"Yes." And I gave him the outline of what had taken me there: to spend the short interval between mamma's death and my being placed at school.
"You must have heard of a—a tragedy"—he spoke the words in a hesitating, unwilling manner—"that occurred there about the same time. A young man, a ward of Edwin Barley's, died."
"Philip King. Yes; he was killed. I saw it done, Mr. Chandos."
"Saw what done?"
"Saw Philip King murdered. That's not a nice word to repeat, but it is what they all called it at the time. I was in the wood. I saw the shot strike him, and watched him fall."
"Why, what a strange girl you are!" Mr. Chandos exclaimed, after a pause of astonishment. "What else have you seen?"
"Nothing like that. Nothing half so dreadful. I trust I never shall."
"I trust not, either. Anne," he continued, dropping his voice to a low, solemn tone, "you say you saw that shot strike him. Who fired it?"
"It was said to be—but perhaps I ought not to mention the name even to you, Mr. Chandos," I broke off. "Mrs. Hemson cautioned me never to repeat it under any circumstances."
"Who is Mrs. Hemson?"