"Aye, aye," said Mr. Macey; "let's have no accusing o' the
innicent. That isn't the law. There must be folks to swear again'
a man before he can be ta'en up. Let's have no accusing o' the
innicent, Master Marner."

Memory was not so utterly torpid in Silas that it could not be
awakened by these words. With a movement of compunction as new and
strange to him as everything else within the last hour, he started
from his chair and went close up to Jem, looking at him as if he
wanted to assure himself of the expression in his face.

"I was wrong," he said--"yes, yes--I ought to have thought.
There's nothing to witness against you, Jem. Only you'd been into
my house oftener than anybody else, and so you came into my head.
I don't accuse you--I won't accuse anybody--only," he added,
lifting up his hands to his head, and turning away with bewildered
misery, "I try--I try to think where my guineas can be."

"Aye, aye, they're gone where it's hot enough to melt 'em, I
doubt," said Mr. Macey.

"Tchuh!" said the farrier. And then he asked, with a
cross-examining air, "How much money might there be in the bags,
Master Marner?"

"Two hundred and seventy-two pounds, twelve and sixpence, last
night when I counted it," said Silas, seating himself again, with a
groan.

"Pooh! why, they'd be none so heavy to carry. Some tramp's been