The two pale faces looked at each other; in Adam’s there was trembling suspense, in Mr. Irwine’s hesitating, shrinking pity.  But he went on.

“I have had news of Hetty this morning.  She is not gone to him.  She is in Stonyshire—­at Stoniton.”

Adam started up from his chair, as if he thought he could have leaped to her that moment.  But Mr. Irwine laid hold of his arm again and said, persuasively, “Wait, Adam, wait.”  So he sat down.

“She is in a very unhappy position—­one which will make it worse for you to find her, my poor friend, than to have lost her for ever.”

Adam’s lips moved tremulously, but no sound came.  They moved again, and he whispered, “Tell me.”

“She has been arrested...she is in prison.”

It was as if an insulting blow had brought back the spirit of resistance into Adam.  The blood rushed to his face, and he said, loudly and sharply, “For what?”

“For a great crime—­the murder of her child.”

“It can’t be!” Adam almost shouted, starting up from his chair and making a stride towards the door; but he turned round again, setting his back against the bookcase, and looking fiercely at Mr. Irwine.  “It isn’t possible.  She never had a child.  She can’t be guilty.  Who says it?”

“God grant she may be innocent, Adam.  We can still hope she is.”

“But who says she is guilty?” said Adam violently.  “Tell me everything.”

“Here is a letter from the magistrate before whom she was taken, and the constable who arrested her is in the dining-room.  She will not confess her name or where she comes from; but I fear, I fear, there can be no doubt it is Hetty.  The description of her person corresponds, only that she is said to look very pale and ill.  She had a small red-leather pocket-book in her pocket with two names written in it—­one at the beginning, ‘Hetty Sorrel, Hayslope,’ and the other near the end, ’Dinah Morris, Snowfield.’  She will not say which is her own name—­she denies everything, and will answer no questions, and application has been made to me, as a magistrate, that I may take measures for identifying her, for it was thought probable that the name which stands first is her own name.”

“But what proof have they got against her, if it is Hetty?” said Adam, still violently, with an effort that seemed to shake his whole frame.  “I’ll not believe it.  It couldn’t ha’ been, and none of us know it.”

“Terrible proof that she was under the temptation to commit the crime; but we have room to hope that she did not really commit it.  Try and read that letter, Adam.”

Adam took the letter between his shaking hands and tried to fix his eyes steadily on it.  Mr. Irwine meanwhile went out to give some orders.  When he came back, Adam’s eyes were still on the first page—­he couldn’t read—­he could not put the words together and make out what they meant.  He threw it down at last and clenched his fist.