nd a mutual esteem
between the two young men; but now Adam stood as if petrified, and his
amazement turned quickly to fierceness.

Arthur tried to pass the matter off lightly, as if it had been a chance
meeting with Hetty; but Adam, who felt that he had been robbed
treacherously by the man in whom he had trusted, would not so easily let
him off. It came to blows, and Arthur sank under a well-planted blow of
Adam's, as a steel rod is broken by an iron bar.

Before they separated, Arthur promised that he would write and tell
Hetty there could be no further communication between them. And this
promise he kept. Adam rested content with the assurance that nothing but
an innocent flirtation had been stopped. As the days went by he found
that the calm patience with which he had waited for Hetty's love had
forsaken him since that night in the beech-grove. The agitations of
jealousy had given a new restlessness to his passion.

Hetty, for her part, after the first misery caused by Arthur's letter,
had turned into a mood of dull despair, and sought only for change. Why
should she not marry Adam? She did not care what she did so that it made
some change in her life.

So, in November, when Mr. Burge offered Adam a share in his business,
Adam not only accepted it, but decided that the time had come to ask
Hetty to marry him.

Hetty did not speak when Adam got out the question, but his face was
very close to hers, and she put up her round cheek against his, like a
kitten. She wanted to be caressed--she wanted to feel as if Arthur were
with her again.

Adam only said after that, "I may tell your uncle and aunt, mayn't I,
Hetty?" And she said "Yes."

The red firelight on the hearth at the Hall Farm shone on joyful faces
that evening when Adam took the opportunity of telling Mr. and Mrs.
Poyser that he saw his way to maintaining a wife now, and that Hetty had
consented to have him.

There was a great deal of discussion before Adam went away about the
possibility of his finding a house that would do for him to settle in.

"Well, well," said Mr. Poyser at last, "we needna fix everything
to-night. You canna think o' getting married afore Easter. I'm not for
long courtships, but there must be a bit o' time to make things
comfortable."

This was in November.

Then in February came the full tragedy of Hetty Sorrel's life. She left
home, and in a strange village, a child--Arthur Donnithorne's child--was
born. Hetty left the baby