by George Eliot
Chapter XXXIV
The Betrothal
IT was a dry Sunday, and really a pleasant day for the 2d of November.There was no sunshine, but the clouds were high, and the wind was sostill that the yellow leaves which fluttered down from the hedgerow elmsmust have fallen from pure decay. Nevertheless, Mrs. Poyser did not goto church, for she had taken a cold too serious to be neglected; onlytwo winters ago she had been laid up for weeks with a cold; and sincehis wife did not go to church, Mr. Poyser considered that on the wholeit would be as well for him to stay away too and "keep her company." Hecould perhaps have given no precise form to the reasons that determinedthis conclusion, but it is well known to all experienced minds that ourfirmest convictions are often dependent on subtle impressions for whichwords are quite too coarse a medium. However it was, no one from thePoyser family went to church that afternoon except Hetty and the boys;yet Adam was bold enough to join them after church, and say that hewould walk home with them, though all the way through the village heappeared to be chiefly occupied with Marty and Tommy, telling them aboutthe squirrels in Binton Coppice, and promising to take them there someday. But when they came to the fields he said to the boys, "Now, then,which is the stoutest walker? Him as gets to th' home-gate first shallbe the first to go with me to Binton Coppice on the donkey. But Tommymust have the start up to the next stile, because he's the smallest."
Adam had never behaved so much like a determined lover before. As soonas the boys had both set off, he looked down at Hetty and said, "Won'tyou hang on my arm, Hetty?" in a pleading tone, as if he had alreadyasked her and she had refused. Hetty looked up at him smilingly and puther round arm through his in a moment. It was nothing to her, puttingher arm through Adam's, but she knew he cared a great deal about havingher arm through his, and she wished him to care. Her heart beat nofaster, and she looked at the half-bare hedgerows and the ploughed fieldwith the same sense of oppressive dulness as before. But Adam scarcelyfelt that he was walking. He thought Hetty must know that he waspressing her arm a little--a very little. Words rushed to his lips thathe dared not utter--that he had made up his mind not to utter yet--andso he was silent for the length of that field. The calm patiencewith which he had once waited for Hetty's love, content only with herpresence and the thought of the future, had forsaken him since thatterrible shock nearly three months ago. The agitations of jealousy hadgiven a new restlessness to his passion--had made fear and uncertaintytoo hard almost to bear. But though he might not speak to Hetty of hislove, he would tell her about his new prospects and see if she would bepleased. So when he was enough master of himself to talk, he said, "I'mgoing to tell your uncle some news that'll surprise him, Hetty; and Ithink he'll be glad to hear it too."
"What's that?" Hetty said indifferently.
"Why, Mr. Burge has offered me a share in his business, and I'm going totake it."
There was a change in Hetty's face, certainly not produced by anyagreeable impression from this news. In fact she felt a momentaryannoyance and alarm, for she had so often heard it hinted by her unclethat Adam might have Mary Burge and a share in the business any day,if he liked, that she associated the two objects now, and the thoughtimmediately occurred that perhaps Adam had given her up because ofwhat had happened lately, and had turned towards Mary Burge. With thatthought, and before she had time to remember any reasons why it couldnot be true, came a new sense of forsakenness and disappointment. Theone thing--the one person--her mind had rested on in its dull weariness,had slipped away from her, and peevish misery filled her eyes withtears. She was looking on the ground, but Adam saw her face, saw thetears, and before he had finished saying, "Hetty, dear Hetty, whatare you crying for?" his eager rapid thought had flown through all thecauses conceivable to him, and had at last alighted on half the trueone. Hetty thought he was going to marry Mary Burge--she didn't like himto marry--perhaps she didn't like him to marry any one but herself? Allcaution was swept away--all reason for it was gone, and Adam could feelnothing but trembling joy. He leaned towards her and took her hand, ashe said:
"I could afford to be married now, Hetty--I could make a wifecomfortable; but I shall never want to be married if you won't have me."
Hetty looked up at him and smiled through her tears, as she had done toArthur that first evening in the wood, when she had thought he was notcoming, and yet he came. It was a feebler relief, a feebler triumph shefelt now, but the great dark eyes and the sweet lips were as beautifulas ever, perhaps more beautiful, for there was a more luxuriantwomanliness about Hetty of late. Adam could hardly believe in thehappiness of that moment. His right hand held her left, and he pressedher arm close against his heart as he leaned down towards her.
