Adam Bede

by George Eliot

  Chapter XLV

  In the Prison

  NEAR sunset that evening an elderly gentleman was standing with his backagainst the smaller entrance-door of Stoniton jail, saying a few lastwords to the departing chaplain. The chaplain walked away, but theelderly gentleman stood still, looking down on the pavement and strokinghis chin with a ruminating air, when he was roused by a sweet clearwoman's voice, saying, "Can I get into the prison, if you please?"

  He turned his head and looked fixedly at the speaker for a few momentswithout answering.

  "I have seen you before," he said at last. "Do you remember preaching onthe village green at Hayslope in Loamshire?"

  "Yes, sir, surely. Are you the gentleman that stayed to listen onhorseback?"

  "Yes. Why do you want to go into the prison?"

  "I want to go to Hetty Sorrel, the young woman who has been condemnedto death--and to stay with her, if I may be permitted. Have you power inthe prison, sir?"

  "Yes; I am a magistrate, and can get admittance for you. But did youknow this criminal, Hetty Sorrel?"

  "Yes, we are kin. My own aunt married her uncle, Martin Poyser. But Iwas away at Leeds, and didn't know of this great trouble in time to gethere before to-day. I entreat you, sir, for the love of our heavenlyFather, to let me go to her and stay with her."

  "How did you know she was condemned to death, if you are only just comefrom Leeds?"

  "I have seen my uncle since the trial, sir. He is gone back to his homenow, and the poor sinner is forsaken of all. I beseech you to get leavefor me to be with her."

  "What! Have you courage to stay all night in the prison? She is verysullen, and will scarcely make answer when she is spoken to."

  "Oh, sir, it may please God to open her heart still. Don't let usdelay."

  "Come, then," said the elderly gentleman, ringing and gaining admission,"I know you have a key to unlock hearts."

  Dinah mechanically took off her bonnet and shawl as soon as they werewithin the prison court, from the habit she had of throwing them offwhen she preached or prayed, or visited the sick; and when they enteredthe jailer's room, she laid them down on a chair unthinkingly. There wasno agitation visible in her, but a deep concentrated calmness, as if,even when she was speaking, her soul was in prayer reposing on an unseensupport.

  After speaking to the jailer, the magistrate turned to her and said,"The turnkey will take you to the prisoner's cell and leave you therefor the night, if you desire it, but you can't have a light during thenight--it is contrary to rules. My name is Colonel Townley: if I canhelp you in anything, ask the jailer for my address and come to me.I take some interest in this Hetty Sorrel, for the sake of that finefellow, Adam Bede. I happened to see him at Hayslope the same evening Iheard you preach, and recognized him in court to-day, ill as he looked."

  "Ah, sir, can you tell me anything about him? Can you tell me wherehe lodges? For my poor uncle was too much weighed down with trouble toremember."

  "Close by here. I inquired all about him of Mr. Irwine. He lodges overa tinman's shop, in the street on the right hand as you entered theprison. There is an old school-master with him. Now, good-bye: I wishyou success."

  "Farewell, sir. I am grateful to you."

  As Dinah crossed the prison court with the turnkey, the solemn eveninglight seemed to make the walls higher than they were by day, and thesweet pale face in the cap was more than ever like a white flower onthis background of gloom. The turnkey looked askance at her all thewhile, but never spoke. He somehow felt that the sound of his own rudevoice would be grating just then. He struck a light as they entered thedark corridor leading to the condemned cell, and then said in his mostcivil tone, "It'll be pretty nigh dark in the cell a'ready, but I canstop with my light a bit, if you like."

  "Nay, friend, thank you," said Dinah. "I wish to go in alone."

  "As you like," said the jailer, turning the harsh key in the lock andopening the door wide enough to admit Dinah. A jet of light from hislantern fell on the opposite corner of the cell, where Hetty was sittingon her straw pallet with her face buried in her knees. It seemed as ifshe were asleep, and yet the grating of the lock would have been likelyto waken her.

