Adam Bede

by George Eliot

  Chapter XLII

  The Morning of the Trial

  AT one o'clock the next day, Adam was alone in his dull upper room;his watch lay before him on the table, as if he were counting thelong minutes. He had no knowledge of what was likely to be said bythe witnesses on the trial, for he had shrunk from all the particularsconnected with Hetty's arrest and accusation. This brave active man, whowould have hastened towards any danger or toil to rescue Hetty from anapprehended wrong or misfortune, felt himself powerless to contemplateirremediable evil and suffering. The susceptibility which would havebeen an impelling force where there was any possibility of action becamehelpless anguish when he was obliged to be passive, or else sought anactive outlet in the thought of inflicting justice on Arthur. Energeticnatures, strong for all strenuous deeds, will often rush away from ahopeless sufferer, as if they were hard-hearted. It is the overmasteringsense of pain that drives them. They shrink by an ungovernable instinct,as they would shrink from laceration. Adam had brought himself to thinkof seeing Hetty, if she would consent to see him, because he thought themeeting might possibly be a good to her--might help to melt away thisterrible hardness they told him of. If she saw he bore her no ill willfor what she had done to him, she might open her heart to him. But thisresolution had been an immense effort--he trembled at the thought ofseeing her changed face, as a timid woman trembles at the thought ofthe surgeon's knife, and he chose now to bear the long hours of suspenserather than encounter what seemed to him the more intolerable agony ofwitnessing her trial.

  Deep unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration,the initiation into a new state. The yearning memories, the bitterregret, the agonized sympathy, the struggling appeals to the InvisibleRight--all the intense emotions which had filled the days and nights ofthe past week, and were compressing themselves again like an eager crowdinto the hours of this single morning, made Adam look back on all theprevious years as if they had been a dim sleepy existence, and he hadonly now awaked to full consciousness. It seemed to him as if he hadalways before thought it a light thing that men should suffer, as if allthat he had himself endured and called sorrow before was only a moment'sstroke that had never left a bruise. Doubtless a great anguish may dothe work of years, and we may come out from that baptism of fire with asoul full of new awe and new pity.

  "O God," Adam groaned, as he leaned on the table and looked blankly atthe face of the watch, "and men have suffered like this before...andpoor helpless young things have suffered like her....Such a little whileago looking so happy and so pretty...kissing 'em all, her grandfatherand all of 'em, and they wishing her luck....O my poor, poorHetty...dost think on it now?"

  Adam started and looked round towards the door. Vixen had begun towhimper, and there was a sound of a stick and a lame walk on the stairs.It was Bartle Massey come back. Could it be all over?

  Bartle entered quietly, and, going up to Adam, grasped his hand andsaid, "I'm just come to look at you, my boy, for the folks are gone outof court for a bit."

  Adam's heart beat so violently he was unable to speak--he could onlyreturn the pressure of his friend's hand--and Bartle, drawing up theother chair, came and sat in front of him, taking off his hat and hisspectacles.

  "That's a thing never happened to me before," he observed, "to go out o'the door with my spectacles on. I clean forgot to take 'em off."

  The old man made this trivial remark, thinking it better not to respondat all to Adam's agitation: he would gather, in an indirect way, thatthere was nothing decisive to communicate at present.

  "And now," he said, rising again, "I must see to your having a bit ofthe loaf, and some of that wine Mr. Irwine sent this morning. He'll beangry with me if you don't have it. Come, now," he went on, bringingforward the bottle and the loaf and pouring some wine into a cup, "Imust have a bit and a sup myself. Drink a drop with me, my lad--drinkwith me."

  Adam pushed the cup gently away and said, entreatingly, "Tell me aboutit, Mr. Massey--tell me all about it. Was she there? Have they begun?"

  "Yes, my boy, yes--it's taken all the time since I first went; butthey're slow, they're slow; and there's the counsel they've got for herputs a spoke in the wheel whenever he can, and makes a deal to do withcross-examining the witnesses and quarrelling with the other lawyers.That's all he can do for the money they give him; and it's a bigsum--it's a big sum. But he's a 'cute fellow, with an eye that 'ud pickthe needles out of the hay in no time. If a man had got no feelings, it'ud be as good as a demonstration to listen to what goes on in court;but a tender heart makes one stupid. I'd have given up figures for everonly to have had some good news to bring to you, my poor lad."

