“Seth Bede would have come and spoken to you, my dear,” she said, as she reached Hetty, “but he’s very full of trouble to-night.”

Hetty answered with a dimpled smile, as if she did not quite know what had been said; and it made a strange contrast to see that sparkling self-engrossed loveliness looked at by Dinah’s calm pitying face, with its open glance which told that her heart lived in no cherished secrets of its own, but in feelings which it longed to share with all the world.  Hetty liked Dinah as well as she had ever liked any woman; how was it possible to feel otherwise towards one who always put in a kind word for her when her aunt was finding fault, and who was always ready to take Totty off her hands—­little tiresome Totty, that was made such a pet of by every one, and that Hetty could see no interest in at all?  Dinah had never said anything disapproving or reproachful to Hetty during her whole visit to the Hall Farm; she had talked to her a great deal in a serious way, but Hetty didn’t mind that much, for she never listened:  whatever Dinah might say, she almost always stroked Hetty’s cheek after it, and wanted to do some mending for her.  Dinah was a riddle to her; Hetty looked at her much in the same way as one might imagine a little perching bird that could only flutter from bough to bough, to look at the swoop of the swallow or the mounting of the lark; but she did not care to solve such riddles, any more than she cared to know what was meant by the pictures in the Pilgrim’s Progress, or in the old folio Bible that Marty and Tommy always plagued her about on a Sunday.

Dinah took her hand now and drew it under her own arm.

“You look very happy to-night, dear child,” she said.  “I shall think of you often when I’m at Snowfield, and see your face before me as it is now.  It’s a strange thing—­sometimes when I’m quite alone, sitting in my room with my eyes closed, or walking over the hills, the people I’ve seen and known, if it’s only been for a few days, are brought before me, and I hear their voices and see them look and move almost plainer than I ever did when they were really with me so as I could touch them.  And then my heart is drawn out towards them, and I feel their lot as if it was my own, and I take comfort in spreading it before the Lord and resting in His love, on their behalf as well as my own.  And so I feel sure you will come before me.”

She paused a moment, but Hetty said nothing.

“It has been a very precious time to me,” Dinah went on, “last night and to-day—­seeing two such good sons as Adam and Seth Bede.  They are so tender and thoughtful for their aged mother.  And she has been telling me what Adam has done, for these many years, to help his father and his brother; it’s wonderful what a spirit of wisdom and knowledge he has, and how he’s ready to use it all in behalf of them that are feeble.  And I’m sure he has a loving spirit too.  I’ve noticed it often among my own people round Snowfield, that the strong, skilful men are often the gentlest to the women and children; and it’s pretty to see ’em carrying the little babies as if they were no heavier than little birds.  And the babies always seem to like the strong arm best.  I feel sure it would be so with Adam Bede.  Don’t you think so, Hetty?”