“No—­not worse,” said Adam, bitterly; “I don’t believe it’s worse—­I’d sooner do it—­I’d sooner do a wickedness as I could suffer for by myself than ha’ brought her to do wickedness and then stand by and see ’em punish her while they let me alone; and all for a bit o’ pleasure, as, if he’d had a man’s heart in him, he’d ha’ cut his hand off sooner than he’d ha’ taken it.  What if he didn’t foresee what’s happened?  He foresaw enough; he’d no right to expect anything but harm and shame to her.  And then he wanted to smooth it off wi’ lies.  No—­there’s plenty o’ things folks are hanged for not half so hateful as that.  Let a man do what he will, if he knows he’s to bear the punishment himself, he isn’t half so bad as a mean selfish coward as makes things easy t’ himself and knows all the while the punishment ’ll fall on somebody else.”

“There again you partly deceive yourself, Adam.  There is no sort of wrong deed of which a man can bear the punishment alone; you can’t isolate yourself and say that the evil which is in you shall not spread.  Men’s lives are as thoroughly blended with each other as the air they breathe:  evil spreads as necessarily as disease.  I know, I feel the terrible extent of suffering this sin of Arthur’s has caused to others; but so does every sin cause suffering to others besides those who commit it.  An act of vengeance on your part against Arthur would simply be another evil added to those we are suffering under:  you could not bear the punishment alone; you would entail the worst sorrows on every one who loves you.  You would have committed an act of blind fury that would leave all the present evils just as they were and add worse evils to them.  You may tell me that you meditate no fatal act of vengeance, but the feeling in your mind is what gives birth to such actions, and as long as you indulge it, as long as you do not see that to fix your mind on Arthur’s punishment is revenge, and not justice, you are in danger of being led on to the commission of some great wrong.  Remember what you told me about your feelings after you had given that blow to Arthur in the Grove.”

Adam was silent:  the last words had called up a vivid image of the past, and Mr. Irwine left him to his thoughts, while he spoke to Bartle Massey about old Mr. Donnithorne’s funeral and other matters of an indifferent kind.  But at length Adam turned round and said, in a more subdued tone, “I’ve not asked about ’em at th’ Hall Farm, sir.  Is Mr. Poyser coming?”

“He is come; he is in Stoniton to-night.  But I could not advise him to see you, Adam.  His own mind is in a very perturbed state, and it is best he should not see you till you are calmer.”

“Is Dinah Morris come to ’em, sir?  Seth said they’d sent for her.”

“No.  Mr. Poyser tells me she was not come when he left.  They’re afraid the letter has not reached her.  It seems they had no exact address.”