CHAPTER XIII
John Wesley had ample food for thought for the remainder of his journey. He knew that the man who had appeared to him so suddenly out of the mist had for some time been on the brink of madness through his wild passion for Nelly Pol-whele, which brought about a frenzy of jealousy in respect of any man whom he saw near the girl. The fierceness of his gibes was due to this madness of his. But had the wretch stumbled in his blindness over a true thing? Was it the truth that he, Wesley, had all. unknown to himself drawn that girl close to him by a tenderer cord than that which had caused her to minister to his needs after he had preached his first great sermon?
The very idea of such a thing happening was startling to him. It would have seemed shocking to him if it had not seemed incredible. How was it possible, he asked himself, that that girl could have been drawn to love him? What was he to attract the love of such a young woman? He was in all matters save only one, cold and austere. He knew that his austereness had been made the subject of ridicule—of caricature—at Oxford and Bath and elsewhere. He had been called lugubrious by reason of his dwelling so intently on the severer side of life, and he had never thought it necessary to defend himself from such charges. He was sure that they were not true.
That was the manner of man that he was, and this being so, how was it possible that he should ever draw to himself the love of such a bright creature as Nelly Polwhele? What was she? Why, the very opposite to him in every respect. She was vivacious—almost frivolous; she had taken a delight in all the gaieties of life—why, the first time he saw her she had been in the act of imitating a notorious play-actress, and, what made it worse, she was playing the part extremely well. To be sure she had taken his reproof with an acknowledgment that it was deserved, and she had of her own free will and under no pressure from him promised that she would never again enter a playhouse; but still he knew that the desire for such gaieties was not eradicated from her nature. It would be unnatural to suppose' that it was. In short, she had nothing in common with him, and to fancy that she had seen anything in him to attract her love would be to fancy the butterfly in rapture around a thistle.
Oh, it was incredible that such a thing should happen. The notion was the outcome of the jealousy of that wretch. Why, the first time that the man had seen them together had he not burst out on them, accusing him of stealing away the child's affection, although he had not been ten minutes by her side?
Of course the notion was preposterous. He felt that it was so, and at the same moment that this conviction came to him, he was conscious of a little feeling of sadness to think that it was so. The more certain he became on the matter the greater was the regret that he felt.
Was it curious that he should dwell upon what the man had said last rather than upon what he had said first? But some time had passed before he recalled the charge that Bennet had brought against him almost immediately after they had met—the charge of having Nelly Polwhele in his thoughts rather than the work with which he had been entrusted by his Maker. The man had accused him of loving the girl, and declared that his present trouble was the rebuke that he had earned.
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: