Again there was a pause. Mrs. St. John sat as before, gazing at the fire, her haggard face--yes, it certainly was unnaturally haggard--bent on her hand. Mrs. Darling seemed buried in perplexity, and her fingers unconsciously smoothed down her bonnet-strings. Georgy stirred in his sleep, and they both looked at the sofa; but he did not awake, and both were silent for a moment. "Is the inquest over, do you know?" asked Mrs. St. John. "It was not when I came past. Charlotte, have you written to Castle Wafer?" "I have not written to any one. Surely there's time enough!" "My dear, I did not mean to anger you. I---- What's this? They must be coming back from the inquest!" The noise of many steps outside had called forth the interruption. Mrs. St. John rose from her seat and stood in the middle of the room, facing the door; waiting defiantly, as it seemed, to confront any who might enter. It was just the same position, the same look that had surprised Mrs. Darling when she arrived. The butler came in. "The verdict is 'Accidental Death,'" he said. "Appended to which was a severe censure on Honour Tritton for leaving the child alone with so dangerous a toy. And ma'am," he emphatically added to his mistress, "she deserves it: and she seems to think so." The mistress of Alnwick sat down again. Mrs. Darling caught up her cloak and went out of the room, her curiosity on the rack for the sad details withheld by her daughter. Honour did seem to think she deserved the censure, as the butler had observed. Fully, fully had her repentant heart echoed the condemnation of the jury. A never-dying remorse had taken up its abode within her. Mrs. Darling came upon her on the staircase. The girl's face looked flushed, her eyes glistening; and there was a wildness in their expression that spoke of incipient fever, had any been at leisure to note the signs, or been capable of understanding them. "Oh Honour! what an awful thing this is!" breathed Mrs. Darling. "It's more than awful," answered Honour. "I suppose I shall get over it sometime, if I live: I don't know. Perhaps God will be pleased to take me." She spoke almost with the unnatural calmness of her mistress. That alone would have told of something mentally wrong, or becoming so. "Honour--indeed I don't wish to reproach you, for I'm sure your pain must be too great to need it; but I must speak--_how_ could you leave the child alone with that lighted candle?" "Will you see him?--what's left of him?" was the rejoinder. And without waiting for reply, Honour went into the nursery. Something was resting there on trestles with a sheet thrown over it. Whether it was a coffin, whether it was not, Mrs. Darling did not stay to inquire. She arrested Honour's hand. "No," she said. "I don't know that I could bear the sight."