"No. The jury dispense with her evidence."
"Is--is--little Benja here?"
Mr. Pym shook his head. "The coroner and jury went up to look at the remains, and adjourned here. It is a dreadful thing; very dreadful."
At the emphasized word, a sound, that was as much like a groan as anything, escaped Mrs. Darling's lips. The surgeon turned towards the inn door, she continued her way. Striking into the avenue amongst the fine old park trees, she threw back her veil where no eye was on her, gasping as it seemed for air in the twilight of the coming night.
A servant answered her summons, and she walked straight through the hall to a small sitting-room, where the man said he believed his mistress was. She went in gently, not to disturb her: but Mrs. St. John was standing still in the midst of the room in an attitude of breathless expectation; of what looked like terrified expectation; and unless the darkness of the evening deceived her, Mrs. Darling had never seen her face so intensely pale, or with that haggard look upon it.
"Charlotte!"
"Is it you, mamma? I thought you were ill."
"I was ill; ill for me, who never ail anything. But this--this---- What's that?"
Mrs. Darling sprang aside. A heap of something covered over on the sofa had startled her. Surely her nerves were unstrung tonight!
"It's Georgy," answered Mrs. St. John. "He has been ill since yesterday. Hush! don't wake him."