The Squire, hot and impulsive, attacked him as he had attacked Edward Corles. What did Stephenson mean by making that infamous accusation about his son?
It took Stephenson aback, as might be seen; his eyes opened and his hair stood on end straighter than ever. Looking from one to the other of us, he last looked at Mr. Corles, as if seeking an explanation.
“The best thing you can do, to begin with, Stephenson, is to relate to Squire Todhetley and these gentlemen the particulars you gave me yesterday morning,” said Mr. Corles. “I mean when you took the bank-note, a month ago.”
Without more ado, Stephenson quietly followed the advice; he seemed of as calm a temperament as the Squire was the contrary, and recited the particulars just given. The Squire’s will was good to interrupt at every second word, but Mr. Corles begged him to listen to the end.
“Oh, that’s all very well,” cried he at last, “all true, I dare say; what I want to know is, how you came to pitch upon that customer as being my son.”
“But he was your son, sir. He was young Mr. Todhetley.”
“Nonsense!” retorted the Squire. “Was this he?” drawing Tod forward.
“No, sir; certainly not.”
“Well, this is my only son; except a little who is not yet much more than out of his petticoats. Come! what do you say now?”
Stephenson looked again at one and the other of us. His pale face took a sort of thoughtful haze as if he had passed into a fog.