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myself。 Mr。 Irwine is to be a witness himself； by…and…by； on her
side； you know； to speak to her character and bringing up。”
“But the other evidence 。 。 。 does it go hard against her！” said
Adam。 “What do you think； Mr。 Massey？ Tell me the truth。”
“Yes； my lad； yes。 The truth is the best thing to tell。 It must
come at last。 The doctors’ evidence is heavy on her—is heavy。 But
she’s gone on denying she’s had a child from first to last。 These
poor silly women…things—they’ve not the sense to know it’s no use
denying what’s proved。 It’ll make against her with the jury； I
doubt； her being so obstinate： they may be less for recommending
her to mercy； if the verdict’s against her。 But Mr。 Irwine ’ull leave
no stone unturned with the judge—you may rely upon that；
Adam。”
“Is there nobody to stand by her and seem to care for her in the
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court？” said Adam。
“There’s the chaplain o’ the jail sits near her； but he’s a sharp
ferrety…faced man—another sort o’ flesh and blood to Mr。 Irwine。
They say the jail chaplains are mostly the fag…end o’ the clergy。”
“There’s one man as ought to be there；” said Adam bitterly。
Presently he drew himself up and looked fixedly out of the
window； apparently turning over some new idea in his mind。
“Mr。 Massey；” he said at last； pushing the hair off his forehead；
“I’ll go 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。
They oughtn’t to cast her off—her own flesh and blood。 We hand
folks over to God’s mercy； and show none ourselves。 I used to be
hard sometimes： I’ll never 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 Bartle from opposing him； even if he had wished to do
so。 He only said； “Take a bit； then； and another sup； Adam； for the
love of me。 See； I must stop and eat a morsel。 Now； you take
some。”
Nerved by an active resolution； Adam took a morsel of bread
and drank some wine。 He was haggard and unshaven； as he had
been yesterday； but he stood upright again； and looked more like
the Adam Bede of former days。
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Adam Bede 566
Chapter XLIII
The Verdict
he place fitted up that day as a court of justice was a grand
old hall； now destroyed by fire。 The midday light that fell
T
on the close pavement of human heads was shed through
a line of high pointed windows； variegated with the mellow tints of
old painted glass。 Grim dusty armour hung in high relief in front
of the dark oaken gallery at the farther end； and under the broad
arch of the great mullioned window opposite was spread a curtain
of old tapestry； covered with dim melancholy figures； like a dozing
indistinct dream of the past。 It was a place that through the rest of
the year was haunted with the shadowy memories of old kings and
queens； unhappy； discrowned； imprisoned； but to…day all those
shadows had fled； and not a soul in the vast hall felt the presence
of any but a living sorrow； which was quivering in warm hearts。
But that sorrow seemed to have made it itself feebly felt
hitherto； now when Adam Bede’s tall figure was suddenly seen
being ushered to the side of the prisoner’s dock。 In the broad
sunlight of the great hall； among the sleek shaven faces of other
men； the marks of suffering in his face were startling even to Mr。
Irwine； who had last seen him in the dim light of his small room；
and the neighbours from Hayslope who were present； and who
told Hetty Sorrel’s story by their firesides in their old age； never
forgot to say how it moved them when Adam Bede； poor fellow；
taller by the head than most of the people round him； came into
court and took his place by her side。
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But Hetty did not see him。 She was standing in the same
position Bartle Massey had described； her hands crossed over
each other and her eyes fixed 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 the proceedings he turned his face
towards her with a resolution not to shrink。
Why did they say she was so changed？ In the corpse we love； it
is the likeness we see—it is the likeness； which makes itself felt the
more keenly because something else was and is not。 There they
were—the sweet face and neck； with the dark tendrils of hair； the
long dark lashes； the rounded 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 a blighting glance upon her；
withered up the woman’s soul in her； and left only a hard
despairing obstinacy。 But the mother’s yearning； that completest
type of the life in another life which is the essence of real human
love； feels the presence of the cherished child even in the debased；
degraded man； and to Adam； this pale； hard…looking culprit was
the Hetty who had smiled at him in the garden under the apple…
tree boughs—she was that Hetty’s corpse； which he had trembled
to look at the first time； and then was unwilling to turn away his
eyes from。
But presently he heard something that compelled him to listen；
and made the sense of sight less absorbing。 A woman was in the
witness…box； a middle…aged woman； who spoke in a firm distinct
voice。 She said；
“My name is Sarah Stone。 I am a widow； and keep a small shop
licensed to sell tobacco； snuff； and tea in Church Lane； Stoniton。
The prisoner at the bar is the same young woman who came；
George Eliot