The hour came for the child to die, and he was laid in his little grave in Belgium. For a day or two, Mrs. St. John was almost unnaturally calm, but the second night, at midnight, her cries of despair aroused the house, and a violent scene came on. Prance shut herself up in the room with her, and silence at length supervened. So far as Mrs. Brayford could make out--but that was not very much, through Prance's jealous care--the unhappy lady laboured under some perpetual terror--fancying she saw a vision of Benja coming towards her with a lighted church. These paroxysms occurred almost nightly: and Mrs. St. John grew into a terribly nervous state from the very dread of them. She sometimes drank a quantity of brandy, to the dismay of Prance: not, poor thing, from love of it, but as an opiate. What would be her career now? It would seem that the old restlessness, the hurrying about from place to place, would form a feature in it. No sooner were the child's remains removed from her sight, than the eagerness for change came on. It had been thought by all around her that George would have been taken to Alnwick, to be interred with his forefathers, but it had not pleased Mrs. St. John to give orders to that effect. Indeed, she gave no orders at all; and but for Prance, the tidings had not been conveyed even to Mrs. Darling. The blow fallen, all else in the world seemed a blank to the bereaved mother. Apart from the child's personal loss, his death took from her state and station; and she was not one to disregard those benefits. That the boy had been more precious to her than heaven, was unhappily too true; and all else had died with him. If she had indeed any sin upon her conscience connected with that fatal night, what terrible retribution must now have been hers. Were Benja living she would still be in the enjoyment of wealth, pride, power; would still be reigning at the once much-coveted Hall of Alnwick, its sole mistress. With the death of the children, all had gone from her. No human care or skill could have saved the life of her own son; but Benja?--Heaven did not call _him_.