"I never knew yet that there was any effectual remedy for violent temper. A clergyman will tell you it may be controlled by prayer; a surgeon, by the help of drugs; but I suppose neither is certain always to answer. I had a servant once, a very good and valuable servant too, who would fly into the most frightful passion once or twice a year, and break all the crockery." Mrs. Darling spoke with a laugh, as if she would make light of the whole. It jarred on the feelings of Mr. St. John, and he knit his brow. "Then there's nothing at all that you know of to be suggested, Mrs. Darling?" "I really do not. But I think they will wear out of themselves: as Charlotte grows older, she must grow wiser. I will take an opportunity of speaking to her. And she is so sweet-tempered in a general way, Mr. Carleton, though a little haughty, perhaps, that these few lapses may surely be pardoned." Mr. St. John made no answering remark. He rose and stretched himself, and was moving away. Mrs. Darling detained him with a question. "How did you learn that this illness was so brought on? Did Honour tell you?" "No! I was not aware that Honour knew of it." "Neither am I aware that she does. I mentioned Honour, because I should suppose her to be more of a confidential servant to you than are the rest, and might acquaint you with what takes place here in your absence." Mr. St. John brought his clear truthful eyes to bear steadfastly on those looking at him. He was open, honourable, unsuspicious as the day; but he could not help wondering whether the words concealed any double meaning. "I have no confidential servant, Mrs. Darling. If I had, I should not allow him, or her, to repeat tales to me of the home of which my wife is mistress. When Honour speaks to me, it is of Benja; and all the world might hear, patience permitting, for I believe she takes him to be a cherub without wings. The one to tell me of it was Charlotte." "_Charlotte!_" The echo fell upon empty air. Mr. St. John had turned off in the direction of the children. "Is it this that has been worrying you in London?" asked Mrs. Darling, following him. "Worrying me in London? Nothing has been worrying me in London." "Has it not? You were looking so ill when you got down here: thin, and worn, and changed. I said nothing, for fear of alarming Charlotte." "I have not felt well for some little time. But it is really my health that is in fault, Mrs. Darling; not worry." "You were worn out with the long session: those late hours do fag a man. This country air will restore you." "I hope so," he replied in a dreamy tone, and his eyes had a far-off dreamy look in them. "It would not be well just yet for yon little fellow to be the master of Alnwick."