Adam Bede

by George Eliot

  Chapter XLIII

  The Verdict

  THE place fitted up that day as a court of justice was a grand old hall,now destroyed by fire. The midday light that fell on the close pavementof human heads was shed through a line of high pointed windows,variegated with the mellow tints of old painted glass. Grim dusty armourhung in high relief in front of the dark oaken gallery at the fartherend, and under the broad arch of the great mullioned window opposite wasspread a curtain of old tapestry, covered with dim melancholy figures,like a dozing indistinct dream of the past. It was a place that throughthe rest of the year was haunted with the shadowy memories of oldkings and queens, unhappy, discrowned, imprisoned; but to-day all thoseshadows had fled, and not a soul in the vast hall felt the presence ofany but a living sorrow, which was quivering in warm hearts.

  But that sorrow seemed to have made it itself feebly felt hitherto, nowwhen Adam Bede's tall figure was suddenly seen being ushered to the sideof the prisoner's dock. In the broad sunlight of the great hall, amongthe sleek shaven faces of other men, the marks of suffering in his facewere startling even to Mr. Irwine, who had last seen him in the dimlight of his small room; and the neighbours from Hayslope who werepresent, and who told Hetty Sorrel's story by their firesides in theirold age, never forgot to say how it moved them when Adam Bede, poorfellow, taller by the head than most of the people round him, came intocourt and took his place by her side.

  But Hetty did not see him. She was standing in the same position BartleMassey had described, her hands crossed over each other and her eyesfixed on them. Adam had not dared to look at her in the first moments,but at last, when the attention of the court was withdrawn by theproceedings he turned his face towards her with a resolution not toshrink.

  Why did they say she was so changed? In the corpse we love, it is thelikeness we see--it is the likeness, which makes itself felt the morekeenly because something else was and is not. There they were--the sweetface and neck, with the dark tendrils of hair, the long dark lashes, therounded cheek and the pouting lips--pale and thin, yes, but like Hetty,and only Hetty. Others thought she looked as if some demon had cast ablighting glance upon her, withered up the woman's soul in her, andleft only a hard despairing obstinacy. But the mother's yearning, thatcompletest type of the life in another life which is the essence ofreal human love, feels the presence of the cherished child even in thedebased, degraded man; and to Adam, this pale, hard-looking culpritwas the Hetty who had smiled at him in the garden under the apple-treeboughs--she was that Hetty's corpse, which he had trembled to look atthe first time, and then was unwilling to turn away his eyes from.

  But presently he heard something that compelled him to listen, and madethe sense of sight less absorbing. A woman was in the witness-box, amiddle-aged woman, who spoke in a firm distinct voice. She said, "Myname is Sarah Stone. I am a widow, and keep a small shop licensed tosell tobacco, snuff, and tea in Church Lane, Stoniton. The prisoner atthe bar is the same young woman who came, looking ill and tired, witha basket on her arm, and asked for a lodging at my house on Saturdayevening, the 27th of February. She had taken the house for a public,because there was a figure against the door. And when I said I didn'ttake in lodgers, the prisoner began to cry, and said she was too tiredto go anywhere else, and she only wanted a bed for one night. And herprettiness, and her condition, and something respectable about herclothes and looks, and the trouble she seemed to be in made me as Icouldn't find in my heart to send her away at once. I asked her to sitdown, and gave her some tea, and asked her where she was going, andwhere her friends were. She said she was going home to her friends: theywere farming folks a good way off, and she'd had a long journey that hadcost her more money than she expected, so as she'd hardly any money leftin her pocket, and was afraid of going where it would cost her much. Shehad been obliged to sell most of the things out of her basket, but she'dthankfully give a shilling for a bed. I saw no reason why I shouldn'ttake the young woman in for the night. I had only one room, but therewere two beds in it, and I told her she might stay with me. I thoughtshe'd been led wrong, and got into trouble, but if she was going to herfriends, it would be a good work to keep her out of further harm."

  The witness then stated that in the night a child was born, and sheidentified the baby-clothes then shown to her as those in which she hadherself dressed the child.

