He had been startled by this accusation. Was that because he did not know all that was in his own heart? Could it be possible that he loved Nelly Polwhele? Once before he had asked himself this question, and he had not been able to assure himself as to how it should be answered, before he received that letter calling him back to this neighbourhood; and all thoughts that did not bear upon the subject of that' letter were swept from his mind. He knew that he heard in his ear a quick whisper that said: “_You will be beside her again within four days_;” but only for a single second had that thought taken possession of him. It had come to him with the leap up of a candle flame before it is extinguished. That thought had been quenched at the moment of its exuberance, and now he knew that this accusation brought against him was false; not once--not for a single moment, even when riding far into the evening through the lonely places of the valley where he might have looked to feel cheered by such a thought, had his heart whispered to him: “_You will be beside her again within four days_.” She had not come between him and the work which he had to do. But now the man had said to him all that brought back his thoughts to Nelly Polwhele; and having, as he fancied, answered the question which he put to him respecting her loving him, he found himself face to face with the Question of the possibility of his loving her. It came upon him with the force of a blow; the logical outcome of his first reflections: “If I found it incredible that she could have any affection for me because we have nothing in common, is not the same reason sufficient to convince me that it is impossible I could love her?” He was exceedingly anxious to assure himself that the feeling which he had for her was not the love which a man has for a woman; but he did not feel any great exultation on coming to this logical conclusion of his consideration of the question which had been suggested to him by the accusations of Bennet; on the contrary, he was conscious of a certain plaintive note in the midst of all his logic--a plaintive human note--the desire of a good man for the love of a good woman. He felt very lonely riding down that valley of sea-mist permeated not with the cold of the sea, but with the warmth of the sunlight that struck some of the highest green ridges of the slopes above him. His logic had led him only into his barren loneliness, until his sound mental training, which compelled him to examine an argument from every standpoint, asserted itself and he found that his logic was carrying him on still further, for now it was saying to him: “_If you, who have nothing in common with that young woman, have been led to love her, what is there incredible in the suggestion that she has been led to love you?_”