  The door closed again, and the only light in the cell was that of theevening sky, through the small high grating--enough to discern humanfaces by. Dinah stood still for a minute, hesitating to speak becauseHetty might be asleep, and looking at the motionless heap with ayearning heart. Then she said, softly, "Hetty!"

  There was a slight movement perceptible in Hetty's frame--a start suchas might have been produced by a feeble electrical shock--but she didnot look up. Dinah spoke again, in a tone made stronger by irrepressibleemotion, "Hetty...it's Dinah."

  Again there was a slight startled movement through Hetty's frame,and without uncovering her face, she raised her head a little, as iflistening.

  "Hetty...Dinah is come to you."

  After a moment's pause, Hetty lifted her head slowly and timidly fromher knees and raised her eyes. The two pale faces were looking ateach other: one with a wild hard despair in it, the other full of sadyearning love. Dinah unconsciously opened her arms and stretched themout.

  "Don't you know me, Hetty? Don't you remember Dinah? Did you think Iwouldn't come to you in trouble?"

  Hetty kept her eyes fixed on Dinah's face--at first like an animal thatgazes, and gazes, and keeps aloof.

  "I'm come to be with you, Hetty--not to leave you--to stay with you--tobe your sister to the last."

  Slowly, while Dinah was speaking, Hetty rose, took a step forward, andwas clasped in Dinah's arms.

  They stood so a long while, for neither of them felt the impulse to moveapart again. Hetty, without any distinct thought of it, hung on thissomething that was come to clasp her now, while she was sinking helplessin a dark gulf; and Dinah felt a deep joy in the first sign that herlove was welcomed by the wretched lost one. The light got fainter asthey stood, and when at last they sat down on the straw pallet together,their faces had become indistinct.

  Not a word was spoken. Dinah waited, hoping for a spontaneous word fromHetty, but she sat in the same dull despair, only clutching the handthat held hers and leaning her cheek against Dinah's. It was the humancontact she clung to, but she was not the less sinking into the darkgulf.

  Dinah began to doubt whether Hetty was conscious who it was that satbeside her. She thought suffering and fear might have driven the poorsinner out of her mind. But it was borne in upon her, as she afterwardssaid, that she must not hurry God's work: we are overhasty to speak--asif God did not manifest himself by our silent feeling, and make his lovefelt through ours. She did not know how long they sat in that way, butit got darker and darker, till there was only a pale patch of light onthe opposite wall: all the rest was darkness. But she felt the Divinepresence more and more--nay, as if she herself were a part of it, andit was the Divine pity that was beating in her heart and was willing therescue of this helpless one. At last she was prompted to speak and findout how far Hetty was conscious of the present.

  "Hetty," she said gently, "do you know who it is that sits by yourside?"

  "Yes," Hetty answered slowly, "it's Dinah."

  "And do you remember the time when we were at the Hall Farm together,and that night when I told you to be sure and think of me as a friend introuble?"

  "Yes," said Hetty. Then, after a pause, she added, "But you can donothing for me. You can't make 'em do anything. They'll hang me o'Monday--it's Friday now."

  As Hetty said the last words, she clung closer to Dinah, shuddering.

  "No, Hetty, I can't save you from that death. But isn't the sufferingless hard when you have somebody with you, that feels for you--that youcan speak to, and say what's in your heart?...Yes, Hetty: you lean onme: you are glad to have me with you."

  "You won't leave me, Dinah? You'll keep close to me?"

  "No, Hetty, I won't leave you. I'll stay with you to the last....But,Hetty, there is some one else in this cell besides me, some one close toyo
u."

  Hetty said, in a frightened whisper, "Who?"

  "Some one who has been with you through all your hours of sin andtrouble--who has known every thought you have had--has seen where youwent, where you lay down and rose up again, and all the deeds you havetried to hide in darkness. And on Monday, when I can't follow you--whenmy arms can't reach you--when death has parted us--He who is withus now, and knows all, will be with you then. It makes nodifference--whether we live or die, we are in the presence of God."

