him, and I know that he cannot lie. I
beg you to consider what you do in branding as foul that which God has
made good. I offer no apology for thus addressing you, for I am a
minister of God's Word, and I have to do all that He bids. I should
consider I was but a poor servant of the Most High if I did not
protest against wrong-doing face to face with the doer of it.

"Faithfully yours,

"THEOPHILUS CARDEW."

Both Mr. and Mrs. Furze Were greatly incensed, and Mr. Cardew received
the following reply, due rather to Mrs. than to Mr. Furze--

"SIR,--I am greatly surprised at the receipt of your letter. You have
taken up the cause of a servant against his master, and a dishonest
servant, too: you have taken it up with only an imperfect acquaintance
with the case, and knowing nothing of it except from his
representation. If you were the clergyman of this parish I might,
perhaps, recognise your right to address me, although I am inclined to
believe that the clergy do far more harm than good by meddling with
matters outside their own sphere. How can we listen with respect to a
minister who is occupied with worldly affairs rather than with those
matters which befit his calling and concern our salvation? Sir, I
must decline any discussion with you as to Mr. Catchpole's innocence
or guilt, and respectfully deny your right to interfere.

"I am, sir,

"Your obedient servant,

"J. FURZE."

Catharine's first impulse was to go home instantly and vindicate Tom, but
she did not move, and the letter remained unanswered. What could she say
to her own parents which would meet the case or would be worthy of such a
conspiracy? She would not be believed, and no good would be done. A
stronger reason for not speaking was a certain pride and a determination
to retaliate by silence, but the strongest of all reasons was a kind of
collapse after she arrived at Chapel Farm, and the disappearance of all
desire to fight. Her old cheerfulness began to depart, and a cloud to
creep over her like the shadow of an eclipse. Young as she was, strange
thoughts possessed her. The interval between the present moment and
death appeared annihilated; life was a mere span; a day would go by and
then a week, and in a few months, which could easily be counted, would
come the end; nay, it was already out there, visible, approaching, and
when she came to think what death really meant,