"Will you not give me the details, Charlotte?" "I only know them from hearsay." "But you--were--in the house at the time?" "I was in the dining-room." Mrs. St. John was evidently not inclined to be communicative. She sat looking at the fire, and Mrs. Darling stole surreptitious glances at her face, as she had recently done at Mr. Pym's; not that the face was very discernible in the increasing gloom of the November evening. "Do give me the particulars, Charlotte!" "I can't, I tell you, mamma. I only know them myself from hearsay. I was shut up in the dining-room with Georgy, and knew nothing until startled by Honour's cries." "You were shut up in the dining-room!" "Just as you found me shut up in this room now. Georgy was asleep, and I had his feet on my lap. I wish you wouldn't ask me about it. It is not a pleasant thing to talk of. I am sorry now for having beaten him." "You beat him?--Benja?" "He was naughty after dinner. He had a new watch, and would not lend it to Georgy, and they got quarrelling. He beat Georgy, and I beat _him_. I am sorry for it now." "But it was not then that he was burnt!" exclaimed Mrs. Darling, scarcely understanding. "No. Honour took him away, and I stayed in the dining room with Georgy." "Did the accident happen immediately?" "Not for a long while. Two hours, perhaps, I don't know how long exactly. I had been to sleep. It was daylight when he went away, and it was dark when we heard the screams." "And you, my poor child, had never moved from the dining-room!" "Don't I say so, mamma!" came the answer, a shade of peevishness at being questioned in the otherwise impassive tone. "I had kept Georgy with me." Mrs. Darling drew a long sigh: it seemed like a relief from some nightmare. "How came Honour to leave him with a lighted candle?" she exclaimed in anger. "Mamma, I _wish_ you would not ask me these things! I don't care to talk of them." For some minutes there was silence, but Mrs. Darling was an impulsive woman, and it was almost impossible for her to think of any fresh point without breaking out with a question. She did so now; suddenly, abruptly. "Is it true that the doors were fastened?" "Who told you they were?" exclaimed Mrs. St. John. "Mr. Pym. I saw him as I came up here." "Mr. Pym told you the doors were fastened?" repeated Mrs. St. John, fixing her strange eyes upon her mother. "Yes. At least---- What he said was, that Honour asserts they were fastened." "Ay, _that's_ true. But no one believes her. Mr. Pym does not believe her; he told her she must be careful what she said. Prance thinks Honour was so flurried at the time, that her recollection is not clear."