It was on the day of this outbreak, an hour or two after it, that Mr. Pym arrived. The good man, utterly innocent of French, and not accustomed to foreign travel--or indeed to much travelling of any sort, for he was quite a fixture at Alnwick--had contrived to reach Ypres some two days later than he should have done; having been taken off, perplexity alone knew whither. In the first place, he had called the town "Wypers"--which was not the surest way of getting to Ypres. However, here he was at last, a little ruffled certainly, and confused in mind, but on the whole thankful that he was found, and not lost for good. George was lying on some pillows when the surgeon entered; a very wan, white, feeble George indeed--a skeleton of a George. But he held out his little transparent hand, with a glad smile of welcome at the home-face. "I've not forgotten you!" he panted, his poor breath very short and laboured now. "Mamma said you were coming; she thought you'd come yesterday." "Ay, so did I. But I--lost my way, Georgy." Mr. Pym drew a chair close to the boy, and sat looking at him. Perhaps he was thinking that in all his practice he had rarely seen a child's frame so completely worn. But a few days of life were left in it; perhaps not that. The blue eyes, large and lustrous, were cast up at the surgeon's face; the hot fragile hand lay passively in the strong firm palm. "Did you see Benja's pony?" "Benja's pony!" mechanically repeated the doctor, whose thoughts were far away from ponies. "I think it is still in the stable at Alnwick." "I was to ride it when I went home. Prance said so. Grandmamma said so. I wanted to go home to ride it; and to see Brave; but I'm not going now." "Not just yet," said the surgeon. "You are not strong enough, are you, Georgy? How is mamma?" "I'll tell Mrs. St. John that you are here, sir!" interposed a respectable-looking woman, rising from a chair at the other end of the large room. It startled Mr. Pym. He had not observed that any one was present. She went out and closed the door. "Who was that, George?" "It's Mrs. Brayford!" "Oh, ay; Nurse Brayford. I heard of her from Mrs. Darling." "Mamma won't let her be called nurse. She said I did not want a nurse. We call her Brayford. Have you seen Benja?" continued the lad, speaking better, now that the excitement arising from the doctor's entrance had subsided; but with the last words his voice insensibly dropped to a low tone. "Seen Benja!" echoed Mr. Pym, in his surprise. "Do you mean Benja's tomb? It is a very nice one: on rather too large a scale, though, for my taste, considering his age." "No," said George; "I mean Benja." "Why, child, how could I see Benja? He is gone away from our eyes; he is safe in heaven." "Mamma sees him." "Oh no, she does not," said Mr. Pym, after a slight pause. "But she does," persisted Georgy. "She sees him in the night, and she lays hold of me and hides her face. She sees the lighted church; it blazes up sometimes."