The colloquy, I may say, seemed to consist of agitated whispers on one part, and wailing complaints on the other. This was followed presently by some thuds and much shuffling, and presently Haggett, looking uncared-for, dirty, and unkempt, entered the parlour, followed by his wife. He came forward, dragging his ill-shod feet and pulling nervously at his forelock. “Ah!” said my lady, kindly; “I am glad to see you down, Haggett, though I am afraid I haven’t very good news for you.” “Yes, miss!” murmured the man, obviously not quite comprehending what was said to him. “I represent the workhouse authorities,” continued Lady Molly, “and I thought we could arrange for you and your wife to come into the Union to-night, perhaps.” “The Union?” here interposed the woman, roughly. “What do you mean? We ain’t going to the Union?” “Well! but since you are not staying here,” rejoined my lady, blandly, “you will find it impossible to get another situation for your husband in his present mental condition.” “Miss Ceely won’t give us the go-by,” she retorted defiantly. “She might wish to carry out her late father’s intentions,” said Lady Molly with seeming carelessness. “The Major was a cruel, cantankerous brute,” shouted the woman with unpremeditated violence. “Haggett had served him faithfully for twelve years, and----” She checked herself abruptly, and cast one of her quick, furtive glances at Lady Molly. Her silence now had become as significant as her outburst of rage, and it was Lady Molly who concluded the phrase for her. “And yet he dismissed him without warning,” she said calmly. “Who told you that?” retorted the woman. “The same people, no doubt, who declare that you and Haggett had a grudge against the Major for this dismissal.” “That’s a lie,” asserted Mrs. Haggett, doggedly; “we gave information about Mr. Smethick having killed the Major because----” “Ah,” interrupted Lady Molly, quickly, “but then Mr. Smethick did not murder Major Ceely, and your information therefore was useless!” “Then who killed the Major, I should like to know?” Her manner was arrogant, coarse, and extremely unpleasant. I marvelled why my dear lady put up with it, and what was going on in that busy brain of hers. She looked quite urbane and smiling, whilst I wondered what in the world she meant by this story of the workhouse and the dismissal of Haggett. “Ah, that’s what none of us know!” she now said lightly; “some folks say it was your husband.” “They lie!” she retorted quickly, whilst the imbecile, evidently not understanding the drift of the conversation, was mechanically stroking his red mop of hair and looking helplessly all round him. “He was home before the cries of ‘Murder’ were heard in the house,” continued Mrs. Haggett. “How do you know?” asked Lady Molly, quickly. “How do I know?” “Yes; you couldn’t have heard the cries all the way to this cottage--why, it’s over half a mile from the Hall!”