Chapter LII
Adam and Dinah
IT was about three o'clock when Adam entered the farmyard and rousedAlick and the dogs from their Sunday dozing. Alick said everybody wasgone to church "but th' young missis"--so he called Dinah--but thisdid not disappoint Adam, although the "everybody" was so liberal asto include Nancy the dairymaid, whose works of necessity were notunfrequently incompatible with church-going.
There was perfect stillness about the house. The doors were all closed,and the very stones and tubs seemed quieter than usual. Adam heard thewater gently dripping from the pump--that was the only sound--andhe knocked at the house door rather softly, as was suitable in thatstillness.
The door opened, and Dinah stood before him, colouring deeply with thegreat surprise of seeing Adam at this hour, when she knew it was hisregular practice to be at church. Yesterday he would have said to herwithout any difficulty, "I came to see you, Dinah: I knew the rest werenot at home." But to-day something prevented him from saying that, andhe put out his hand to her in silence. Neither of them spoke, and yetboth wished they could speak, as Adam entered, and they sat down. Dinahtook the chair she had just left; it was at the corner of the tablenear the window, and there was a book lying on the table, but it was notopen. She had been sitting perfectly still, looking at the small bitof clear fire in the bright grate. Adam sat down opposite her, in Mr.Poyser's three-cornered chair.
"Your mother is not ill again, I hope, Adam?" Dinah said, recoveringherself. "Seth said she was well this morning."
"No, she's very hearty to-day," said Adam, happy in the signs of Dinah'sfeeling at the sight of him, but shy.
"There's nobody at home, you see," Dinah said; "but you'll wait. You'vebeen hindered from going to church to-day, doubtless."
"Yes," Adam said, and then paused, before he added, "I was thinkingabout you: that was the reason."
This confession was very awkward and sudden, Adam felt, for he thoughtDinah must understand all he meant. But the frankness of the wordscaused her immediately to interpret them into a renewal of his brotherlyregrets that she was going away, and she answered calmly, "Do not becareful and troubled for me, Adam. I have all things and abound atSnowfield. And my mind is at rest, for I am not seeking my own will ingoing."
"But if things were different, Dinah," said Adam, hesitatingly. "If youknew things that perhaps you don't know now...."
Dinah looked at him inquiringly, but instead of going on, he reached achair and brought it near the corner of the table where she was sitting.She wondered, and was afraid--and the next moment her thoughts flew tothe past: was it something about those distant unhappy ones that shedidn't know?
Adam looked at her. It was so sweet to look at her eyes, which had nowa self-forgetful questioning in them--for a moment he forgot that hewanted to say anything, or that it was necessary to tell her what hemeant.
"Dinah," he said suddenly, taking both her hands between his, "I loveyou with my whole heart and soul. I love you next to God who made me."
Dinah's lips became pale, like her cheeks, and she trembled violentlyunder the shock of painful joy. Her hands were cold as death betweenAdam's. She could not draw them away, because he held them fast.
"Don't tell me you can't love me, Dinah. Don't tell me we must part andpass our lives away from one another."
The tears were trembling in Dinah's eyes, and they fell before she couldanswer. But she spoke in a quiet low voice.
"Yes, dear Adam, we must submit to another Will. We must part."
"Not if you love me, Dinah--not if you love me," Adam said passionately."Tell me--tell me if you can love me better than a brother?"
Dinah was too entirely reliant on the Supreme guidance to attempt toachieve any end by a deceptive concealment. She was recovering now fromthe first shock of emotion, and she looked at Adam with simple sincereeyes as she said, "Yes, Adam, my heart is drawn strongly towards you;and of my own will, if I had no clear showing to the contrary, I couldfind my happiness in being near you and ministering to you continually.I fear I should forget to rejoice and weep with others; nay, I fear Ishould forget the Divine presence, and seek no love but yours."
Adam did not speak immediately. They sat looking at each other indelicious silence--for the first sense of mutual love excludes otherfeelings; it will have the soul all to itself.
