Adam Bede

  Chapter XL

  The Bitter Waters Spread

  MR. IRWINE returned from Stoniton in a post-chaise that night, and thefirst words Carroll said to him, as he entered the house, were, thatSquire Donnithorne was dead--found dead in his bed at ten o'clock thatmorning--and that Mrs. Irwine desired him to say she should be awakewhen Mr. Irwine came home, and she begged him not to go to bed withoutseeing her.

  "Well, Dauphin," Mrs. Irwine said, as her son entered her room, "you'recome at last. So the old gentleman's fidgetiness and low spirits, whichmade him send for Arthur in that sudden way, really meant something. Isuppose Carroll has told you that Donnithorne was found dead in his bedthis morning. You will believe my prognostications another time, thoughI daresay I shan't live to prognosticate anything but my own death."

  "What have they done about Arthur?" said Mr. Irwine. "Sent a messengerto await him at Liverpool?"

  "Yes, Ralph was gone before the news was brought to us. Dear Arthur, Ishall live now to see him master at the Chase, and making good times onthe estate, like a generous-hearted fellow as he is. He'll be as happyas a king now."

  Mr. Irwine could not help giving a slight groan: he was worn withanxiety and exertion, and his mother's light words were almostintolerable.

  "What are you so dismal about, Dauphin? Is there any bad news? Or areyou thinking of the danger for Arthur in crossing that frightful IrishChannel at this time of year?"

  "No, Mother, I'm not thinking of that; but I'm not prepared to rejoicejust now."

  "You've been worried by this law business that you've been to Stonitonabout. What in the world is it, that you can't tell me?"

  "You will know by and by, mother. It would not be right for me to tellyou at present. Good-night: you'll sleep now you have no longer anythingto listen for."

  Mr. Irwine gave up his intention of sending a letter to meet Arthur,since it would not now hasten his return: the news of his grandfather'sdeath would bring him as soon as he could possibly come. He could goto bed now and get some needful rest, before the time came for themorning's heavy duty of carrying his sickening news to the Hall Farm andto Adam's home.

  Adam himself was not come back from Stoniton, for though he shrank fromseeing Hetty, he could not bear to go to a distance from her again.

  "It's no use, sir," he said to the rector, "it's no use for me to goback. I can't go to work again while she's here, and I couldn't bearthe sight o' the things and folks round home. I'll take a bit of a roomhere, where I can see the prison walls, and perhaps I shall get, intime, to bear seeing her."

  Adam had not been shaken in his belief that Hetty was innocent of thecrime she was charged with, for Mr. Irwine, feeling that the belief inher guilt would be a crushing addition to Adam's load, had kept from himthe facts which left no hope in his own mind. There was not any reasonfor thrusting the whole burden on Adam at once, and Mr. Irwine, atparting, only said, "If the evidence should tell too strongly againsther, Adam, we may still hope for a pardon. Her youth and othercircumstances will be a plea for her."

  "Ah, and it's right people should know how she was tempted into thewrong way," said Adam, with bitter earnestness. "It's right they shouldknow it was a fine gentleman made love to her, and turned her head wi'notions. You'll remember, sir, you've promised to tell my mother, andSeth, and the people at the farm, who it was as led her wrong, elsethey'll think harder of her than she deserves. You'll be doing her ahurt by sparing him, and I hold him the guiltiest before God, let herha' done what she may. If you spare him, I'll expose him!"

  "I think your demand is just, Adam," said Mr. Irwine, "but when you arecalmer, you will judge Arthur more mercifully. I say nothing now, onlythat his punishment is in other hands than ours."

  Mr. Irwine felt it hard upon him that he should have to tell of Arthur'ssad part in the story of sin and sorrow--he who cared for Arthur withfatherly affection, who had cared for him with fatherly pride. But hesaw clearly that the secret must be known before long, even apart fromAdam's determination, since it was scarcely to be supposed that Hettywould persist to the end in her obstinate silence. He made up his mindto withhold nothing from the Poysers, but to tell them the worst atonce, for there was no time to rob the tidings of their suddenness.Hetty's trial must come on at the Lent assizes, and they were to beheld at Stoniton the next week. It was scarcely to be hoped that MartinPoyser could escape the pain of being called as a witness, and it wasbetter he should know everything as long beforehand as possible.

