‘I am not aware, Mr Walcheren, that this cemetery belongs exclusively to you, or that you have any right to forbid my mourning the loss of my friends. There are two victims beneath this stone. The father, as well as the daughter, owes his death to your behaviour. He has only survived her five weeks.’ ‘My God!’ murmured Frederick below his breath, and then, looking at the inscription, he added, ‘But why is _my_ name not recorded here? Why is there no mention that she was my wife? Whom have I to thank for this insult?’ ‘The monument was designed, and the inscription written by Mr Crampton himself, sir, before he died,’ replied Hindes. ‘I don’t believe it,’ cried Frederick, hotly. ‘And these texts! They are a positive reflection upon me. They say as plainly as possible that there is a doubt about the manner of my darling’s death--that she was not killed by accident but design. Is this some of your doing, Mr Hindes, as well as the suppression of my wife’s real name?’ ‘I have already told you that the whole thing is of Mr Crampton’s ordering. He did not believe in the legality of your marriage--that I know. As to the texts, he had his own reasons, doubtless, for selecting them, but he did not confide them to me.’ ‘And I have told you that I do not believe you. You were in all Mr Crampton’s confidences, and a precious bad use you made of your knowledge. My poor girl told me as much as that. She said several times how much she feared and suspected you. She said you were against her in everything, that you were always persuading her father to thwart her wishes and refuse her requests, and that she hated you for it.’ ‘She--Jenny--said--she hated me, and to--you!’ exclaimed Henry Hindes. ‘It is impossible. You are deceiving me. We were the greatest friends.’ ‘You may have thought so--_she_ did not. And I will thank you to speak of my dead wife by her proper name, as Mrs Walcheren,’ cried Frederick, in a fury. ‘You should never have been allowed to call her by her Christian name, and I forbid you to do so now.’ Henry Hindes’s natural impulse would have been to retort by saying that Mr Walcheren had no rights whatever in the matter, and he should call his late friend by what name he chose, but his former assertion was still rankling in his memory. ‘Jenny said she hated me,’ he murmured to himself, ‘and to _him_! It was not on the impulse of the moment, then, as I hoped--as I have believed. She meant it--good heavens!--she meant it, and I--I loved her so.’ His face was white as ashes as he turned it towards Frederick Walcheren. ‘We will not quarrel, sir,’ he said, ‘and especially here. I came to the cemetery this afternoon at Mrs Crampton’s request to see if her orders had been carried out, with respect to the initialing and erection of this monument, with neither of which, as I told you, have I anything to do. But since you doubtless would wish to be left in privacy, I will withdraw.’