e order, with the same
taciturnity, and in the opposite direction. The gate of the cemetery
closed. That of the prison opened. Its sepulchral architecture stood out
against the light. The obscurity of the passage became vaguely visible.
The solid and deep night of the jail was revealed to sight; then the
whole vision disappeared in the depths of shadow.

The knell ceased. All was locked in silence. A sinister incarceration of
shadows.

A vanished vision; nothing more.

A passage of spectres, which had disappeared.

The logical arrangement of surmises builds up something which at least
resembles evidence. To the arrest of Gwynplaine, to the secret mode of
his capture, to the return of his garments by the police officer, to the
death bell of the prison to which he had been conducted, was now added,
or rather adjusted--portentous circumstance--a coffin carried to the
grave.

"He is dead!" cried Ursus.

He sank down upon a stone.

"Dead! They have killed him! Gwynplaine! My child! My son!"

And he burst into passionate sobs.

CHAPTER V.

STATE POLICY DEALS WITH LITTLE MATTERS AS WELL AS WITH GREAT.

Ursus, alas! had boasted that he had never wept. His reservoir of tears
was full. Such plentitude as is accumulated drop on drop, sorrow on
sorrow, through a long existence, is not to be poured out in a moment.
Ursus wept alone.

The first tear is a letting out of waters. He wept for Gwynplaine, for
Dea, for himself, Ursus, for Homo. He wept like a child. He wept like an
old man. He wept for everything at which he had ever laughed. He paid
off arrears. Man is never nonsuited when he pleads his right to tears.

The corpse they had just buried was Hardquanonne's; but Ursus could not
know that.

The hours crept on.

Day began to break. The pale clothing of the morning was spread out,
dimly creased with shadow, over the bowling-green. The dawn lighted up
the front of the Tadcaster Inn. Master Nicless had not gone to bed,
because sometimes the same occurrence produces sleeplessness in many.

Troubles radiate in every direction. Throw a stone in the water, and
count the splashes.

Master Nicless felt himself impeached. It is very disagreeable that such
things should happen in one's house. Master Nicless, uneasy, and
foreseeing misfortunes, meditated. He regretted having received such
people into his house. Had he but known that they would end by getting
him into mischief! But the question was how to get