were Hetty's eyes looking at him with that mournful gaze, as if she had come back to him from the dead to tell him of her misery.
She was clinging close to Dinah; her cheek was against Dinah's. It seemed as if her last faint strength and hope lay in that contact; and the pitying love that shone out from Dinah's face looked like a visible pledge of the Invisible Mercy.
When the sad eyes met—when Hetty and Adam looked at each other, she felt the change in him too, and it seemed to strike her with fresh fear. It was the first time she had seen any being whose face seemed to reflect the change in herself: Adam was a new image of the dreadful past and the dreadful present. She trembled more as she looked at him.
"Speak to him, Hetty," Dinah said, "tell him what is in your heart."
Hetty obeyed her, like a little child.
"Adam . . . I'm very sorry . . . I behaved very wrong to you . . . will you forgive me . . . before I die?"
Adam answered with a half-sob: "Yes, I forgive thee, Hetty: I forgave thee long ago."
It had seemed to Adam as if his brain would
