“Heaven forgive me for having so base a thought!” he cried. “Heaven forgive me for being so base as to class the one whom I love with such creatures as his patron orders his chaplain to marry! She is a good and innocent child, and if she will come to me I shall feel honoured. I shall prove to all the world that a woman, though lowly-born, may yet be a true helpmeet for such as I. She will aid me in my labours, not impede them. I know now that I love her. I know now that she will be a blessing to me. I love her, and I pray that I may ever love her truly and honestly.” It was characteristic of the man that the very thought of opposition should strengthen him. An hour earlier he had been unable to assure himself that his feeling for her was love, but now he felt assured on this point: he loved her, and he had never before loved a woman. She was the first fruit of his mission to Cornwall. She had professed the faith to which even he himself had failed to attain until he had been preaching for years. Bound to her by a tie that was the most sacred that could exist between a man and a woman, his most earnest hope was to hold her to him by another bond whose strands were interwoven with a sympathy that was human as well as divine. His mind was made up at last. He was early at breakfast with his host, but he did not now think it necessary to ask Mr. Hartwell what he had meant by his reference to the absurdity of John Bennet's jealousy. The morning gave promise of a day of brilliant sunshine and warmth. There was nothing sinister in the aspect of the sun, such as had been noted on the previous day. “Ah, sir,” said Hartwell, “you came hither with a blessing to us all, and you will leave with a sense of having accomplished by the exercise of your own judgment far more than we looked for at such a time. The boats have put out to the fishing ground once more, and the dread that seemed overhanging our poor friends sank with the setting sun last evening.” “Not to me be the praise--not to me,” said Wesley, bowing his head in all humility. After a few moments he raised his head quite suddenly, saying: “You have referred to my judgment, dear friend; I wonder if you think that in many matters my judgment is worthy to be depended on?” “Indeed, sir, I know of no man in the world whose judgment in all reasonable matters I would accept sooner than yours,” replied Hartwell. “Why, Mr. Wesley, who save you would have foreseen a way of avoiding the trouble which threatened us by such means as you adopted? Were not we all looking for you to administer a rebuke to the man whose vanity carried him so far away from what we held to be discreet? Was there one of us who foresaw that the right way of treating him was to let him alone?”