vinsen, side by side. Mrs. Death was in tears, Gracie wore her accustomed impassive expression, and Dr. Vinsen bared his halo to the skies. "My young friend, my dear young friend," he said, sidling up to Dick, "this is the end of a crafty life, but let us extend our pity--ex-tend our pi-ty. The grave, like charity, covereth a multitude of sins. We will be clement; we will soften our judgment; it is the least we can do in the presence of death, in the solemn presence of death. If it teaches us a lesson, Mr. Samuel Boyd will not have lived in vain." "What lesson?" asked Dick, half angrily; the voice, the manner, jarred upon him. "The lesson of humility, of charity--sweet charity--of justice." "You call the life that ends here," said Dick, pointing to the grave, "a crafty life. Where does justice come in?" "Ah, my young friend," responded Dr. Vinsen, shaking his head remonstrantly, "ah, my dear young friend!" "Meaning--what?" demanded Dick. "Meaning that you are young, that you have much to learn, much to unlearn." "You speak in enigmas," said Dick. "Good day." "Not in anger," said Dr. Vinsen, gently, "not in anger, my dear young friend, lest the dead rise to reproach you." "He is better where he is," said Dick, cynically. "I knew him--did you?" "I had not the privilege. In life we never met." "But you take it very much to heart. Why?" "My heart is large; it bleeds for all." He laid his hand upon the shoulder of Mrs. Death, and repeated, "It bleeds for all." "More enigmas--more platitudes," said Dick, scornfully. Dr. Vinsen looked at him with a pitying smile. "I fear I do not find favour in your eyes." "To speak plainly, you do not." "To speak plainly is commendable. But give a reason for it." "I cannot. You have a scientist for a friend." "Dr. Pye? Yes." "He will tell you that there are certain chemicals that will not mix." "I do not need to be told. I know it." "Well, then, Dr. Vinsen, _we_ don't mix; and there's an end of it." "No, my young friend, not an end of it. The end is there, for him, for you, for all. Better for some of us if we were in our graves." There was no change in his voice; it was mild, benignant, reproachful. "Better, far better, for some of us if we were in our graves. Come, Mrs. Death; come, Gracie, my child."