was already present to him. Again he put his hand on the arm that lay on the table, but very gently this time, as he said solemnly,
"Adam, my dear friend, you have had some hard trials in your life. You can bear sorrow manfully, as well as act manfully: God requires both tasks at our hands. And there is a heavier sorrow coming upon you than any you have yet known. But you are not guilty—you have not the worst of all sorrows. God help him who has!"
The two pale faces looked at each other; in Adam's there was trembling suspense, in Mr Irwine's hesitating, shrinking pity. But he went on.
"I have had news of Hetty this morning. She is not gone to him. She is in Stonyshire—at Stoniton."
Adam started up from his chair, as if he thought he could have leaped to her that moment. But Mr Irwine laid hold of his arm again, and said, persuasively, "Wait, Adam, wait." So he sat down.
"She is in a very unhappy position—one which will make it worse for you to find her, my poor friend, than to have lost her for ever."
Adam's lips moved tremulously, but no sound
