in measuring the Divine love by the sinner's knowledge. She is going to write a letter to the friends at the Hall Farm, for me to give them when she is gone; and when I told her you were here, she said, 'I should like to say good-by to Adam, and ask him to forgive me.' You will come, Adam?—perhaps you will even now come back with me."
"I can't," Adam said: "I can't say good-by, while there's any hope. I'm listening, and listening—I can think o' nothing but that. It can't be as she'll die that shameful death—I can't bring my mind to it."
He got up from his chair again, and looked away out of the window, while Dinah stood with compassionate patience. In a minute or two he turned round and said,
"I will come, Dinah . . . to-morrow morning . . . if it must be. I may have more strength to bear it, if I know it must be. Tell her, I forgive her; tell her I will come—at the very last."
"I will not urge you against the voice of your own heart," said Dinah. "I must hasten back to her, for it is wonderful how she clings now, and was not willing to let me out of her sight. She used never to make any return to my affection
