Mrs. Furze sat down. In one short minute she lived a lifetime, and the decision was taken which determined her destiny. She resolved that she would not tread one single step in one particular direction, nor even look that way. She did not resolve to tell a lie, or, in fact, to do anything which was not strictly defensible and virtuous. She simply refused to reflect on the possibility of perjury on Jim’s part. Refusing to reflect on it, she naturally had no proof of it; and, having no proof of it, she had no ground for believing that she was not perfectly innocent and upright—a very pretty process, much commoner than perhaps might be suspected. After the lapse of two or three hours there was in fact no test by which to distinguish the validity of this belief from that of her other beliefs, nor indeed, it may be said, from that of the beliefs in which many people live, and for the sake of which they die.
“It is true, Jim,” said Mrs. Furze, after a pause, “that we thought Tom had so far forgotten himself as to make proposals to Miss Catharine, but this was a mere coincidence. It is extremely fortunate that we have discovered just at this moment what he really is; most fortunate. I have not the least doubt that he is a very bad character; your evidence is most decisive, and, as we owe so much to you, we think of putting you in Tom’s place.”
Jim had advanced with wariness, and occupied such a position that he could claim Mrs. Furze as an accomplice, or save appearances, if it was more prudent to do so. The reward was brilliant, and he saw what course he ought to take.
“Thank yer, marm; it was very lucky; now I may speak freely I may say as I’ve ’ad my eyes on Mr. Catchpole ever so long. I told yer as much afore, and this ain’t the fust time as he’s robbed yer, but I couldn’t prove it, and it worn’t no good my sayin’ wot I worn’t sure of.”
This, then, is the way in which Destiny rewards those who refuse to listen to the Divine Voice. Destiny supplies them with reasons for discrediting it. Mrs. Furze was more than ever thankful to Jim; not so much because of these additional revelations, but because she was still further released from the obligation to turn her eyes. Had not Jim said it once, twice, and now thrice? Who could condemn her? She boldly faced herself, and asked herself what authority this other self possessed which, just for a moment, whispered something in her ear. What right had it thus to interrogate her? What right had it to hint at some horrid villainy? “None, none,” it timidly answered, and was silent. The business of this other self is suggestion only, and, if it be resisted, it is either dumb or will reply just as it is bidden.
“You can tell Mr. Catchpole his master wishes to see him here.”
“Thankee, marm; good mornin’.”
Tom came up to the Terrace much wondering, and was shown into the dining-room by Phœbe not a little suspicious. Mr. Furze sat back in the easy-chair with his elbows on the arms and his hands held up and partly interlaced. It was an attitude he generally assumed when he was grave or wished to appear so. He had placed himself with his back to the light. Mrs. Furze sat in the window. Mr. Furze began with much hesitation.
“Sit down, Mr. Catchpole. I am sorry to be obliged to impart to you a piece—a something—which is very distressing. For some time, I must say, I have not been quite satisfied with the—the affairs—business at the shop, and the case of Humphries’ account made me more anxious. I could not tell who the—delinquent—might be, and, under advice, under advice, I resorted to the usual means of detection, and the result is that a marked coin placed in the till on Saturday was changed by you on Saturday night.”
A tremendous blow steadies some men, at least for a time. Tom quietly replied—