  Before ten o'clock on Thursday morning the home at the Hall Farm wasa house of mourning for a misfortune felt to be worse than death. Thesense of family dishonour was too keen even in the kind-hearted MartinPoyser the younger to leave room for any compassion towards Hetty. Heand his father were simple-minded farmers, proud of their untarnishedcharacter, proud that they came of a family which had held up its headand paid its way as far back as its name was in the parish register;and Hetty had brought disgrace on them all--disgrace that could neverbe wiped out. That was the all-conquering feeling in the mind both offather and son--the scorching sense of disgrace, which neutralised allother sensibility--and Mr. Irwine was struck with surprise to observethat Mrs. Poyser was less severe than her husband. We are often startledby the severity of mild people on exceptional occasions; the reason is,that mild people are most liable to be under the yoke of traditionalimpressions.

  "I'm willing to pay any money as is wanted towards trying to bring heroff," said Martin the younger when Mr. Irwine was gone, while the oldgrandfather was crying in the opposite chair, "but I'll not go nigh her,nor ever see her again, by my own will. She's made our bread bitter tous for all our lives to come, an' we shall ne'er hold up our heads i'this parish nor i' any other. The parson talks o' folks pitying us: it'spoor amends pity 'ull make us."

  "Pity?" said the grandfather, sharply. "I ne'er wanted folks's pity i'MY life afore...an' I mun begin to be looked down on now, an' me turnedseventy-two last St. Thomas's, an' all th' underbearers and pall-bearersas I'n picked for my funeral are i' this parish and the next to't....It's o' no use now...I mun be ta'en to the grave by strangers."

  "Don't fret so, father," said Mrs. Poyser, who had spoken very little,being almost overawed by her husband's unusual hardness and decision."You'll have your children wi' you; an' there's the lads and the littleun 'ull grow up in a new parish as well as i' th' old un."

  "Ah, there's no staying i' this country for us now," said Mr. Poyser,and the hard tears trickled slowly down his round cheeks. "We thoughtit 'ud be bad luck if the old squire gave us notice this Lady day, but Imust gi' notice myself now, an' see if there can anybody be got to comean' take to the crops as I'n put i' the ground; for I wonna stay upo'that man's land a day longer nor I'm forced to't. An' me, as thought himsuch a good upright young man, as I should be glad when he come to beour landlord. I'll ne'er lift my hat to him again, nor sit i' the samechurch wi' him...a man as has brought shame on respectable folks...an'pretended to be such a friend t' everybody....Poor Adam there...a finefriend he's been t' Adam, making speeches an' talking so fine, an' allthe while poisoning the lad's life, as it's much if he can stay i' thiscountry any more nor we can."

  "An' you t' ha' to go into court, and own you're akin t' her," said theold man. "Why, they'll cast it up to the little un, as isn't four 'earold, some day--they'll cast it up t' her as she'd a cousin tried at the'sizes for murder."

  "It'll be their own wickedness, then," said Mrs. Poyser, with a sob inher voice. "But there's One above 'ull take care o' the innicent child,else it's but little truth they tell us at church. It'll be harder norever to die an' leave the little uns, an' nobody to be a mother to 'em."

  "We'd better ha' sent for Dinah, if we'd known where she is," said Mr.Poyser; "but Adam said she'd left no direction where she'd be at Leeds."

  "Why, she'd be wi' that woman as was a friend t' her Aunt Judith," saidMrs. Poyser, comforted a little by this suggestion of her husband."I've often heard Dinah talk of her, but I can't remember what nameshe ca
lled her by. But there's Seth Bede; he's like enough to know, forshe's a preaching woman as the Methodists think a deal on."

  "I'll send to Seth," said Mr. Poyser. "I'll send Alick to tell him tocome, or else to send up word o' the woman's name, an' thee canst writea letter ready to send off to Treddles'on as soon as we can make out adirection."

  "It's poor work writing letters when you want folks to come to you i'trouble," said Mrs. Poyser. "Happen it'll be ever so long on the road,an' never reach her at last."

  Before Alick arrived with the message, Lisbeth's thoughts too hadalready flown to Dinah, and she had said to Seth, "Eh, there's nocomfort for us i' this world any more, wi'out thee couldst get DinahMorris to come to us, as she did when my old man died. I'd like her tocome in an' take me by th' hand again, an' talk to me. She'd tell me therights on't, belike--she'd happen know some good i' all this trouble an'heart-break comin' upo' that poor lad, as ne'er done a bit o' wrong in'slife, but war better nor anybody else's son, pick the country round. Eh,my lad...Adam, my poor lad!"

