“Yes, Dinah,” said Adam sadly, “I’ll never be the man t’ urge you against your conscience.  But I can’t give up the hope that you may come to see different.  I don’t believe your loving me could shut up your heart—­it’s only adding to what you’ve been before, not taking away from it.  For it seems to me it’s the same with love and happiness as with sorrow—­the more we know of it the better we can feel what other people’s lives are or might be, and so we shall only be more tender to ’em, and wishful to help ’em.  The more knowledge a man has, the better he’ll do’s work; and feeling’s a sort o’ knowledge.”

Dinah was silent; her eyes were fixed in contemplation of something visible only to herself.  Adam went on presently with his pleading, “And you can do almost as much as you do now.  I won’t ask you to go to church with me of a Sunday.  You shall go where you like among the people, and teach ’em; for though I like church best, I don’t put my soul above yours, as if my words was better for you to follow than your own conscience.  And you can help the sick just as much, and you’ll have more means o’ making ’em a bit comfortable; and you’ll be among all your own friends as love you, and can help ’em and be a blessing to ’em till their dying day.  Surely, Dinah, you’d be as near to God as if you was living lonely and away from me.”

Dinah made no answer for some time.  Adam was still holding her hands and looking at her with almost trembling anxiety, when she turned her grave loving eyes on his and said, in rather a sad voice, “Adam there is truth in what you say, and there’s many of the brethren and sisters who have greater strength than I have, and find their hearts enlarged by the cares of husband and kindred.  But I have not faith that it would be so with me, for since my affections have been set above measure on you, I have had less peace and joy in God.  I have felt as it were a division in my heart.  And think how it is with me, Adam.  That life I have led is like a land I have trodden in blessedness since my childhood; and if I long for a moment to follow the voice which calls me to another land that I know not, I cannot but fear that my soul might hereafter yearn for that early blessedness which I had forsaken; and where doubt enters there is not perfect love.  I must wait for clearer guidance.  I must go from you, and we must submit ourselves entirely to the Divine Will.  We are sometimes required to lay our natural lawful affections on the altar.”

Adam dared not plead again, for Dinah’s was not the voice of caprice or insincerity.  But it was very hard for him; his eyes got dim as he looked at her.

“But you may come to feel satisfied...to feel that you may come to me again, and we may never part, Dinah?”

“We must submit ourselves, Adam.  With time, our duty will be made clear.  It may be when I have entered on my former life, I shall find all these new thoughts and wishes vanish, and become as things that were not.  Then I shall know that my calling is not towards marriage.  But we must wait.”