"Then, Dinah," Adam said at last, "how can there be anything contraryto what's right in our belonging to one another and spending our livestogether? Who put this great love into our hearts? Can anything beholier than that? For we can help one another in everything as is good.I'd never think o' putting myself between you and God, and saying yououghtn't to do this and you oughtn't to do that. You'd follow yourconscience as much as you do now."
"Yes, Adam," Dinah said, "I know marriage is a holy state for those whoare truly called to it, and have no other drawing; but from my childhoodupwards I have been led towards another path; all my peace and my joyhave come from having no life of my own, no wants, no wishes for myself,and living only in God and those of his creatures whose sorrows and joyshe has given me to know. Those have been very blessed years to me, and Ifeel that if I was to listen to any voice that would draw me aside fromthat path, I should be turning my back on the light that has shone uponme, and darkness and doubt would take hold of me. We could not blesseach other, Adam, if there were doubts in my soul, and if I yearned,when it was too late, after that better part which had once been givenme and I had put away from me."
"But if a new feeling has come into your mind, Dinah, and if you love meso as to be willing to be nearer to me than to other people, isn't thata sign that it's right for you to change your life? Doesn't the lovemake it right when nothing else would?"
"Adam, my mind is full of questionings about that; for now, since youtell me of your strong love towards me, what was clear to me has becomedark again. I felt before that my heart was too strongly drawn towardsyou, and that your heart was not as mine; and the thought of you hadtaken hold of me, so that my soul had lost its freedom, and was becomingenslaved to an earthly affection, which made me anxious and carefulabout what should befall myself. For in all other affection I had beencontent with any small return, or with none; but my heart was beginningto hunger after an equal love from you. And I had no doubt that I mustwrestle against that as a great temptation, and the command was clearthat I must go away."
"But now, dear, dear Dinah, now you know I love you better than you loveme...it's all different now. You won't think o' going. You'll stay, andbe my dear wife, and I shall thank God for giving me my life as I neverthanked him before."
"Adam, it's hard to me to turn a deaf ear...you know it's hard; but agreat fear is upon me. It seems to me as if you were stretching out yourarms to me, and beckoning me to come and take my ease and live for myown delight, and Jesus, the Man of Sorrows, was standing looking towardsme, and pointing to the sinful, and suffering, and afflicted. I haveseen that again and again when I have been sitting in stillness anddarkness, and a great terror has come upon me lest I should become hard,and a lover of self, and no more bear willingly the Redeemer's cross."
Dinah had closed her eyes, and a faint shudder went through her. "Adam,"she went on, "you wouldn't desire that we should seek a good throughany unfaithfulness to the light that is in us; you wouldn't believe thatcould be a good. We are of one mind in that."
"Yes, Dinah," said Adam sadly, "I'll never be the man t' urge youagainst your conscience. But I can't give up the hope that you may cometo see different. I don't believe your loving me could shut up yourheart--it's only adding to what you've been before, not taking away fromit. For it seems to me it's the same with love and happiness as withsorrow--the more we know of it the better we can feel what otherpeople's lives are or might be, and so we shall only be more tender to'em, and wishful to help 'em. The more knowledge a man has, the betterhe'll do's work; and feeling's a sort o' knowledge."
Dinah was silent; her eyes were fixed in contemplation of somethingvis
ible only to herself. Adam went on presently with his pleading, "Andyou can do almost as much as you do now. I won't ask you to go to churchwith me of a Sunday. You shall go where you like among the people, andteach 'em; for though I like church best, I don't put my soul aboveyours, as if my words was better for you to follow than your ownconscience. And you can help the sick just as much, and you'll have moremeans o' making 'em a bit comfortable; and you'll be among all yourown friends as love you, and can help 'em and be a blessing to 'em tilltheir dying day. Surely, Dinah, you'd be as near to God as if you wasliving lonely and away from me."