  "Thee wouldstna like me to leave thee, to go and fetch Dinah?" saidSeth, as his mother sobbed and rocked herself to and fro.

  "Fetch her?" said Lisbeth, looking up and pausing from her grief, likea crying child who hears some promise of consolation. "Why, what placeis't she's at, do they say?"

  "It's a good way off, mother--Leeds, a big town. But I could be back inthree days, if thee couldst spare me."

  "Nay, nay, I canna spare thee. Thee must go an' see thy brother, an'bring me word what he's a-doin'. Mester Irwine said he'd come an' tellme, but I canna make out so well what it means when he tells me. Theemust go thysen, sin' Adam wonna let me go to him. Write a letter toDinah canstna? Thee't fond enough o' writin' when nobody wants thee."

  "I'm not sure where she'd be i' that big town," said Seth. "If I'd gonemyself, I could ha' found out by asking the members o' the Society. Butperhaps if I put Sarah Williamson, Methodist preacher, Leeds, o'th' outside, it might get to her; for most like she'd be wi' SarahWilliamson."

  Alick came now with the message, and Seth, finding that Mrs. Poyser waswriting to Dinah, gave up the intention of writing himself; but he wentto the Hall Farm to tell them all he could suggest about the addressof the letter, and warn them that there might be some delay in thedelivery, from his not knowing an exact direction.

  On leaving Lisbeth, Mr. Irwine had gone to Jonathan Burge, who had alsoa claim to be acquainted with what was likely to keep Adam away frombusiness for some time; and before six o'clock that evening there werefew people in Broxton and Hayslope who had not heard the sad news. Mr.Irwine had not mentioned Arthur's name to Burge, and yet the story ofhis conduct towards Hetty, with all the dark shadows cast upon it byits terrible consequences, was presently as well known as that hisgrandfather was dead, and that he was come into the estate. For MartinPoyser felt no motive to keep silence towards the one or two neighbourswho ventured to come and shake him sorrowfully by the hand on the firstday of his trouble; and Carroll, who kept his ears open to all thatpassed at the rectory, had framed an inferential version of the story,and found early opportunities of communicating it.

  One of those neighbours who came to Martin Poyser and shook him by thehand without speaking for some minutes was Bartle Massey. He had shutup his school, and was on his way to the rectory, where he arrived abouthalf-past seven in the evening, and, sending his duty to Mr. Irwine,begged pardon for troubling him at that hour, but had somethingparticular on his mind. He was shown into the study, where Mr. Irwinesoon joined him.

  "Well, Bartle?" said Mr. Irwine, putting out his hand. That was not hisusual way of saluting the schoolmaster, but trouble makes us treat allwho feel with us very much alike. "Sit down."

  "You know what I'm come about as well as I do, sir, I daresay," saidBartle.

  "You wish to know the truth about the sad news that has reachedyou...about Hetty Sorrel?"

  "Nay, sir, what I wish to know is about Adam Bede. I understand you lefthim at Stoniton, and I beg the favour of you to tell me what's the stateof the poor lad's mind, and what he means to do. For as for that bit o'pink-and-white they've taken the trouble to put in jail, I don't valueher a rotten nut--not a rotten nut--only for the harm or good that maycome out of her to an honest man--a lad I've set such storeby--trusted to, that he'd make my bit o' knowledge go a good way in theworld....Why, sir, he's the only scholar I've had in this stupid countrythat ever had the will or the head-piece for mathematics. If he hadn'thad so much hard work to do, poor fellow, he might have gone into thehigher branches, and then this might never have happened--might neverhave happened."

  Bartle was heated by the exertion of walking fast in an agitated frameof mind, and was not able to check himself on this first occasion ofventing his feelings. But he paused now to rub his moist forehead, andprobably his moist eyes also.

  "You'll excuse me, sir," he said, when this pause had given him time toreflect, "for running on in this way about my own feelings, like thatfoolish dog of mine howling in a storm, when there's nobody wants tolisten to me. I came to hear you speak, not to talk myself--if you'lltake the trouble to tell me what the poor lad's doing."

