"Not one bit. She had a very fair, piquante face, light and careless, with blue eyes and a mass of light curling hair." "Do you remember George Heneage?" he continued, stooping for something as he asked the question. "No; not his face. When I try to recall it, it always seems to slip from me. I remember thinking him good-looking. He was very tall. Charlotte Delves called him a scarecrow; but I thought she disliked him because Mr. Edwin Barley did." "Who was Charlotte Delves?" "She lived there. She was distantly related to Mr. Edwin Barley. Jemima—one of the maids—once said that Charlotte Delves liked Mr. Edwin Barley too well to be just." "I remember hearing of her—of some relation, at least, who was in the house at the time," he observed, in a dreamy sort of tone. "Delves? perhaps that was the name. A candid, pleasant-mannered, ladylike woman—as described to me." "I don't recollect much about her, or what she was like, except that she was very kind to me after my Aunt Selina's death. It is a good while ago, and I was only a little girl." "Ay. But now, Anne, I want you to relate to me all the particulars of that bygone miserable tragedy: anything and everything that you may remember as connected with it. Understand me: it is not curiosity that prompts me to ask it. Were I to consult my own wishes, I would bury the whole in a stream of Lethe; every word spoken of it is to me so much agony. Nevertheless, you may do me a service if you will relate what you know of it." "I would tell you willingly, Mr. Chandos. But—I fear—I—should have to seem to cast blame on Selina." "You cannot cast so much blame on her as has already been cast on her to me. Perhaps your account may tend to remove the impression it left on my mind." I began at the beginning, and told him all, so far as I could recollect, giving my childish impressions of things. I told him also my own early history. When I came to the details of Philip King's death, Mr. Chandos sat with his elbow on the arm of the chair, his face turned from me and buried in his hand. "You saw George Heneage just afterwards?" he remarked. "Yes. He was hiding in the wood, trembling all over, and his face very white." "Had he the look of a guilty man?" "I think he had. Had he not been guilty, why should he not have come openly forward to succour Philip King?" "True. Did Mrs. Edwin Barley deem him guilty?" "Not at first. I don't know what she might have done later. Mr. Edwin Barley did." "As he took care to let the world know. Go on with your narrative, Anne. I ought not to have interrupted it." I went on to the end. Mr. Chandos heard me without comment; and remained so long silent that I thought he was never going to speak again. "Has George Heneage ever been heard of, do you happen to know, Mr. Chandos?" "It is said not."