CHAPTER IV.
VERY ILL.
He who first entered the room was a gentleman of middle age and size. His complexion was healthy and ruddy; his short dark hair, sprinkled with grey, was combed down upon the forehead: his countenance was good-natured and simple. This was Mr. Barley of the Oaks. Not the least resemblance did he bear to his brother. Following him was one in an official dress, who was probably superior to a common policeman, for his manners were good, and Mr. Barley called him "Sir." It was not the same who had been in the hall.
"Oh, this—this must be the little girl," observed Mr. Barley. "Are you Mrs. Edwin's niece, my dear—Miss Hereford?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Do you know where she is?"
"In her bedroom, I think, sir."
It had transpired that a quarrel had taken place the previous Friday between Mr. Heneage and Philip King; and the officer had now been in the kitchen to question Jemima. Jemima disclaimed all knowledge of the affair, beyond the fact that she had heard of it from little Miss Hereford, whom she saw on the stairs, crying and frightened. He had now come to question me.
"Now, my little maid, try and recollect," said the officer, drawing me to him. "What did they quarrel about?"
"I don't know, sir," I answered. And I spoke the literal truth, for I had not understood at the time.
"Can you not recollect?"