“There he is,” said Bartle Massey, rising hastily and unfastening the door.  It was Mr. Irwine.

Adam rose from his chair with instinctive respect, as Mr. Irwine approached him and took his hand.

“I’m late, Adam,” he said, sitting down on the chair which Bartle placed for him, “but I was later in setting off from Broxton than I intended to be, and I have been incessantly occupied since I arrived.  I have done everything now, however—­everything that can be done to-night, at least.  Let us all sit down.”

Adam took his chair again mechanically, and Bartle, for whom there was no chair remaining, sat on the bed in the background.

“Have you seen her, sir?” said Adam tremulously.

“Yes, Adam; I and the chaplain have both been with her this evening.”

“Did you ask her, sir...did you say anything about me?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Irwine, with some hesitation, “I spoke of you.  I said you wished to see her before the trial, if she consented.”

As Mr. Irwine paused, Adam looked at him with eager, questioning eyes.

“You know she shrinks from seeing any one, Adam.  It is not only you—­some fatal influence seems to have shut up her heart against her fellow-creatures.  She has scarcely said anything more than ‘No’ either to me or the chaplain.  Three or four days ago, before you were mentioned to her, when I asked her if there was any one of her family whom she would like to see—­to whom she could open her mind—­she said, with a violent shudder, ’Tell them not to come near me—­I won’t see any of them.’”

Adam’s head was hanging down again, and he did not speak.  There was silence for a few minutes, and then Mr. Irwine said, “I don’t like to advise you against your own feelings, Adam, if they now urge you strongly to go and see her to-morrow morning, even without her consent.  It is just possible, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, that the interview might affect her favourably.  But I grieve to say I have scarcely any hope of that.  She didn’t seem agitated when I mentioned your name; she only said ‘No,’ in the same cold, obstinate way as usual.  And if the meeting had no good effect on her, it would be pure, useless suffering to you—­severe suffering, I fear.  She is very much changed...”

Adam started up from his chair and seized his hat, which lay on the table.  But he stood still then, and looked at Mr. Irwine, as if he had a question to ask which it was yet difficult to utter.  Bartle Massey rose quietly, turned the key in the door, and put it in his pocket.

“Is he come back?” said Adam at last.

“No, he is not,” said Mr. Irwine, quietly.  “Lay down your hat, Adam, unless you like to walk out with me for a little fresh air.  I fear you have not been out again to-day.”