These were Arthur’s chief thoughts, so far as a man’s thoughts through hours of travelling can be compressed into a few sentences, which are only like the list of names telling you what are the scenes in a long long panorama full of colour, of detail, and of life.  The happy faces Arthur saw greeting him were not pale abstractions, but real ruddy faces, long familiar to him:  Martin Poyser was there—­the whole Poyser family.

What—­Hetty?

Yes; for Arthur was at ease about Hetty—­not quite at ease about the past, for a certain burning of the ears would come whenever he thought of the scenes with Adam last August, but at ease about her present lot.  Mr. Irwine, who had been a regular correspondent, telling him all the news about the old places and people, had sent him word nearly three months ago that Adam Bede was not to marry Mary Burge, as he had thought, but pretty Hetty Sorrel.  Martin Poyser and Adam himself had both told Mr. Irwine all about it—­that Adam had been deeply in love with Hetty these two years, and that now it was agreed they were to be married in March.  That stalwart rogue Adam was more susceptible than the rector had thought; it was really quite an idyllic love affair; and if it had not been too long to tell in a letter, he would have liked to describe to Arthur the blushing looks and the simple strong words with which the fine honest fellow told his secret.  He knew Arthur would like to hear that Adam had this sort of happiness in prospect.

Yes, indeed!  Arthur felt there was not air enough in the room to satisfy his renovated life, when he had read that passage in the letter.  He threw up the windows, he rushed out of doors into the December air, and greeted every one who spoke to him with an eager gaiety, as if there had been news of a fresh Nelson victory.  For the first time that day since he had come to Windsor, he was in true boyish spirits.  The load that had been pressing upon him was gone, the haunting fear had vanished.  He thought he could conquer his bitterness towards Adam now—­could offer him his hand, and ask to be his friend again, in spite of that painful memory which would still make his ears burn.  He had been knocked down, and he had been forced to tell a lie:  such things make a scar, do what we will.  But if Adam were the same again as in the old days, Arthur wished to be the same too, and to have Adam mixed up with his business and his future, as he had always desired before the accursed meeting in August.  Nay, he would do a great deal more for Adam than he should otherwise have done, when he came into the estate; Hetty’s husband had a special claim on him—­Hetty herself should feel that any pain she had suffered through Arthur in the past was compensated to her a hundredfold.  For really she could not have felt much, since she had so soon made up her mind to marry Adam.