It would be difficult to guess what object, real or supposed, was gained by this measure; but it seemed to afford great satisfaction to many minds. Spenceley found it convenient to leave home for some weeks, and Myles heard no more of his share in the transaction. There were endless tales in circulation--the facts, the names, the causes of the affair, all got mixed up in the wildest and most inextricable confusion, as in such cases they always do. The principals maintained absolute silence, and let report work what wonders it would or could. ‘Bear not false witness; let the lie Have time on its own wings to fly!’ They adhered to the precept, and the result was that they and their grievances were soon completely obscured in the buzz of talk, conjecture, wrong guesses, and wild surmises which gathered about them like a thick cloud. One thing soon became apparent; and, once secure of that, Myles cared nothing for the rest. Adrienne’s name was not known. The cause of the _fracas_ was generally supposed to be a woman; but the tale which gained the greatest favour was one taking the side of the workman--that mysterious ‘workman’ whose name had somehow disappeared in the midst of contradictory reports, and whom no one could distinctly specify, because there were so many workmen in Thanshope. How was a genteel person to know one linen jacket, or its wearer, from another? This report, which preserved a kind of likeness amidst all its variations, was to the effect that Frederick Spenceley had deserved his thrashing; for that he had been taking undue liberties with the young man’s sweetheart--and her name was Sally Rogers, was Frances Alice Kershaw, and she was a dressmaker, was a mill hand, and lived in half a dozen places, and worked in as many factories, quite certainly and positively; she was very pretty, and he was very jealous; or, she was not a particularly good-looking girl, but Fred Spenceley had had words with the young man before, and had wished to insult him. Myles maintained a rigid silence upon the subject, even when Mary came in one day in a state of unusual excitement, exclaiming, ‘Eh! Ned, Myles, have ye heerd tell o’ what’s happened?’ ‘What?’ ‘Jack Spenceley’s lad has had such a leathering,’ said Mary; and told the rest of it with much excitement and volubility, for her. Edmund manifested a lively interest in the story, and Myles admitted indifferently that he had heard something about it. They were, however, not much given to gossiping at that house, and the subject soon dropped.