  "Those are the clothes. I made them myself, and had kept them by meever since my last child was born. I took a deal of trouble both forthe child and the mother. I couldn't help taking to the little thing andbeing anxious about it. I didn't send for a doctor, for there seemed noneed. I told the mother in the day-time she must tell me the name of herfriends, and where they lived, and let me write to them. She said, byand by she would write herself, but not to-day. She would have no nay,but she would get up and be dressed, in spite of everything I could say.She said she felt quite strong enough; and it was wonderful what spiritshe showed. But I wasn't quite easy what I should do about her, andtowards evening I made up my mind I'd go, after Meeting was over, andspeak to our minister about it. I left the house about half-past eighto'clock. I didn't go out at the shop door, but at the back door, whichopens into a narrow alley. I've only got the ground-floor of thehouse, and the kitchen and bedroom both look into the alley. I left theprisoner sitting up by the fire in the kitchen with the baby on her lap.She hadn't cried or seemed low at all, as she did the night before. Ithought she had a strange look with her eyes, and she got a bit flushedtowards evening. I was afraid of the fever, and I thought I'd call andask an acquaintance of mine, an experienced woman, to come back withme when I went out. It was a very dark night. I didn't fasten the doorbehind me; there was no lock; it was a latch with a bolt inside, andwhen there was nobody in the house I always went out at the shop door.But I thought there was no danger in leaving it unfastened that littlewhile. I was longer than I meant to be, for I had to wait for the womanthat came back with me. It was an hour and a half before we got back,and when we went in, the candle was standing burning just as I left it,but the prisoner and the baby were both gone. She'd taken her cloak andbonnet, but she'd left the basket and the things in it....I wasdreadful frightened, and angry with her for going. I didn't go to giveinformation, because I'd no thought she meant to do any harm, and I knewshe had money in her pocket to buy her food and lodging. I didn't liketo set the constable after her, for she'd a right to go from me if sheliked."

  The effect of this evidence on Adam was electrical; it gave him newforce. Hetty could not be guilty of the crime--her heart must have clungto her baby--else why should she have taken it with her? She might haveleft it behind. The little creature had died naturally, and then shehad hidden it. Babies were so liable to death--and there might bethe strongest suspicions without any proof of guilt. His mind was sooccupied with imaginary arguments against such suspicions, that hecould not listen to the cross-examination by Hetty's counsel, who tried,without result, to elicit evidence that the prisoner had shown somemovements of maternal affection towards the child. The whole time thiswitness was being examined, Hetty had stood as motionless as before: noword seemed to arrest her ear. But the sound of the next witness'svoice touched a chord that was still sensitive, she gave a start and afrightened look towards him, but immediately turned away her head andlooked down at her hands as before. This witness was a man, a roughpeasant. He said:

  "My name is John Olding. I am a labourer, and live at Tedd's Hole, twomiles out of Stoniton. A week last Monday, towards one o'clock in theafternoon, I was going towards Hetton Coppice, and about a quarter of amile from the coppice I saw the prisoner, in a red cloak, sitting undera bit of a haystack not far off the stile. She got up when she saw me,and seemed as if she'd be walking on the other way. It was a regularroad through the fields, and nothing very uncommon to see a young womanthere, but I took notice of her because she looked white and scared. Ishould have thought she was a beggar-woman, only for her good clothes. Ithought she looked a bit crazy, but it was no business of mine. I stoodan
d looked back after her, but she went right on while she was in sight.I had to go to the other side of the coppice to look after some stakes.There's a road right through it, and bits of openings here and there,where the trees have been cut down, and some of 'em not carried away.I didn't go straight along the road, but turned off towards the middle,and took a shorter way towards the spot I wanted to get to. I hadn't gotfar out of the road into one of the open places before I heard a strangecry. I thought it didn't come from any animal I knew, but I wasn't forstopping to look about just then. But it went on, and seemed so strangeto me in that place, I couldn't help stopping to look. I began to thinkI might make some money of it, if it was a new thing. But I had hardwork to tell which way it came from, and for a good while I kept lookingup at the boughs. And then I thought it came from the ground; and therewas a lot of timber-choppings lying about, and loose pieces of turf, anda trunk or two. And I looked about among them, but could find nothing,and at last the cry stopped. So I was for giving it up, and I went onabout my business. But when I came back the same way pretty nigh an hourafter, I couldn't help laying down my stakes to have another look. Andjust as I was stooping and laying down the stakes, I saw something oddand round and whitish lying on the ground under a nut-bush by the sideof me. And I stooped down on hands and knees to pick it up. And I saw itwas a little baby's hand."

