"If I were thy mother, I would hang myself from the first gable," hissed Licorice between her closed teeth. "I know thee, Bruno de Malpas, thou vile grandson of a locust! Nay, locust is too good for thee: they are clean beasts, and thou art an unclean. Thou hare, camel, coney, night-hawk, raven, lobster, earwig, hog! I spit on thee seven times,"-- and she did it--"I deliver thee over to Satan thy master--" "That thou canst not," quietly said Bruno. "I sweep thee out of my house!" And suiting the action to the word, Licorice caught up a broom which stood in the corner, and proceeded to apply it with good will. Bruno retreated, as was but natural he should. "Licorice, my dear wife!" "I'll sweep _thee_ out next!" cried Licorice, brandishing her broom in the very face of her lord and master. "I'll have no Christians, nor Christian blood, nor Christian faith, in my house, as I am a living daughter of Abraham! Get you all out hence, ye loathsome creeping things, which whosoever toucheth shall be unclean! Get ye out, I say!-- Belasez, bring me soap and water. I'll not sleep till I've washed the floor. I'd wash the air if I could." "Your pardon, Mother, but if you will have no Christian blood in your house, you must sweep me out," answered Belasez, with a mixture of dignity and irrepressible amusement. Licorice turned round to Abraham. "Thou hast told her?" "It was better she should know, wife." "I'll chop thy head off, if I hear thee say that again!--And dost thou mean to be a Christian, thou wicked girl?" "I do, Mother. And I mean to go with my father." "Go, then--like to like!--and all the angels of Satan go with thee!" And the broom came flying after Belasez. "Nay, wife, give the child her raiment and jewels." "I'll give her what belongs to her, and that's a hot iron, if she does not get out of that door this minute!" "Wife!" "I'll spoil her pretty face for her!" shrieked Licorice. "I never liked the vain chit overmuch, nor Anegay neither: but if she does not go, I'll give her something she won't forget in a hurry!" "Come, my Beatrice,--quick!" said Bruno. "Go, go, my Belasez, and God keep thee!" sobbed Abraham. And so Belasez was driven away from her old home. She had hardly expected it. It had always been a trouble to her, and a cause of self-reproach, that she and Licorice did not love each other better: and she was not able to repress a sensation of satisfaction in making the discovery that Licorice was not her mother. Yet Belasez had not looked for this. "What are we to do, Father?" she asked rather blankly. "I must lodge thee with the Sisters of Saint Clare, my child; there is nothing else to be done. I will come and fetch thee away so soon as my arrangements can be made." Beatrice,--as we must henceforth call her,--did not fancy this arrangement at all. Bruno detected as much in her face. "Thou dost not like it, my dove?"