"Why are _you_ not accused?--why's Ludlow not accused?--you were both at school, as well as I; and you are both here," raved Sanker, panting like a wild animal. "You have money, both of you; you don't want helping on in life; I have only my good name. And that you would take from me!" "Edward, Edward! we did not wish to accuse you; we said we would not accuse you," cried poor Mrs. Todhetley in her simplicity. But his voice broke in. "No; you only suspected me. You assumed my guilt, and would not be honest enough to accuse me, lest I refuted it. Not another hour will I stay in this house. Come with me." "Don't be foolish, Sanker! If we are wrong----" "Be silent!" he cried, turning savagely on Tod. "I'm not strong; no match for you, or I would pound you to atoms! Let me go my own way now. You go yours." Half dragging, half leading Mrs. Todhetley with him, the angry light in his eyes frightening her, he went to his bedroom. Taking off his jacket; turning his pockets inside out; emptying the contents of his trunk on the floor, he scattered the articles, one by one, with the view of showing that he had nothing concealed belonging to other people. Mrs. Todhetley, great in quiet emergencies, had her senses hopelessly scared away in this; she could only cry, and implore of him to be reasonable. He flung back his things, and in five minutes was gone. Dragging his box down the stairs by its stout cord, he managed to hoist it on his shoulders, and they saw him go fiercely off across the lawn. I met him in the plantation, beyond the Dyke. Mrs. Todhetley, awfully distressed, sent me flying away to find the pater; she mistakenly thought he might be at Rimmell's, who lived in a cottage beyond it. Running home through the trees, I came upon Sanker. He was sitting on his box, crying; great big sobs bursting from him. Of course he could not carry _that_ far. Down I sat by him, and put my hand on his. "Don't, Sanker! don't, old fellow! Come back and have it cleared up. I dare say they are all wrong together." His angry mood had changed. Those fierce whirlwinds of passion are generally followed by depression. He did not seem to care an atom for his sobs, or for my seeing them. "It's the cruelest wrong I ever had dealt to me, Johnny. Why should they pitch upon _me_? What have they seen in me that they should set me down as a thief?--and such a thief! Why, the very thought of it, if they send her word, will kill my mother." "You didn't do it, Sanker. I----" He got up, and raised his hand solemnly to the blue sky, just as a man might have done. "I swear I did not. I swear I never laid finger on a thing in your house, or at school, that was not mine. God hears me say it." "And now you'll come back with me, Ned. The box will take no harm here till we send for it." "Go back with you! that I never will. Fare you well, Johnny: I'll wish it to _you_." "But where are you going?"