"I tell it you with my dying lips. I saw him."
Not another word. Mr. Edwin Barley raised his head, but the face had grown still, and had an awful shade upon it—the same shade that mamma's first wore after she was dead. Mr. Barley put the head gently down, and stood looking at him. All in a moment he caught sight of me, and I think it startled him.
"Are you there, you little imp?"
But the word, ugly though it sounds, was spoken in rough surprise, not in unkindness. I cried and shook, too terrified to give any answer. Mr. Barley stood up before Philip King, so that I no longer saw him.
"What were you doing in the wood?"
"I lost my way, and could not get out sir," I sobbed, trembling lest he should press for further details. "That gentleman saw me, and was saying he would show me the way out, when he fell."
"Had he been here long?"
"I don't know. I was crying a good while, and not looking up. It was only a minute ago that I saw him standing there."
"Did you see Mr. Heneage fire?"
"Oh no, sir. I did not see Mr. Heneage at all."