Dinah made no answer for some time. Adam was still holding her hands andlooking at her with almost trembling anxiety, when she turned her graveloving eyes on his and said, in rather a sad voice, "Adam there is truthin what you say, and there's many of the brethren and sisters who havegreater strength than I have, and find their hearts enlarged by thecares of husband and kindred. But I have not faith that it would be sowith me, for since my affections have been set above measure on you, Ihave had less peace and joy in God. I have felt as it were a divisionin my heart. And think how it is with me, Adam. That life I have led islike a land I have trodden in blessedness since my childhood; and ifI long for a moment to follow the voice which calls me to another landthat I know not, I cannot but fear that my soul might hereafter yearnfor that early blessedness which I had forsaken; and where doubt entersthere is not perfect love. I must wait for clearer guidance. I must gofrom you, and we must submit ourselves entirely to the Divine Will.We are sometimes required to lay our natural lawful affections on thealtar."
Adam dared not plead again, for Dinah's was not the voice of caprice orinsincerity. But it was very hard for him; his eyes got dim as he lookedat her.
"But you may come to feel satisfied...to feel that you may come to meagain, and we may never part, Dinah?"
"We must submit ourselves, Adam. With time, our duty will be made clear.It may be when I have entered on my former life, I shall find all thesenew thoughts and wishes vanish, and become as things that were not. ThenI shall know that my calling is not towards marriage. But we must wait."
"Dinah," said Adam mournfully, "you can't love me so well as I love you,else you'd have no doubts. But it's natural you shouldn't, for I'm notso good as you. I can't doubt it's right for me to love the best thingGod's ever given me to know."
"Nay, Adam. It seems to me that my love for you is not weak, for myheart waits on your words and looks, almost as a little child waits onthe help and tenderness of the strong on whom it depends. If the thoughtof you took slight hold of me, I should not fear that it would be anidol in the temple. But you will strengthen me--you will not hinder mein seeking to obey to the uttermost."
"Let us go out into the sunshine, Dinah, and walk together. I'll speakno word to disturb you."
They went out and walked towards the fields, where they would meet thefamily coming from church. Adam said, "Take my arm, Dinah," and she tookit. That was the only change in their manner to each other since theywere last walking together. But no sadness in the prospect of her goingaway--in the uncertainty of the issue--could rob the sweetness fromAdam's sense that Dinah loved him. He thought he would stay at the HallFarm all that evening. He would be near her as long as he could.
"Hey-day! There's Adam along wi' Dinah," said Mr. Poyser, as he openedthe far gate into the Home Close. "I couldna think how he happened awayfrom church. Why," added good Martin, after a moment's pause, "what dostthink has just jumped into my head?"
"Summat as hadna far to jump, for it's just under our nose. You mean asAdam's fond o' Dinah."
"Aye! hast ever had any notion of it before?"
"To be sure I have," said Mrs. Poyser, who always declined, if possible,to be taken by surprise. "I'm not one o' those as can see the cat i' thedairy an' wonder what she's come after."
"Thee never saidst a word to me about it."
"Well, I aren't like a bird-clapper, forced to make a rattle when thewind blows on me. I can keep my own counsel when there's no good i'speaking."
"But Dinah 'll ha' none o' him. Dost think she will?"
"Nay," said Mrs. Poyser, not sufficiently on her guard against apossible surprise, "she'll never marry anybody, if he isn't a Methodistand a cripple."
"It 'ud ha' been a pretty thing though for 'em t' marry," said Martin,turning his head on one side, as if in pleased contemplation of his newidea. "Thee'dst ha' liked it too, wouldstna?"
"Ah! I should. I should ha' been sure of her then, as she wouldn'tgo away from me to Snowfield, welly thirty mile off, and me not got acreatur to look to, only neighbours, as are no kin to me, an' most of'em women as I'd be ashamed to show my face, if my dairy things war liketheir'n. There may well be streaky butter i' the market. An' I should beglad to see the poor thing settled like a Christian woman, with ahouse of her own over her head; and we'd stock her well wi' linen andfeathers, for I love her next to my own children. An' she makes one feelsafer when she's i' the house, for she's like the driven snow: anybodymight sin for two as had her at their elbow."
