A Chinaman never forgets! Lee Hin—
He tried to shout the name. He must get his accusation into writing—
In the act of sitting up to demand paper and pen, he was caught up into a great darkness. He fell heavily back upon the bed.
“Syncope!” said the man with the pointed beard. “I must write up this case for the National Medical Journal.”
Lee Hin, looking upon the last scene in the drama, meditated deeply.
“No man can escape his destiny,” he mused.
The last shovel of dirt was thrown over the mound, and the man who threw it deftly patted it into place with the rounded back of his spade.
Lee Hin walked gravely away. He passed along a graveled path and approached a distant part of the cemetery. In the shade of a hawthorne he paused and stood gently regarding the figure of a girl, kneeling beside a grave.
“Poor little Irene!” he murmured.