  "Don't put yourself under any restraint, Bartle," said Mr. Irwine. "Thefact is, I'm very much in the same condition as you just now; I've agreat deal that's painful on my mind, and I find it hard work to bequite silent about my own feelings and only attend to others. I shareyour concern for Adam, though he is not the only one whose sufferings Icare for in this affair. He intends to remain at Stoniton till after thetrial: it will come on probably a week to-morrow. He has taken a roomthere, and I encouraged him to do so, because I think it better heshould be away from his own home at present; and, poor fellow, he stillbelieves Hetty is innocent--he wants to summon up courage to see her ifhe can; he is unwilling to leave the spot where she is."

  "Do you think the creatur's guilty, then?" said Bartle. "Do you thinkthey'll hang her?"

  "I'm afraid it will go hard with her. The evidence is very strong. Andone bad symptom is that she denies everything--denies that she has hada child in the face of the most positive evidence. I saw her myself, andshe was obstinately silent to me; she shrank up like a frightened animalwhen she saw me. I was never so shocked in my life as at the change inher. But I trust that, in the worst case, we may obtain a pardon for thesake of the innocent who are involved."

  "Stuff and nonsense!" said Bartle, forgetting in his irritation to whomhe was speaking. "I beg your pardon, sir, I mean it's stuff and nonsensefor the innocent to care about her being hanged. For my own part, Ithink the sooner such women are put out o' the world the better; and themen that help 'em to do mischief had better go along with 'em for thatmatter. What good will you do by keeping such vermin alive, eating thevictual that 'ud feed rational beings? But if Adam's fool enough to careabout it, I don't want him to suffer more than's needful....Is he verymuch cut up, poor fellow?" Bartle added, taking out his spectacles andputting them on, as if they would assist his imagination.

  "Yes, I'm afraid the grief cuts very deep," said Mr. Irwine. "He looksterribly shattered, and a certain violence came over him now and thenyesterday, which made me wish I could have remained near him. But Ishall go to Stoniton again to-morrow, and I have confidence enough inthe strength of Adam's principle to trust that he will be able to endurethe worst without being driven to anything rash."

  Mr. Irwine, who was involuntarily uttering his own thoughts ratherthan addressing Bartle Massey in the last sentence, had in his mind thepossibility that the spirit of vengeance to-wards Arthur, which wasthe form Adam's anguish was continually taking, might make him seek anencounter that was likely to end more fatally than the one in the Grove.This possibility heightened the anxiety with which he looked forwardto Arthur's arrival. But Bartle thought Mr. Irwine was referring tosuicide, and his face wore a new alarm.

  "I'll tell you what I have in my head, sir," he said, "and I hope you'llapprove of it. I'm going to shut up my school--if the scholars come,they must go
back again, that's all--and I shall go to Stoniton and lookafter Adam till this business is over. I'll pretend I'm come to lookon at the assizes; he can't object to that. What do you think about it,sir?"

  "Well," said Mr. Irwine, rather hesitatingly, "there would be some realadvantages in that...and I honour you for your friendship towards him,Bartle. But...you must be careful what you say to him, you know. I'mafraid you have too little fellow-feeling in what you consider hisweakness about Hetty."

  "Trust to me, sir--trust to me. I know what you mean. I've been a foolmyself in my time, but that's between you and me. I shan't thrust myselfon him only keep my eye on him, and see that he gets some good food, andput in a word here and there."

  "Then," said Mr. Irwine, reassured a little as to Bartle's discretion,"I think you'll be doing a good deed; and it will be well for you to letAdam's mother and brother know that you're going."

  "Yes, sir, yes," said Bartle, rising, and taking off his spectacles,"I'll do that, I'll do that; though the mother's a whimperingthing--I don't like to come within earshot of her; however, she'sa straight-backed, clean woman, none of your slatterns. I wish yougood-bye, sir, and thank you for the time you've spared me. You'reeverybody's friend in this business--everybody's friend. It's a heavyweight you've got on your shoulders."

  "Good-bye, Bartle, till we meet at Stoniton, as I daresay we shall."

  Bartle hurried away from the rectory, evading Carroll's conversationaladvances, and saying in an exasperated tone to Vixen, whose short legspattered beside him on the gravel, "Now, I shall be obliged to take youwith me, you good-for-nothing woman. You'd go fretting yourself to deathif I left you--you know you would, and perhaps get snapped up by sometramp. And you'll be running into bad company, I expect, putting yournose in every hole and corner where you've no business! But if you doanything disgraceful, I'll disown you--mind that, madam, mind that!"

  Chapter XLI

  The Eve of the Trial