‘And what’ll we do wid her, poor sowl?’

Mrs Prothero was looking compassionately on the poor girl, whilst sentence upon sentence was poured into her ear; and as the death of her relation was mentioned, she fancied she perceived a movement in her seemingly impassive features.  She opened her eyes, and looked at Mrs Prothero, who went to her, and seeing her lips move, knelt down by her side.

‘Let them go, and send me to the workhouse, if you please, my lady,’ she murmured.

Mrs Prothero once more left the barn, promising to return shortly, and, with trembling steps, again sought the apartment where her lord and master was reposing.  A very decided snore met her ear.  She stood by the bedside, and looked at the tassel, which was the only portion visible of her better half.  She sat down on a chair; she got up again; she fussed about the room; she even opened the drawers and took out the Sunday attire of that Somnus before her.  But nothing she could do would arouse him.

At last she gently touched the face.  A louder snore was the only reply.  She gave a nervous push to the shoulder, and whispered into the bed-clothes, ‘My dear.’

‘Well, what now?’ growled the justly irritated sleeper.

’My dear, I am very sorry, but the poor girl is too ill to move, and I really don’t know what is to be done.’

‘Upon my very deed, if you are not enough to provoke a saint!’ broke out Mr Prothero, now fairly sitting up in bed.  ’If you will encourage vagrants, get rid of ’em, and don’t bother me.  I’ll tell you what it is, Mrs Prothero, if all of ’em are not off the farm before I’m up, I’ll give ’em such a bit of my mind as ’ll keep ’em away for the future; see if I don’t.’

Mrs Prothero saw that her husband was redder in the face than usual, and she had a very great dread of putting him in a passion; still she ventured one word more very meekly.

‘But the girl, David?’

’What’s the girl to you or me! we’ve a girl of our own, and half-a-dozen servant girls.  We don’t want any more.  Send her to the Union.’

‘How can we send her?’

’Let the rascally Irish manage that, ’tis no affair of mine; but if you bother me any more, I vow I’ll take a whip and drive ’em, girl and all, off the premises.’

‘Very well, David,’ said Mrs Prothero, submissively, and with a heavy sigh:  ‘but if the girl should die?’

She walked across to the door, paused on the threshold, and glanced back; but there was no change in the rubicund face.  She went into the passage, and slowly closed the door, holding the handle in her hand for a few seconds as she did so.  She walked deliberately down the passage, pausing at each step.  Before she was at the end of it, a loud voice reached her ear.  She joyfully turned back and re-entered the bedroom.

‘Yes, David?’ she said quietly.

’If the girl is really bad, send her in the cart, or let her have a horse, if you like,’ growled Mr Prothero.  ’Only I do wish, mother, you would have nothing to do with them Irishers.’