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she’ll be hankering after you； and the mischief may get worse。 It
may be a smart to her now； but it’ll save her pain i’ th’ end。 I ask
you to write a letter—you may trust to my seeing as she gets it。
Tell her the truth； and take blame to yourself for behaving as
you’d no right to do to a young woman as isn’t your equal。 I speak
plain； sir； but I can’t speak any other way。 There’s nobody can
take care o’ Hetty in this thing but me。”
“I can do what I think needful in the matter；” said Arthur； more
and more irritated by mingled distress and perplexity； “without
giving promises to you。 I shall take what measures I think proper。”
“No；” said Adam； in an abrupt decided tone； “that won’t do。 I
must know what ground I’m treading on。 I must be safe as you’ve
put an end to what ought never to ha’ been begun。 I don’t forget
what’s owing to you as a gentleman； but in this thing we’re man
and man； and I can’t give up。”
There was no answer for some moments。 Then Arthur said； “I’ll
see you to…morrow。 I can bear no more now； I’m ill。” He rose as he
spoke； and reached his cap； as if intending to go。
“You won’t see her again！” Adam exclaimed； with a flash of
recurring anger and suspicion； moving towards the door and
placing his back against it。 “Either tell me she can never be my
wife—tell me you’ve been lying—or else promise me what I’ve
said。”
Adam； uttering this alternative； stood like a terrible fate before
Arthur； who had moved forward a step or two； and now stopped；
faint； shaken； sick in mind and body。 It seemed long to both of
them—that inward struggle of Arthur’s—before he said； feebly； “I
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promise； let me go。”
Adam moved away from the door and opened it； but when
Arthur reached the step； he stopped again and leaned against the
door…post。
“You’re not well enough to walk alone； sir；” said Adam。 “Take
my arm again。”
Arthur made no answer； and presently walked on； Adam
following。 But； after a few steps； he stood still again； and said；
coldly； “I believe I must trouble you。 It’s getting late now； and
there may be an alarm set up about me at home。”
Adam gave his arm； and they walked on without uttering a
word； till they came where the basket and the tools lay。
“I must pick up the tools； sir；” Adam said。 “They’re my
brother’s。 I doubt they’ll be rusted。 If you’ll please to wait a
minute。”
Arthur stood still without speaking； and no other word passed
between them till they were at the side entrance； where he hoped
to get in without being seen by any one。 He said then； “Thank you；
I needn’t trouble you any further。”
“What time will it be conven’ent for me to see you to…morrow；
sir？” said Adam。
“You may send me word that you’re here at five o’clock；” said
Arthur； “not before。”
“Good…night； sir；” said Adam。 But he heard no reply； Arthur
had turned into the house。
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Chapter XXIX
The Next Morning
rthur did not pass a sleepless night； he slept long and well。
AFor sleep comes to the perplexed—if the perplexed are
only weary enough。 But at seven he rang his bell and
astonished Pym by declaring he was going to get up； and must
have breakfast brought to him at eight。
“And see that my mare is saddled at half…past eight； and tell my
grandfather when he’s down that I’m better this morning and am
gone for a ride。”
He had been awake an hour； and could rest in bed no longer。 In
bed our yesterdays are too oppressive： if a man can only get up；
though it be but to whistle or to smoke； he has a present which
offers some resistance to the past—sensations which assert
themselves against tyrannous memories。 And if there were such a
thing as taking averages of feeling； it would certainly be found that
in the hunting and shooting seasons regret； self…reproach； and
mortified pride weigh lighter on country gentlemen than in late
spring and summer。 Arthur felt that he should be more of a man
on horseback。 Even the presence of Pym； waiting on him with the
usual deference； was a reassurance to him after the scenes of
yesterday。 For； with Arthur’s sensitiveness to opinion； the loss of
Adam’s respect was a shock to his self…contentment which
suffused his imagination with the sense that he had sunk in all
eyes—as a sudden shock of fear from some real peril makes a
nervous woman afraid even to step； because all her perceptions
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are suffused with a sense of danger。
Arthur’s； as you know； was a loving nature。 Deeds of kindness
were as easy to him as a bad habit： they were the common issue of
his weaknesses and good qualities； of his egoism and his
sympathy。 He didn’t like to witness pain； and he liked to have
grateful eyes beaming on him as the giver of pleasure。 When he
was a lad of seven； he one day kicked down an old gardener’s
pitcher of broth； from no motive but a kicking impulse； not
reflecting that it was the old man’s dinner； but on learning that
sad fact； he took his favourite pencil…case and a silver…hafted knife
out of his pocket and offered them as compensation。 He had been
the same Arthur ever since； trying to make all offences forgotten
in benefits。 If there were any bitterness in his nature； it could only
show itself against the man who refused to be conciliated by him。
And perhaps the time was come for some of that bitterness to rise。
A