Alick came now with the message, and Seth, finding that Mrs. Poyser was writing to Dinah, gave up the intention of writing himself; but he went to the Hall Farm to tell them all he could suggest about the address of the letter, and warn them that there might be some delay in the delivery, from his not knowing an exact direction.

On leaving Lisbeth, Mr. Irwine had gone to Jonathan Burge, who had also a claim to be acquainted with what was likely to keep Adam away from business for some time; and before six o’clock that evening there were few people in Broxton and Hayslope who had not heard the sad news.  Mr. Irwine had not mentioned Arthur’s name to Burge, and yet the story of his conduct towards Hetty, with all the dark shadows cast upon it by its terrible consequences, was presently as well known as that his grandfather was dead, and that he was come into the estate.  For Martin Poyser felt no motive to keep silence towards the one or two neighbours who ventured to come and shake him sorrowfully by the hand on the first day of his trouble; and Carroll, who kept his ears open to all that passed at the rectory, had framed an inferential version of the story, and found early opportunities of communicating it.

One of those neighbours who came to Martin Poyser and shook him by the hand without speaking for some minutes was Bartle Massey.  He had shut up his school, and was on his way to the rectory, where he arrived about half-past seven in the evening, and, sending his duty to Mr. Irwine, begged pardon for troubling him at that hour, but had something particular on his mind.  He was shown into the study, where Mr. Irwine soon joined him.

“Well, Bartle?” said Mr. Irwine, putting out his hand.  That was not his usual way of saluting the schoolmaster, but trouble makes us treat all who feel with us very much alike.  “Sit down.”

“You know what I’m come about as well as I do, sir, I daresay,” said Bartle.

“You wish to know the truth about the sad news that has reached you...about Hetty Sorrel?”

“Nay, sir, what I wish to know is about Adam Bede.  I understand you left him at Stoniton, and I beg the favour of you to tell me what’s the state of the poor lad’s mind, and what he means to do.  For as for that bit o’ pink-and-white they’ve taken the trouble to put in jail, I don’t value her a rotten nut—­not a rotten nut—­only for the harm or good that may come out of her to an honest man—­a lad I’ve set such store by—­trusted to, that he’d make my bit o’ knowledge go a good way in the world....Why, sir, he’s the only scholar I’ve had in this stupid country that ever had the will or the head-piece for mathematics.  If he hadn’t had so much hard work to do, poor fellow, he might have gone into the higher branches, and then this might never have happened—­might never have happened.”

Bartle was heated by the exertion of walking fast in an agitated frame of mind, and was not able to check himself on this first occasion of venting his feelings.  But he paused now to rub his moist forehead, and probably his moist eyes also.