A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY
"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!"
"He was home, I say," she repeated with dogged obstinacy.
"You sent him?"
"He didn't do it"
"No one will believe you, especially when the knife is found."
"What knife?"
"His clasp knife, with which he killed Major Ceely," said Lady Molly, quietly; "see, he has it in his hand now."
And with a sudden, wholly unexpected gesture she pointed to the imbecile, who in an aimless way had prowled round the room whilst this rapid colloquy was going on.
The purport of it all must in some sort of way have found an echo in his enfeebled brain. He wandered up to the dresser whereon lay the remnants of that morning's breakfast, together with some crockery and utensils.
In that same half-witted and irresponsible way he had picked up one of the knives and now was holding it out towards his wife, whilst a look of fear spread over his countenance.
"I can't do it, Annie, I can't—you'd better do it," he said.
There was dead silence in the little room. The
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