"Do you really love me, Hetty? Will you be my own wife, to love and takecare of as long as I live?"
Hetty did not speak, but Adam's face was very close to hers, and sheput up her round cheek against his, like a kitten. She wanted to becaressed--she wanted to feel as if Arthur were with her again.
Adam cared for no words after that, and they hardly spoke through therest of the walk. He only said, "I may tell your uncle and aunt, mayn'tI, Hetty?" and she said, "Yes."
The red fire-light on the hearth at the Hall Farm shone on joyful facesthat evening, when Hetty was gone upstairs and Adam took the opportunityof telling Mr. and Mrs. Poyser and the grandfather that he saw his wayto maintaining a wife now, and that Hetty had consented to have him.
"I hope you have no objections against me for her husband," said Adam;"I'm a poor man as yet, but she shall want nothing as I can work for."
"Objections?" said Mr. Poyser, while the grandfather leaned forward andbrought out his long "Nay, nay." "What objections can we ha' to you,lad? Never mind your being poorish as yet; there's money in yourhead-piece as there's money i' the sown field, but it must ha' time.You'n got enough to begin on, and we can do a deal tow'rt the bit o'furniture you'll want. Thee'st got feathers and linen to spare--plenty,eh?"
This question was of course addressed to Mrs. Poyser, who was wrapped upin a warm shawl and was too hoarse to speak with her usual facility.At first she only nodded emphatically, but she was presently unable toresist the temptation to be more explicit.
"It ud be a poor tale if I hadna feathers and linen," she said,hoarsely, "when I never sell a fowl but what's plucked, and the wheel'sa-going every day o' the week."
"Come, my wench," said Mr. Poyser, when Hetty came down, "come and kissus, and let us wish you luck."
Hetty went very quietly and kissed the big good-natured man.
"There!" he said, patting her on the back, "go and kiss your aunt andyour grandfather. I'm as wishful t' have you settled well as if you wasmy own daughter; and so's your aunt, I'll be bound, for she's done byyou this seven 'ear, Hetty, as if you'd been her own. Come, come, now,"he went on, becoming jocose, as soon as Hetty had kissed her aunt andthe old man, "Adam wants a kiss too, I'll warrant, and he's a right toone now."
Hetty turned away, smiling, towards her empty chair.
"Come, Adam, then, take one," persisted Mr. Poyser, "else y' arena halfa man."
Adam got up, blushing like a small maiden--great strong fellow as hewas--and, putting his arm round Hetty stooped down and gently kissed herlips.
It was a pretty scene in the red fire-light; for there were nocandles--why should there be, when the fire was so bright and wasreflected from all the pewter and the polished oak? No one wanted towork on a Sunday evening. Even Hetty felt something like contentmentin the midst of all this love. Adam's attachment to her, Adam's caress,stirred no passion in her, were no longer enough to satisfy her vanity,but they were the best her life offered her now--they promised her somechange.
There was a great deal of discussion before Adam went away, about thepossibility of his finding a house that would do for him to settle in.No house was empty except the one next to Will Maskery's in the village,and that was too small for Adam now. Mr. Poyser insisted that the bestplan would be for Seth and his mother to move and leave Adam in
the oldhome, which might be enlarged after a while, for there was plenty ofspace in the woodyard and garden; but Adam objected to turning hismother out.
"Well, well," said Mr. Poyser at last, "we needna fix everythingto-night. We must take time to consider. You canna think o' gettingmarried afore Easter. I'm not for long courtships, but there must be abit o' time to make things comfortable."
"Aye, to be sure," said Mrs. Poyser, in a hoarse whisper; "Christianfolks can't be married like cuckoos, I reckon."
"I'm a bit daunted, though," said Mr. Poyser, "when I think as we mayhave notice to quit, and belike be forced to take a farm twenty mileoff."
"Eh," said the old man, staring at the floor and lifting his hands upand down, while his arms rested on the elbows of his chair, "it's a poortale if I mun leave th' ould spot an be buried in a strange parish. An'you'll happen ha' double rates to pay," he added, looking up at his son.
"Well, thee mustna fret beforehand, father," said Martin the younger."Happen the captain 'ull come home and make our peace wi' th' oldsquire. I build upo' that, for I know the captain 'll see folks rightedif he can."
