Mr. Pym was speaking strangely, in a cold, hard sort of manner; and, instead of looking at Mrs. Darling, his eyes were directed straight over her head. "Then it was an accident," said Mrs. Darling, after a pause. "That will no doubt be the verdict of the jury." The two stood in silence. Mr. Pym with his far-away gaze, Mrs. Darling stealing surreptitious glances at him through her veil. Presently she spoke, scarcely above a whisper. "What tale is it that people have got hold of, about the child being locked in the room?" "Ah," said Mr. Pym, "that's Honour's tale. She says that when she left the boy, to go downstairs, the nursery doors were unbolted; that when she returned, both were fastened. _Her_ theory is, implied if not avowed, that the doors had been deliberately closed upon the burning child." Mrs. Darling turned her face away. She was as little given as any one to betraying signs of emotion, but the eyes, for all they were not looking at her, saw that the face was turning livid. "It can't be true," she whispered. "As I tell Honour. Are you going to the Hall? Most of its inmates are here, at the inquest." "Charlotte is not here!" exclaimed Mrs. Darling, turning to him in what looked like alarm. "No. The jury dispense with her evidence." "Is--is--little Benja here?" Mr. Pym shook his head. "The coroner and jury went up to look at the remains, and adjourned here. It is a dreadful thing; _very_ dreadful." At the emphasized word, a sound, that was as much like a groan as anything, escaped Mrs. Darling's lips. The surgeon turned towards the inn door, she continued her way. Striking into the avenue amongst the fine old park trees, she threw back her veil where no eye was on her, gasping as it seemed for air in the twilight of the coming night. A servant answered her summons, and she walked straight through the hall to a small sitting-room, where the man said he believed his mistress was. She went in gently, not to disturb her: but Mrs. St. John was standing still in the midst of the room in an attitude of breathless expectation; of what looked like terrified expectation; and unless the darkness of the evening deceived her, Mrs. Darling had never seen her face so intensely pale, or with that haggard look upon it. "Charlotte!" "Is it you, mamma? I thought you were ill." "I was ill; ill for me, who never ail anything. But this--this---- What's that?" Mrs. Darling sprang aside. A heap of something covered over on the sofa had startled her. Surely her nerves were unstrung tonight! "It's Georgy," answered Mrs. St. John. "He has been ill since yesterday. Hush! don't wake him." She took off her cloak and untied her bonnet, and sat down by the fire near her daughter. Mrs. St. John did not speak. "Charlotte, I have been dreadfully shocked. You should not have allowed me to hear of this by accident. How did it happen?" "You must ask Honour that." "Was no one with him? Could no one hear his cries?" "It seems not."