  "Oh, Dinah, won't nobody do anything for me? Will they hang me forcertain?...I wouldn't mind if they'd let me live."

  "My poor Hetty, death is very dreadful to you. I know it's dreadful.But if you had a friend to take care of you after death--in thatother world--some one whose love is greater than mine--who can doeverything?...If God our Father was your friend, and was willing tosave you from sin and suffering, so as you should neither know wickedfeelings nor pain again? If you could believe he loved you and wouldhelp you, as you believe I love you and will help you, it wouldn't be sohard to die on Monday, would it?"

  "But I can't know anything about it," Hetty said, with sullen sadness.

  "Because, Hetty, you are shutting up your soul against him, by tryingto hide the truth. God's love and mercy can overcome all things--ourignorance, and weakness, and all the burden of our past wickedness--allthings but our wilful sin, sin that we cling to, and will not give up.You believe in my love and pity for you, Hetty, but if you had not letme come near you, if you wouldn't have looked at me or spoken to me,you'd have shut me out from helping you. I couldn't have made you feelmy love; I couldn't have told you what I felt for you. Don't shut God'slove out in that way, by clinging to sin....He can't bless you whileyou have one falsehood in your soul; his pardoning mercy can't reachyou until you open your heart to him, and say, 'I have done this greatwickedness; O God, save me, make me pure from sin.' While you cling toone sin and will not part with it, it must drag you down to misery afterdeath, as it has dragged you to misery here in this world, my poor, poorHetty. It is sin that brings dread, and darkness, and despair: there islight and blessedness for us as soon as we cast it off. God enters oursouls then, and teaches us, and brings us strength and peace. Cast itoff now, Hetty--now: confess the wickedness you have done--the sin youhave been guilty of against your Heavenly Father. Let us kneel downtogether, for we are in the presence of God."

  Hetty obeyed Dinah's movement, and sank on her knees. They still heldeach other's hands, and there was long silence. Then Dinah said, "Hetty,we are before God. He is waiting for you to tell the truth."

  Still there was silence. At last Hetty spoke, in a tone of beseeching--

  "Dinah...help me...I can't feel anything like you...my heart is hard."

  Dinah held the clinging hand, and all her soul went forth in her voice:

  "Jesus, thou present Saviour! Thou hast known the depths of all sorrow:thou hast entered that black darkness where God is not, and hast utteredthe cry of the forsaken. Come Lord, and gather of the fruits of thytravail and thy pleading. Stretch forth thy hand, thou who art mightyto save to the uttermost, and rescue this lost one. She is clothed roundwith thick darkness. The fetters of her sin are upon her, and she cannotstir to come to thee. She can only feel her heart is hard, and she ishelpless. She cries to me, thy weak creature....Saviour! It is a blindcry to thee. Hear it! Pierce the darkness! Look upon her with thy faceof love and sorrow that thou didst turn on him who denied thee, and melther hard heart.

  "See, Lord, I bring her, as they of old brought the sick and helpless,and thou didst heal them. I bear her on my arms and carry her beforethee. Fear and trembling have taken hold on her, but she trembles onlyat the pain and death of the body. Breathe upon her thy life-givingSpirit, and put a new fear within her--the fear of her sin. Make herdread to keep the accursed thing within her soul. Make her feel thepresence of the living God, who beholds all the past, to whom thedarkness is as noonday; who is waiting now, at the eleventh hour, forher to turn to him, and confess her sin, and cry for mercy--now, beforethe night of death comes, and the moment of pardon is for ever fled,like yesterday that returneth not.

  "Saviour! It is yet time--time to snatch this poor soul from everlastingdarkness. I believe--I believe in thy infinite love. What is my love ormy pleading? It is quenched in thine. I can only clasp her in my weakarms and urge her with my weak pity. Thou--thou wilt breathe on the deadsoul, and it shall arise from the unanswering sleep of death.

