Wesley's head remained bent no longer.
“What mean you by that gibe, man?” he cried.
“Ask your own heart what I mean,” said the man fiercely. “Your own heart knows full well that you sought to win the love of the woman who walked with you on this road little more than a month ago, and who ministered to you on the day of your great preaching—you took her love from those to whom she owed it, and you have cherished, albeit you know that she can never be a wife to you.”
“The Lord rebuke thee,” said Wesley, when the man made a pause.
“Nay, 'tis on you that the rebuke has fallen, and you know it, John Wesley,” cried Bennet, more fiercely than ever. “Nelly Polwhele would have come to love me in time had not you come between us—that I know—I know it, I tell you, I know it—my love for her is so overwhelming that she would not have been able to hold out against it. But you came, and—answer me, man: when it was written to you that you were to return hither in hot haste to combat the folly of Pritchard, did not your heart exult with the thought singing through it, 'I shall see her again—I shall be beside her once more'?”
Wesley started so that his horse sprang forward and the man before him barely escaped being knocked down. But Bennet did not even pretend that he fancied Wesley intended riding him down. He only laughed savagely, saying:
“That start of yours tells me that I know what is in your heart better than you do yourself. Well, it hath made a revelation to you now, Mr. Wesley, and if you are wise you will profit by it. I tell you that if you think of her again you are lost—you are lost. The first rebuke has fallen upon you from above.'Tis a light one. But what will the second be? Ponder upon that question, sir. Know that even now she is softening toward me. Come not between us again. Man, the love of woman is not for such as you, least of all the love of a child whose heart is as the heart of the Spring season quivering with the joy of life. Now ride on, sir, and ask your reason if I have not counselled you aright.”
He had spoken almost frantically at first; but his voice had fallen: he had become almost calm while uttering his last sentences.
He took off his hat, stepped to one side, and pointed down the road. He kept his arm stretched out and his fingers as an index, while Wesley looked at him, as if about to make a reply.
But if Wesley meant to speak he relinquished his intention. He looked at the man without a word, and without breaking the silence, urged his horse forward and rode slowly away.