"Really," said Mrs. Furze, "what a question to put! Two men declare money was paid to you for which you never accounted, and a marked sovereign, to which you had no right, was in your possession last Saturday evening. You seem rather absurd, Mr. Catchpole." "Mrs. Furze, I repeat my question: do you believe I am a thief?" "We are not going to prosecute you: let that be enough for you; I decline to say any more than it suits me to say: you have had the reasons for dismissal; ask yourself whether they are conclusive or not, and what the verdict of a jury would be." "Then I tell you, Mrs. Furze, and I tell you, Mr. Furze, before the all- knowing God, who is in this room at this moment, that I am utterly innocent, and that somebody has wickedly lied." "Mr. Catchpole," replied Mrs. Furze, "the introduction of the sacred name in such a conjunction is, I may say, rather shocking, and even blasphemous. Here is your money: you had better go." Tom left the money and walked out of the room. "Good-bye, Phoebe." "Are you going to leave, Tom?" "Discharged!" "I knew there was some villainy going on," said Phoebe, greatly excited, as she took Tom's hand and wrung it, "but you aren't really going for good?" "Yes;" and he was out in the street. "H'm," said Mr. Furze, "it's very disagreeable. I don't quite like it." "Don't quite like it?--why, what _would_ you have done? would you have had Catharine marry him? I have no patience with you, Furze!" Mr. Furze subsided, but he did not move to go to his business, and Mrs. Furze went down into the kitchen. Mr. Eaton had called at the shop at that early hour wishing to see Mr. Furze or Tom. He was to return shortly, and Mr. Orkid Jim, not knowing exactly what to do with such a customer, and, moreover, being rather curious, had left a boy in charge and walked back to the Terrace. "There's Jim again at the door," said Mrs. Furze to Phoebe; "let him in." "Excuse me, ma'am, but never will I go to the door to let that man in again as long as I live." "Phoebe! do you know what you are saying? I direct you to let him in." "No, ma'am; you may direct, but I shan't. Nothing shall make me go to the door to the biggest liar and scoundrel in this town, and if you don't know it yourself, Mrs. Furze, you ought." "You do not expect me to stand this, Phoebe? You will have a month's wages and go to-night." "This morning, ma'am, if you please." Before noon her box was packed, and she too had departed. CHAPTER XVII Tom began to understand, as soon as he left the Terrace, that a consciousness of his own innocence was not all that was necessary for his peace of mind. What would other people say? There was a damning chain of evidence, and what was he to do for a living with no character?