  "But does it seem to be going against her?" said Adam. "Tell me whatthey've said. I must know it now--I must know what they have to bringagainst her."

  "Why, the chief evidence yet has been the doctors; all but MartinPoyser--poor Martin. Everybody in court felt for him--it was like onesob, the sound they made when he came down again. The worst was whenthey told him to look at the prisoner at the bar. It was hard work, poorfellow--it was hard work. Adam, my boy, the blow falls heavily on himas well as you; you must help poor Martin; you must show courage. Drinksome wine now, and show me you mean to bear it like a man."

  Bartle had made the right sort of appeal. Adam, with an air of quietobedience, took up the cup and drank a little.

  "Tell me how SHE looked," he said presently.

  "Frightened, very frightened, when they first brought her in; it was thefirst sight of the crowd and the judge, poor creatur. And there's a loto' foolish women in fine clothes, with gewgaws all up their armsand feathers on their heads, sitting near the judge: they've dressedthemselves out in that way, one 'ud think, to be scarecrows and warningsagainst any man ever meddling with a woman again. They put up theirglasses, and stared and whispered. But after that she stood like a whiteimage, staring down at her hands and seeming neither to hear nor seeanything. And she's as white as a sheet. She didn't speak when theyasked her if she'd plead 'guilty' or 'not guilty,' and they pleaded 'notguilty' for her. But when she heard her uncle's name, there seemed to goa shiver right through her; and when they told him to look at her, shehung her head down, and cowered, and hid her face in her hands.He'd much ado to speak poor man, his voice trembled so. And thecounsellors--who look as hard as nails mostly--I saw, spared him as muchas they could. Mr. Irwine put himself near him and went with him out o'court. Ah, it's a great thing in a man's life to be able to stand by aneighbour and uphold him in such trouble as that."

  "God bless him, and you too, Mr. Massey," said Adam, in a low voice,laying his hand on Bartle's arm.

  "Aye, aye, he's good metal; he gives the right ring when you try him,our parson does. A man o' sense--says no more than's needful. He's notone of those that think they can comfort you with chattering, as iffolks who stand by and look on knew a deal better what the trouble wasthan those who have to bear it. I've had to do with such folks in mytime--in the south, when I was in trouble myself. Mr. Irwine is to bea witness himself, by and by, on her side, you know, to speak to hercharacter and bringing up."

  "But the other evidence...does it go hard against her!" said Adam. "Whatdo you think, Mr. Massey? Tell me the truth."

  "Yes, my lad, yes. The truth is the best thing to tell. It must come atlast. The doctors' evidence is heavy on her--is heavy. But she's goneon denying she's had a child from first to last. These poor sillywomen-things--they've not the sense to know it's no use denying what'sproved. It'll make against her with the jury, I doubt, her being soobstinate: they may be less for recommending her to mercy, if theverdict's against her. But Mr. Irwine 'ull leave no stone unturned withthe judge--you may rely upon that, Adam."

  "Is there nobody to stand by her and seem to care for her in the court?"said Adam.

  "There's the chaplain o' the jail sits near her, but he's a sharpferrety-faced man--another sort o' flesh and blood to Mr. Irwine. Theysay the jail chaplains are mostly the fag-end o' the clergy."

 
; "There's one man as ought to be there," said Adam bitterly. Presently hedrew himself up and looked fixedly out of the window, apparently turningover some new idea in his mind.

  "Mr. Massey," he said at last, pushing the hair off his forehead, "I'llgo back with you. I'll go into court. It's cowardly of me to keep away.I'll stand by her--I'll own her--for all she's been deceitful. Theyoughtn't to cast her off--her own flesh and blood. We hand folks over toGod's mercy, and show none ourselves. I used to be hard sometimes: I'llnever be hard again. I'll go, Mr. Massey--I'll go with you."

  There was a decision in Adam's manner which would have prevented Bartlefrom opposing him, even if he had wished to do so. He only said, "Takea bit, then, and another sup, Adam, for the love of me. See, I must stopand eat a morsel. Now, you take some."

  Nerved by an active resolution, Adam took a morsel of bread and dranksome wine. He was haggard and unshaven, as he had been yesterday, but hestood upright again, and looked more like the Adam Bede of former days.