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Adam Bede

43.The Verdict
THE place fitted up that day as a court of justice was a grand old hall, now
destroyed by fire. The midday light that fell on the close pavement of human
heads was shed through a line of high pointed windows, variegated with the
mellow tints of old painted glass. Grim dusty armour hung in high relief in front of
the dark oaken gallery at the farther end, and under the broad arch of the great
mullioned window opposite was spread a curtain of old tapestry, covered with
dim melancholy figures, like a dozing indistinct dream of the past. It was a place
that through the rest of the year was haunted with the shadowy memories of old
kings and queens, unhappy, discrowned, imprisoned; but to-day all those
shadows had fled, and not a soul in the vast hall felt the presence of any but a
living sorrow, which was quivering in warm hearts.
But that sorrow seemed to have made it itself feebly felt hitherto, now when
Adam Bede's tall figure was suddenly seen being ushered to the side of the
prisoner's dock. In the broad sunlight of the great hall, among the sleek shaven
faces of other men, the marks of suffering in his face were startling even to Mr.
Irwine, who had last seen him in the dim light of his small room; and the
neighbours from Hayslope who were present, and who told Hetty Sorrel's story
by their firesides in their old age, never forgot to say how it moved them when
Adam Bede, poor fellow, taller by the head than most of the people round him,
came into court and took his place by her side.
But Hetty did not see him. She was standing in the same position Bartle Massey
had described, her hands crossed over each other and her eyes fixed on them.
Adam had not dared to look at her in the first moments, but at last, when the
attention of the court was withdrawn by the proceedings he turned his face
towards her with a resolution not to shrink.
Why did they say she was so changed? In the corpse we love, it is the likeness
we see--it is the likeness, which makes itself felt the more keenly because
something else was and is not. There they were--the sweet face and neck, with
the dark tendrils of hair, the long dark lashes, the rounded cheek and the pouting
lips--pale and thin, yes, but like Hetty, and only Hetty. Others thought she looked
as if some demon had cast a blighting glance upon her, withered up the woman's
soul in her, and left only a hard despairing obstinacy. But the mother's yearning,
that completest type of the life in another life which is the essence of real human
love, feels the presence of the cherished child even in the debased, degraded
man; and to Adam, this pale, hard-looking culprit was the Hetty who had smiled
at him in the garden under the apple-tree boughs--she was that Hetty's corpse,
which he had trembled to look at the first time, and then was unwilling to turn
away his eyes from.
 
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