"Dinah," said Tommy, running forward to meet her, "mother says you'llnever marry anybody but a Methodist cripple. What a silly you must be!"a comment which Tommy followed up by seizing Dinah with both arms, anddancing along by her side with incommodious fondness.
"Why, Adam, we missed you i' the singing to-day," said Mr. Poyser. "Howwas it?"
"I wanted to see Dinah--she's going away so soon," said Adam.
"Ah, lad! Can you persuade her to stop somehow? Find her a good husbandsomewhere i' the parish. If you'll do that, we'll forgive you formissing church. But, anyway, she isna going before the harvest suppero' Wednesday, and you must come then. There's Bartle Massey comin', an'happen Craig. You'll be sure an' come, now, at seven? The missis wunnahave it a bit later."
"Aye," said Adam, "I'll come if I can. But I can't often say what I'lldo beforehand, for the work often holds me longer than I expect. You'llstay till the end o' the week, Dinah?"
"Yes, yes!" said Mr. Poyser. "We'll have no nay."
"She's no call to be in a hurry," observed Mrs. Poyser. "Scarcenesso' victual 'ull keep: there's no need to be hasty wi' the cooking. An'scarceness is what there's the biggest stock of i' that country."
Dinah smiled, but gave no promise to stay, and they talked of otherthings through the rest of the walk, lingering in the sunshine to lookat the great flock of geese grazing, at the new corn-ricks, and at thesurprising abundance of fruit on the old pear-tree; Nancy and Mollyhaving already hastened home, side by side, each holding, carefullywrapped in her pocket-handkerchief, a prayer-book, in which she couldread little beyond the large letters and the Amens.
Surely all other leisure is hurry compared with a sunny walk through thefields from "afternoon church"--as such walks used to be in those oldleisurely times, when the boat, gliding sleepily along the canal, wasthe newest locomotive wonder; when Sunday books had most of them oldbrown-leather covers, and opened with remarkable precision always in oneplace. Leisure is gone--gone where the spinning-wheels are gone, and thepack-horses, and the slow waggons, and the pedlars, who brought bargainsto the door on sunny afternoons. Ingenious philosophers tell you,perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine is to create leisurefor mankind. Do not believe them: it only creates a vacuum for eagerthought to rush in. Even idleness is eager now--eager for amusement;prone to excursion-trains, art museums, periodical literature, andexciting novels; prone even to scientific theorizing and cursory peepsthrough microscopes. Old Leisure was quite a different personage. Heonly read one newspaper, innocent of leaders, and was free fromthat periodicity of sensations which we call post-time. He was acontemplative, rather stout gentleman, of excellent digestion of quietperceptions, undiseased by hypothesis; happy in his inability to knowthe causes of things, preferring the things themselves. He lived chieflyin the country, among pleasant seats and homesteads, and was fond ofsauntering by the fruit-tree wall and scenting the apricots when theywere warmed by the
morning sunshine, or of sheltering himself underthe orchard boughs at noon, when the summer pears were falling. He knewnothing of weekday services, and thought none the worse of the Sundaysermon if it allowed him to sleep from the text to the blessing; likingthe afternoon service best, because the prayers were the shortest,and not ashamed to say so; for he had an easy, jolly conscience,broad-backed like himself, and able to carry a great deal of beer orport-wine, not being made squeamish by doubts and qualms and loftyaspirations. Life was not a task to him, but a sinecure. He fingered theguineas in his pocket, and ate his dinners, and slept the sleep of theirresponsible, for had he not kept up his character by going to churchon the Sunday afternoons?
Fine old Leisure! Do not be severe upon him, and judge him by our modernstandard. He never went to Exeter Hall, or heard a popular preacher, orread Tracts for the Times or Sartor Resartus.