In what a state of mind was Hope left! His plain-speaking motherly friend little guessed what a storm she had raised in a spirit usually as calm as a summer's morning. There was nothing to him so abhorrent as giving pain; nothing so intolerable in idea as injuring any human being: and he was now compelled to believe that through some conduct of his own, some imprudence, in a case where imprudence is guilt, he had broken up the peace of a woman whom, though he did not love, he respected and warmly regarded! His mind was in too tumultuous a state for him to attempt to settle with himself the degree of his culpability. He only knew that he was abased in his own sense of deep injury towards a fellow-creature. In the same breath came the destruction of his hopes,--hopes, of which, till the moment, he had been scarcely conscious,--with regard to the one on whom his thoughts had been really fixed. He had pledged himself to act strictly according to his sense of duty. His consolation, his refuge in every former trial of life, since the days of childhood, had been in resolving to abide faithfully by the decisions of duty. In this he had found freedom; in this he had met strength and repose, so that no evil had been intolerable to him. But what was his duty now? Amidst the contradictions of honour and conscience in the present case, where should he find his accustomed refuge? At one moment he saw clearly the obligation to devote himself to her whose affections he had gained,--thoughtlessly and carelessly, it is true, but to other eyes purposely. At the next moment, the sin of marrying without love,--if not while loving another,--rose vividly before him, and made him shrink from what, an instant before, seemed clear duty. The only hope was in the possibility of mistake, which might yet remain. The whole could not be mistake, about Hester, and Enderby, and Margaret, and all Mrs Grey's convictions. Some of all this must be true. The probability was that it was all true: and if so,--he could almost repine that he had not died when his death was expected. Then he should not have known of all this injury and woe; then he should not have had to witness Margaret's love for another: then Hester's quiet grief would have melted away with time, unembittered by reproach of him. No one had, till this hour, loved and relished life more than he; yet now this gladsome being caught himself mourning that he had survived his accident. He roused himself from this; but all was fearful and confused before him. He could see nothing as it was, and as it ought to be: he could decide upon nothing. He must take time: he must be deliberate upon this, the most important transaction of his life.