I DID not want any pot of money. And even if I had been filled with that general desire, Henderson’s suggestion would have had no charm for me. But I resolved to do a much wiser thing—to stick to my work, with head and hands, and let the heart come after them, if it could, as it grew wiser. The police had made nothing of my case, although they had done their best, no doubt. Whoever had compassed my wife’s departure—for I would not call it “flight”—had managed it with much craft; and luck (according to the ancient proverb) had shown a kinsman’s love for craft. The lane, at the back of our lonely cottage, was little frequented, except on Sundays, and then in the evening only, for that study of mutual tastes and feelings, which is known as “keeping company.” For this it was a popular resort, and therefore (as usual) called “Love Lane,” by blushing youth and maiden. At other times its chief use was to give access to some meadow-land, and its chief wayfarers were four cows, a donkey, and a nanny-goat, belonging to Farmer Osborne. But it wound into divers other lanes, towards Hampton, Tangley Park, and Bedfont, and through some of them to Feltham Station, on the London and South-Western line. That was one of the places where I had made first inquiry; but Sergeant Biggs had been before me, and so he had at Twickenham. And in fact he had sought far and near, and been put upon false scent sometimes, but had hit on nothing genuine. Whatever any man may say, or even think, or dream of, the opinions of his fellow-men go into his mind, and work there. No one is certain what he believes; or at any rate how he believes it. And the harder he toils to establish his faith, the more apt he is to undermine it. His best plan is never to argue about whatever he longs to trust in; or if his good friends will not let him alone, he should choose for his disputant the sceptic. This will build him up a good deal; not because he has convinced the other man, but because he knows that he must have done so, if the other had been gifted with reason. And now I was more convinced than ever, by the firm convictions of my uncle, and Sam, that they both were quite wrong, and that I was quite right. If they had only said that there might be some mistake, something that admitted of a simple explanation, and with patience on our part must receive it, in that case the chances are that I should have been doubtful whether they had any grounds for putting it in that way. But when they came and put it—without asking my opinion—in the very opposite way to that, and the opposite one to what I wanted to believe, their conclusion was a spring-board to send me heels over head to the counter one.