  "Yea, Lord, I see thee, coming through the darkness coming, like themorning, with healing on thy wings. The marks of thy agony are uponthee--I see, I see thou art able and willing to save--thou wilt not lether perish for ever. Come, mighty Saviour! Let the dead hear thy voice.Let the eyes of the blind be opened. Let her see that God encompassesher. Let her tremble at nothing but at the sin that cuts her off fromhim. Melt the hard heart. Unseal the closed lips: make her cry with herwhole soul, 'Father, I have sinned.'..."

  "Dinah," Hetty sobbed out, throwing her arms round Dinah's neck, "I willspeak...I will tell...I won't hide it any more."

  But the tears and sobs were too violent. Dinah raised her gently fromher knees and seated her on the pallet again, sitting down by her side.It was a long time before the convulsed throat was quiet, and eventhen they sat some time in stillness and darkness, holding each other'shands. At last Hetty whispered, "I did do it, Dinah...I buried it in thewood...the little baby...and it cried...I heard it cry...ever such a wayoff...all night...and I went back because it cried."

  She paused, and then spoke hurriedly in a louder, pleading tone.

  "But I thought perhaps it wouldn't die--there might somebody find it. Ididn't kill it--I didn't kill it myself. I put it down there and coveredit up, and when I came back it was gone....It was because I was sovery miserable, Dinah...I didn't know where to go...and I tried to killmyself before, and I couldn't. Oh, I tried so to drown myself in thepool, and I couldn't. I went to Windsor--I ran away--did you know? Iwent to find him, as he might take care of me; and he was gone; and thenI didn't know what to do. I daredn't go back home again--I couldn't bearit. I couldn't have bore to look at anybody, for they'd have scorned me.I thought o' you sometimes, and thought I'd come to you, for I didn'tthink you'd be cross with me, and cry shame on me. I thought I couldtell you. But then the other folks 'ud come to know it at last, and Icouldn't bear that. It was partly thinking o' you made me come towardStoniton and, besides, I was so frightened at going wandering abouttill I was a beggar-woman, and had nothing; and sometimes it seemed asif I must go back to the farm sooner than that. Oh, it was so dreadful,Dinah...I was so miserable...I wished I'd never been born into thisworld. I should never like to go into the green fields again--I hated'em so in my misery."

  Hetty paused again, as if the sense of the past were too strong upon herfor words.

  "And then I got to Stoniton, and I began to feel frightened that night,because I was so near home. And then the little baby was born, when Ididn't expect it; and the thought came into my mind that I might getrid of it and go home again. The thought came all of a sudden, as I waslying in the bed, and it got stronger and stronger...I longed so to goback again...I couldn't bear being so lonely and coming to beg for want.And it gave me strength and resolution to get up and dress myself. Ifelt I must do it...I didn't know how...I thought I'd find a pool, ifI could, like that other, in the corner of the field, in the dark.And when the woman went out, I felt as if I was strong enough to doanything...I thought I should get rid of all my misery, and go backhome, and never let 'em know why I ran away. I put on my bonnet andshawl, and went out into the dark street, with the baby under my cloak;and I walked fast till I got into a street a good way off, and therewas a public, and I got some warm stuff to drink and some bread. AndI walked on and on, and I hardly felt the ground I trod on and it gotlighter, for there came the moon--oh, Dinah, it frightened me when itfirst looked at me out o' the clouds--it never looked so before; andI turned out of the road into the fields, for I was afraid o
' meetinganybody with the moon shining on me. And I came to a haystack, whereI thought I could lie down and keep myself warm all night. There was aplace cut into it, where I could make me a bed, and I lay comfortable,and the baby was warm against me; and I must have gone to sleep for agood while, for when I woke it was morning, but not very light, and thebaby was crying. And I saw a wood a little way off...I thought there'dperhaps be a ditch or a pond there...and it was so early I thought Icould hide the child there, and get a long way off before folks was up.And then I thought I'd go home--I'd get rides in carts and go home andtell 'em I'd been to try and see for a place, and couldn't get one. Ilonged so for it, Dinah, I longed so to be safe at home. I don't knowhow I felt about the baby. I seemed to hate it--it was like a heavyweight hanging round my neck; and yet its crying went through me, and Idaredn't look at its little hands and face. But I went on to the wood,and I walked about, but there was no water...."

