fears of a first passion, with which she was trembling, had become stronger than vanity, had given her for the first time that sense of helpless dependence on another’s feeling which awakens the clinging deprecating womanhood even in the shallowest girl that can ever experience it, and creates in her a sensibility to kindness which found her quite hard before.  For the first time Hetty felt that there was something soothing to her in Adam’s timid yet manly tenderness.  She wanted to be treated lovingly—­oh, it was very hard to bear this blank of absence, silence, apparent indifference, after those moments of glowing love!  She was not afraid that Adam would tease her with love-making and flattering speeches like her other admirers; he had always been so reserved to her; she could enjoy without any fear the sense that this strong brave man loved her and was near her.  It never entered into her mind that Adam was pitiable too—­that Adam too must suffer one day.

Hetty, we know, was not the first woman that had behaved more gently to the man who loved her in vain because she had herself begun to love another.  It was a very old story, but Adam knew nothing about it, so he drank in the sweet delusion.

“That’ll do,” said Hetty, after a little while.  “Aunt wants me to leave some on the trees.  I’ll take ’em in now.”

“It’s very well I came to carry the basket,” said Adam “for it ‘ud ha’ been too heavy for your little arms.”

“No; I could ha’ carried it with both hands.”

“Oh, I daresay,” said Adam, smiling, “and been as long getting into the house as a little ant carrying a caterpillar.  Have you ever seen those tiny fellows carrying things four times as big as themselves?”

“No,” said Hetty, indifferently, not caring to know the difficulties of ant life.

“Oh, I used to watch ’em often when I was a lad.  But now, you see, I can carry the basket with one arm, as if it was an empty nutshell, and give you th’ other arm to lean on.  Won’t you?  Such big arms as mine were made for little arms like yours to lean on.”

Hetty smiled faintly and put her arm within his.  Adam looked down at her, but her eyes were turned dreamily towards another corner of the garden.

“Have you ever been to Eagledale?” she said, as they walked slowly along.

“Yes,” said Adam, pleased to have her ask a question about himself.  “Ten years ago, when I was a lad, I went with father to see about some work there.  It’s a wonderful sight—­rocks and caves such as you never saw in your life.  I never had a right notion o’ rocks till I went there.”

“How long did it take to get there?”