“That is true. I can’t deny that I act upon what I heard from him.”
“You are a conscientious man, Mr. Garth—a man, I trust, who feels himself accountable to God. You would not wish to injure me by being too ready to believe a slander,” said Bulstrode, casting about for pleas that might be adapted to his hearer’s mind. “That is a poor reason for giving up a connection which I think I may say will be mutually beneficial.”
“I would injure no man if I could help it,” said Caleb; “even if I thought God winked at it. I hope I should have a feeling for my fellow-creature. But, sir—I am obliged to believe that this Raffles has told me the truth. And I can’t be happy in working with you, or profiting by you. It hurts my mind. I must beg you to seek another agent.”
“Very well, Mr. Garth. But I must at least claim to know the worst that he has told you. I must know what is the foul speech that I am liable to be the victim of,” said Bulstrode, a certain amount of anger beginning to mingle with his humiliation before this quiet man who renounced his benefits.
“That’s needless,” said Caleb, waving his hand, bowing his head slightly, and not swerving from the tone which had in it the merciful intention to spare this pitiable man. “What he has said to me will never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from me. If you led a harmful life for gain, and kept others out of their rights by deceit, to get the more for yourself, I dare say you repent—you would like to go back, and can’t: that must be a bitter thing”—Caleb paused a moment and shook his head—“it is not for me to make your life harder to you.”
“But you do—you do make it harder to me,” said Bulstrode constrained into a genuine, pleading cry. “You make it harder to me by turning your back on me.”