Evidence was first tendered of the death of the children, and of the terrible pain they had died in. Duffham and a medical man, who was a stranger and had helped at the post-mortem, testified to arsenic being the cause of death. The next question was, how had it been administered? A rumour arose in the room that the pills had been analyzed; but the result had not transpired. Every one could see a small paper parcel standing on the table before the coroner, and knew by its shape that it must contain the pill-box. Hester Reed was called. She said (giving her evidence very quietly, just a sob and a sigh every now and then alone betraying what she felt) that she was the wife of George Reed. Her two little ones--twins, aged eleven months and a half--had been ailing for a day or two, seemed feverish, would not eat their food, were very cross at times and unnaturally still at others, and she came to the conclusion that their teeth must be plaguing them, and thought she would give them some mild physic. Mrs. Todhetley, the Squire's lady at Dyke Manor, had called in on the Tuesday afternoon, and agreed with her that some mild physic---- "Confine your statement to what is evidence," interrupted the coroner, sternly. Hester Reed, looking scared at the check, and perhaps not knowing what was evidence and what not, went on the best way she could. She and Ann Dovey--who had been neighbourly enough to look in and help her--had given the children a pill apiece in the evening after they were undressed, mashing the pill up in a little sugar and warm water. She then put them to bed upstairs and went to bed herself not long after. In the night she and her husband were awoke by the babies' screams, and they thought it must be convulsions. Her husband lighted the fire and ran for Dr. Duffham; but one had died before the doctor could get there, and the other died close upon it. "What food had you given them during the day?" asked the coroner. "Very little indeed, sir. They wouldn't take it." "What did the little that they did take consist of?" "It were soaked bread, sir, with milk and some sprinkled sugar. I tried them with some potato mashed up in a spoonful o' broth at midday--we'd had a bit o' biled neck o' mutton for dinner--but they both turned from it." "Then all they took that day was bread soaked in milk and sweetened with sugar?" "Yes, it were, sir. But the bread was soaked in warm water and the milk and sugar was put in afterwards. 'Twas but the veriest morsel they'd take, poor little dears!" "Was the bread--and the milk--and the sugar, the same that the rest of your household used?" "In course it were, sir. My other children ate plenty of it. _Their_ appetites didn't fail 'em." "Where did you get the warm water from that you say you soaked the bread in?" "Out o' the tea-kettle, sir. The water was the same that I biled for our tea morning and night."