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Richard refused to let any emotion, primary or reflex, influence his opinions; they must be determined by fact and severe logical outline.  Whatever was not to him definite—­that is, was not by him formally conceivable, must not be put in the category of things to be believed; but he had not a notion how many things he accepted unquestioning, which were yet of this order; and not being only a thing that thought, but a thing as well that was thought, he could not help being more influenced by such a sight than he would have chosen to be, and the fact that he was so influenced remained.  Happily, the choice whether we shall be influenced is not given us; happily, too, the choice whether we shall obey an influence is given us.

Without a word, Richard lifted his hat to the stranger, and walked on, leaving him where he stood, but taking with him a germ of new feeling, which would enlarge and divide and so multiply.  When he got to the next stile, he looked back, and saw him seated as at first, but now reading.

CHAPTER XXV.

WING FOLD AND HIS WIFE.

Thomas Wingfold closed his book, replaced it in his pocket, got down from the stile, turned his face toward home, crossed field after field, and arrived just in time to meet his wife as she came down the stair to breakfast.

“Have you had a nice walk, Thomas?” she asked.

“Indeed I have!” he answered.  “Almost from the first I was right out in the open.”—­His wife knew what he meant.—­“Before the sun came up”, he went on, “I had to go in, and come out at another door; but I was soon very glad of it.  I had met a fellow who, I think, will pluck his feet out of the mud before long.”

“Have you asked him to the rectory?”

“No.”

“Shall I write and ask him?”

“No, my wife.  For one thing, you can’t:  I don’t know his name, and I don’t know what he is, or where he lives.  But we shall meet again soon.”

“Then you have made an appointment with him!”

“No, I haven’t.  But there’s an undertow bringing us on to each other.  It would spoil all if he thought I threw a net for him.  I do mean to catch him if I can, but I will not move till the tide brings him into my arms.  At least, that is how the thing looks to me at present.  I believe enough not to make haste.  I don’t want to throw salt on any bird’s tail, but I do want the birds to come hopping about me, that I may tell them what I know!”

As near as he could, Wingfold recounted the conversation he had had with Richard.

“He was a fine-looking fellow,” he said, “—­not exactly a gentleman, but not far off it; little would make him one.  He looked a man that could do things, but I did not satisfy myself as to what might be his trade.  He showed no sign of it, or made any allusion to it.  But he was more at home in the workshop of his own mind than is at all usual with fellows of his age.”