Matters were not progressing favourably between Prance and Honour. And if you think, my readers, that the squabbles of two maid-servants are, or ought to be, too insignificant to be thus frequently alluded to, I can only say that the fact bears so much upon the tragic event soon to be related, that the allusion could not be avoided. About a fortnight before this, Honour had had a day's holiday to go and see some relatives; she had wished to take Benja with her, but Mrs. St. John would not allow it, and he was left under the charge of Prance. In the course of the afternoon, Mrs. St. John drove over to Alnwick Cottage, taking George. They remained there to dinner, and during this absence of hers Prance and Benja came to an issue. When Honour returned to the Hall--and she reached it before Mrs. St. John did--she found that Benja had not only been whipped with more severity than was seemly, but that he had been locked up alone in an isolated room, where his cries could not be heard. She found him exhausted with weeping, marks raised on his back--altogether in a sad state. Whether, as Prance affirmed, Master Benja had been unbearably insolent to her; whether, as Honour said and believed, she must maliciously have taken the opportunity to pay off old scores of dislike to him, was not satisfactorily settled. Probably the real fact might lie between the two. But you may judge what sort of an explosion came from Honour. Prance shut herself up in her chamber, and would vouchsafe no answer to it; the servants took part with Honour, for Prance had never yet found favour with them. Mrs. St. John returned home in the midst of the commotion. Honour carried Benja and the complaint to her; but she seemed to treat it with indifference, and did not reprove Prance, as far as the household could learn. Honour had been in a state of indignation from that day to this, and her animosity to Prance was bitter. "She'd kill the boy if she could," was a remark of hers that went openly through the house. Mrs. St. John sat in her drawing-room, waiting for the boys. She had promised to dine with them that day at two, and cut the birthday-pudding, foregoing her usual late dinner. Being a rather strict disciplinarian as to the children taking their meals regularly, she preferred to change her own hour for once, not theirs. The boys were being attired, and she sat waiting for them, her outward demeanour calm as usual, her mind a very chaos of rebellious tumult.