The boy's wrath was now changed to madness.
'You!' he cried. 'You! My own mother! You believe it, no! Oh! we are all going mad together. What? Then I am turned out of this house, as I am turned out of my place. I go, then—I go; and'—here he swore a mighty oath, as strong as anybody out of Spain can make them—'I will never—never—never come home again till you come yourself to beg forgiveness—you—my own mother!'
Outside, in the hall, his sisters stood, waiting and trembling.
'Athelstan,' cried the elder, 'what, in the name of Heaven, have you done?'
'Go, ask my mother. She will tell you. She knows, it seems, better than I know myself. I am driven away by my own mother. She says that I am guilty of—of—of forgery.'
'If she says so, Athelstan,' his sister replied coldly, 'she must have her reasons. She would not drive you out of the house for nothing. Don't glare like that. Prove your innocence.'
'What? You, too? Oh! I am driven away by my sisters as well——'
'No, Athelstan—no,' cried Elsie, catching his hand. 'Not both your sisters.'
'My poor child;' he stooped and kissed her. 'They will make you believe what they believe. Good Heavens! They make haste to believe it; they are glad to believe it.'
'No—no. Don't go, Athelstan.' Elsie threw her arms about him. 'Stay, and show that they are wrong. Oh! you are innocent. I will never—never—never believe it.'