"I forgive you," he continued. "I am willing to bury the past in silence: never to recur to it—never henceforth to allude to it, though the boy was my relative and ward, and I liked him. But I would recommend you to bear this tragical ending in mind, as a warning for the future. I will not tolerate further folly in my wife; and your own sense ought to tell you that had I been ambitious of putting somebody out of the world, it would have been Heneage, not Philip. Heneage has killed him, and upon his head be the consequences. I will never cease my endeavours to bring him to the drop. I will spare no pains, or energy, or cost, until it is accomplished. So help me Heaven!" He rose with the last solemn word, and put the chair back in its place. On his way to the door he turned, speaking in a softer voice. "Are you better this evening, Selina?" "Not any. It seems to me that I grow worse with every hour." "I'll send Lowe up to you. He is somewhere about." "Oh, aunt, aunt!" I said, going forward with lifted hands and streaming eyes, as he left the chamber, "I was here all the time! I saw Mr. Edwin Barley coming in, and I hid behind the window-curtain. I never meant to be a listener: I was afraid to come out." She looked at me without speaking, and her face, hot with fever, grew more flushed. She seemed to be considering; perhaps remembering what had passed. "I—I——don't think there was anything very particular said, that you need care; or, rather, that I need," she said at length. "Was there?" "No, Selina. Only——" "Only what, child? Why do you hesitate?" "You think it might have been Mr. Edwin Barley. I wish I had not heard that." I said, or implied, it was as likely to have been he as the other. "Anne," she suddenly added, "you possess thought and sense beyond your years: what do you think?" "I think it was Mr. Heneage. I think so because he has run away, and because he looked so strangely when he was hiding. And I do not think it was Mr. Edwin Barley. When he told you how it occurred just now, and that it was not he, his voice sounded as though he were speaking truth." "Oh, dear!" she moaned, "I hope it was so! What a mercy if that Philip King had never come near the house!" "But, Selina, you are sorry that he is dead?" "Sorry that he is dead? Of course I am sorry. What a curious child you are! He was no favourite of mine; but," she cried, passionately clasping her hands, "I would give all I am worth to call him back to life." But I could not be reconciled to what I had done, and sobbed on heavily, until lights and Mr. Lowe came in together. CHAPTER V. ANOTHER DREAM. "If ever I heard the like of that! one won't be able to open one's lips next before you, Miss Hereford. Did I say anything about her dying, pray? Or about your dying? Or my dying? Time enough to snap me up when I do."