what other women think about me, if she can’t love me.  She might ha’ loved me, perhaps, as likely as any other man—­there’s nobody hereabouts as I’m afraid of, if he hadn’t come between us; but now I shall belike be hateful to her because I’m so different to him.  And yet there’s no telling—­she may turn round the other way, when she finds he’s made light of her all the while.  She may come to feel the vally of a man as ’ud be thankful to be bound to her all his life.  But I must put up with it whichever way it is—­I’ve only to be thankful it’s been no worse.  I am not th’ only man that’s got to do without much happiness i’ this life.  There’s many a good bit o’ work done with a bad heart.  It’s God’s will, and that’s enough for us:  we shouldn’t know better how things ought to be than He does, I reckon, if we was to spend our lives i’ puzzling.  But it ‘ud ha’ gone near to spoil my work for me, if I’d seen her brought to sorrow and shame, and through the man as I’ve always been proud to think on.  Since I’ve been spared that, I’ve no right to grumble.  When a man’s got his limbs whole, he can bear a smart cut or two.”

As Adam was getting over a stile at this point in his reflections, he perceived a man walking along the field before him.  He knew it was Seth, returning from an evening preaching, and made haste to overtake him.

“I thought thee’dst be at home before me,” he said, as Seth turned round to wait for him, “for I’m later than usual to-night.”

“Well, I’m later too, for I got into talk, after meeting, with John Barnes, who has lately professed himself in a state of perfection, and I’d a question to ask him about his experience.  It’s one o’ them subjects that lead you further than y’ expect—­they don’t lie along the straight road.”

They walked along together in silence two or three minutes.  Adam was not inclined to enter into the subtleties of religious experience, but he was inclined to interchange a word or two of brotherly affection and confidence with Seth.  That was a rare impulse in him, much as the brothers loved each other.  They hardly ever spoke of personal matters, or uttered more than an allusion to their family troubles.  Adam was by nature reserved in all matters of feeling, and Seth felt a certain timidity towards his more practical brother.

“Seth, lad,” Adam said, putting his arm on his brother’s shoulder, “hast heard anything from Dinah Morris since she went away?”

“Yes,” said Seth.  “She told me I might write her word after a while, how we went on, and how mother bore up under her trouble.  So I wrote to her a fortnight ago, and told her about thee having a new employment, and how Mother was more contented; and last Wednesday, when I called at the post at Treddles’on, I found a letter from her.  I think thee’dst perhaps like to read it, but I didna say anything about it because thee’st seemed so full of other things.  It’s quite easy t’ read—­she writes wonderful for a woman.”