  Hetty shuddered. She was silent for some moments, and when she beganagain, it was in a whisper.

  "I came to a place where there was lots of chips and turf, and I satdown on the trunk of a tree to think what I should do. And all of asudden I saw a hole under the nut-tree, like a little grave. And itdarted into me like lightning--I'd lay the baby there and cover it withthe grass and the chips. I couldn't kill it any other way. And I'd doneit in a minute; and, oh, it cried so, Dinah--I couldn't cover it quiteup--I thought perhaps somebody 'ud come and take care of it, and thenit wouldn't die. And I made haste out of the wood, but I could hear itcrying all the while; and when I got out into the fields, it was as if Iwas held fast--I couldn't go away, for all I wanted so to go. And I satagainst the haystack to watch if anybody 'ud come. I was very hungry,and I'd only a bit of bread left, but I couldn't go away. And after eversuch a while--hours and hours--the man came--him in a smock-frock, andhe looked at me so, I was frightened, and I made haste and went on. Ithought he was going to the wood and would perhaps find the baby. And Iwent right on, till I came to a village, a long way off from the wood,and I was very sick, and faint, and hungry. I got something to eatthere, and bought a loaf. But I was frightened to stay. I heard the babycrying, and thought the other folks heard it too--and I went on. ButI was so tired, and it was getting towards dark. And at last, by theroadside there was a barn--ever such a way off any house--like the barnin Abbot's Close, and I thought I could go in there and hide myselfamong the hay and straw, and nobody 'ud be likely to come. I went in,and it was half full o' trusses of straw, and there was some hay too.And I made myself a bed, ever so far behind, where nobody could findme; and I was so tired and weak, I went to sleep....But oh, the baby'scrying kept waking me, and I thought that man as looked at me so wascome and laying hold of me. But I must have slept a long while at last,though I didn't know, for when I got up and went out of the barn, Ididn't know whether it was night or morning. But it was morning, forit kept getting lighter, and I turned back the way I'd come. I couldn'thelp it, Dinah; it was the baby's crying made me go--and yet I wasfrightened to death. I thought that man in the smock-frock 'ud see meand know I put the baby there. But I went on, for all that. I'd left offthinking about going home--it had gone out o' my mind. I saw nothingbut that place in the wood where I'd buried the baby...I see it now. OhDinah! shall I allays see it?"

  Hetty clung round Dinah and shuddered again. The silence seemed longbefore she went on.

  "I met nobody, for it was very early, and I got into the wood....I knewthe way to the place...the place against the nut-tree; and I couldhear it crying at every step....I thought it was alive....I don't knowwhether I was frightened or glad...I don't know what I felt. I only knowI was in the wood and heard the cry. I don't know what I felt till I sawthe baby was gone. And when I'd put it there, I thought I should likesomebody to find it and save it from dying; but when I saw it was gone,I was struck like a stone, with fear. I never thought o' stirring, Ifelt so weak. I knew I couldn't run away, and everybody as saw me 'udknow about the baby. My heart went like a stone. I couldn't wish or tryfor anything; it seemed like as if I should stay there for ever, andnothing 'ud ever change. But they came and took me away."

  Hetty was silent, but she shuddered again, as if there was stillsomething behind; and Dinah waited, for her heart was so full that tearsmust come before words. At last Hetty burst out, with a sob, "Dinah, doyou think God will take away that crying and the place in the wood, nowI've told everything?"

  "Let us pray, poor sinner. Let us fall on our knees again, and pray tothe God of all mercy."