  At these words a thrill ran through the court. Hetty was visiblytrembling; now, for the first time, she seemed to be listening to what awitness said.

  "There was a lot of timber-choppings put together just where the groundwent hollow, like, under the bush, and the hand came out from amongthem. But there was a hole left in one place and I could see down itand see the child's head; and I made haste and did away the turf and thechoppings, and took out the child. It had got comfortable clothes on,but its body was cold, and I thought it must be dead. I made haste backwith it out of the wood, and took it home to my wife. She said it wasdead, and I'd better take it to the parish and tell the constable. And Isaid, 'I'll lay my life it's that young woman's child as I met going tothe coppice.' But she seemed to be gone clean out of sight. And I tookthe child on to Hetton parish and told the constable, and we went on toJustice Hardy. And then we went looking after the young woman till darkat night, and we went and gave information at Stoniton, as they mightstop her. And the next morning, another constable came to me, to go withhim to the spot where I found the child. And when we got there, therewas the prisoner a-sitting against the bush where I found the child; andshe cried out when she saw us, but she never offered to move. She'd gota big piece of bread on her lap."

  Adam had given a faint groan of despair while this witness was speaking.He had hidden his face on his arm, which rested on the boarding in frontof him. It was the supreme moment of his suffering: Hetty was guilty;and he was silently calling to God for help. He heard no more of theevidence, and was unconscious when the case for the prosecution hadclosed--unconscious that Mr. Irwine was in the witness-box, tellingof Hetty's unblemished character in her own parish and of the virtuoushabits in which she had been brought up. This testimony could have noinfluence on the verdict, but it was given as part of that plea formercy which her own counsel would have made if he had been allowed tospeak for her--a favour not granted to criminals in those stern times.

  At last Adam lifted up his head, for there was a general movement roundhim. The judge had addressed the jury, and they were retiring. Thedecisive moment was not far off. Adam felt a shuddering horror that wouldnot let him look at Hetty, but she had long relapsed into her blank hardindifference. All eyes were strained to look at her, but she stood likea statue of dull despair.

  'There was a mingled rustling, whispering, and low buzzing throughoutthe court during this interval. The desire to listen was suspended, andevery one had some feeling or opinion to express in undertones. Adamsat looking blankly before him, but he did not see the objects that wereright in front of his eyes--the counsel and attorneys talking with anair of cool business, and Mr. Irwine in low earnest conversation withthe judge--did not see Mr. Irwine sit down again in agitation and shakehis head mournfully when somebody whispered to him. The inward actionwas too intense for Adam to take in outward objects until some strongsensation roused him.

  It was not very long, hardly more than a quarter of an hour, beforethe knock which told that the jury had come to their decision fell as asignal for silence on every ear. It is sublime--that sudden pause of agreat multitude which tells that one soul moves in them all. Deeper anddeeper the silence seemed to become, like the deepening night, while thejurymen's names were called over, and the prisoner was made to hold upher hand, and the jury were asked for their verdict.

  "Guilty."

  It was the verdict every one expected, but there was a sighof disappointment from some hearts that it was followed by norecommendation to mercy. Still the sympathy of the court was not withthe prisoner. The unnaturalness of her crime stood out the more harshlyby the side of her hard immovability and obstinate silence. Even theverdict, to distant eyes, had not appeared to move her, but those whowere near saw her trembling.

  The stillness was less intense until the judge put on his black cap, andthe chaplain in his canonicals was observed behind him. Then it deepenedagain, before the crier had had time to command silence. If any soundwere heard, it must have been the sound of beating hearts. The judgespoke, "Hester Sorrel...."

  The blood rushed to Hetty's face, and then fled back again as shelooked up at the judge and kept her wide-open eyes fixed on him, as iffascinated by fear. Adam had not yet turned towards her, there was adeep horror, like a great gulf, between them. But at the words "andthen to be hanged by the neck till you be dead," a piercing shriek rangthrough the hall. It was Hetty's shriek. Adam started to his feet andstretched out his arms towards her. But the arms could not reach her:she had fallen down in a fainting-fit, and was carried out of court.