and protested in a small and shaking voice that he hadn't done it, that really and truly he hadn't done it.
A pure woman contaminated by the touch of an evil man could not have shaken herself free with a greater show of injured virtue than the mother now shook herself free from the child. She sent him reeling. And as he reeled she smote him with words.
"A liar—my son, a liar—don't touch me—don't speak to me. And don't you dare speak to your father, or your brothers, or to your dear sisters, who will be so grieved when they hear of this. Don't you speak a word to anyone. For if you spoke you would probably lie, and there is enough falsehood on your conscience now. Quite enough. And no one will speak to you... Not I, nor your father, nor your brothers, nor your dear sisters, and perhaps in that way the truth will be wormed out of you, and you will repent, and be forgiven. Even now the way to forgiveness lies open. Did you or did you not break the urn?"
At that moment Edward resembled a little ghost. But the fear that was in him was now mixed with a nobler emotion—the righteous anger of the witness who, speaking the truth under oath, and nothing but the truth, is not believed by the court.
