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Priscilla in the garden had determined the current of retrospect in
that frequent direction this particular Sunday afternoon。 The first
wandering of her thought from the text； which she still attempted
dutifully to follow with her eyes and silent lips； was into an
imaginary enlargement of the defence she had set up for her
husband against Priscilla’s implied blame。 The vindication of the
loved object is the best balm affection can find for its wounds： “A
man must have so much on his mind”； is the belief by which a wife
often supports a cheerful face under rough answers and unfeeling
words。 And Nancy’s deepest wounds had all come from the
perception that the absence of children from their hearth was
dwelt on in her husband’s mind as a privation to which he could
not reconcile himself。
Yet sweet Nancy might have been expected to feel still more
keenly the denial of a blessing to which she had looked forward
with all the varied expectations and preparations； solemn and
prettily trivial； which fill the mind of a loving woman when she
expects to become a mother。 Was there not a drawer filled with
the neat work of her hands； all unworn and untouched； just as she
had arranged it there fourteen years ago—just； but for one little
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dress； which had been made the burial…dress？ But under this
immediate personal trial Nancy was so firmly unmurmuring that
years ago she had suddenly renounced the habit of visiting this
drawer； lest she should in this way be cherishing a longing for
what was not given。
Perhaps it was this very severity towards any indulgence of
what she held to be sinful regret in herself that made her shrink
from applying her own standard to her husband。 “It is very
different—it is much worse for a man to be disappointed in that
way： a woman can always be satisfied with devoting herself to her
husband； but a man wants something that will make him look
forward more—and sitting by the fire is so much duller to him
than to a woman。” And always； when Nancy reached this point in
her meditations—trying with predetermined sympathy to see
everything as Godfrey saw it—there came a renewal of self…
questioning。 Had she done everything in her power to lighten
Godfrey’s privation？ Had she really been right in the resistance
which had cost her so much pain six years ago and again four
years ago—the resistance to her husband’s wish that they should
adopt a child？ Adoption was more remote from the ideas and
habits of that time than of our own； still Nancy had her opinion on
it。 It was as necessary to her mind to have an opinion on all topics；
not exclusively masculine； that had come under her notice； as for
her to have a precisely marked place for every article of her
personal property； and her opinions were always principles to be
unwaveringly acted on。 They were firm； not because of their basis；
but because she held them with a tenacity inseparable from her
mental action。 On all the duties and proprieties of life； from filial
behaviour to the arrangements of the evening toilet； pretty Nancy
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Lammeter； by the time she was three…and…twenty； had her
unalterable little code； and had formed every one of her habits in
strict accordance with that code。 She carried these decided
judgments within her in the most unobtrusive way： they rooted
themselves in her mind； and grew there as quietly as grass。 Years
ago； we know； she insisted on dressing like Priscilla； because “it
was right for sisters to dress alike”； and because “she would do
what was right if she wore a gown dyed with cheese…colouring”。
That was a trivial but typical instance of the mode in which
Nancy’s life was regulated。
It was one of those rigid principles； and no petty egoistic
feeling； which had been the ground of Nancy’s difficult resistance
to her husband’s wish。 To adopt a child； because children of your
own had been denied you； was to try and choose your lot in spite
of Providence： the adopted child； she was convinced； would never
turn out well； and would be a curse to those who had wilfully and
rebelliously sought what it was clear that； for some high reason；
they were better without。 When you saw a thing was not meant to
be； said Nancy； it was a bounden duty to leave off so much as
wishing for it。 And so far； perhaps； the wisest of men could
scarcely make more than a verbal improvement in her principle。
But the conditions under which she held it apparent that a thing
was not meant to be； depended on a more peculiar mode of
thinking。 She would have given up making a purchase at a
particular place if on three successive times rain； or some other
cause of Heaven’s sending； had formed an obstacle； and she would
have anticipated a broken limb or other heavy misfortune to any
one who persisted in spite of such indications。
“But why should you think the child would turn out ill？” said
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Godfrey； in his remonstrances。 “She has thriven as well as child
can do with the weaver； and he adopted her。 There isn’t such a
pretty little girl anywhere else in the parish； or one fitter for the
station we could give her。 Where can be the likelihood of her being
a curse to anybody？”
“Yes； my dear Godfrey；” said Nancy； who was sitting with her
hands tightly clasped together； and with yearning； regretful
affection in her eyes。 “The child may not turn out ill with the
weaver。 But； then； he didn’t go to seek her； as we should be doing。
It will be wrong； I feel sure it will。 Don’t you remember what that
lady we met at the Royston Baths told us about the child her sister
adopted？ That was the only adopting I ever heard of； and the child
was transported when it was twenty…three。 Dear Godfrey； don’t
ask me to do what I know is wrong： I should never be happy again。
I know it’s very hard for you—it’s easier for me—but it’s the will of
Providence。”
It might seem singular that Nancy—with her religious theory
pieced together out of narrow social traditions； fragments of
church doctrine imperfectly understood； and girlish reasonings on
her small experience—should have arrived by herself at a way of
thinking so nearly akin to that of many devout people whose
beliefs are held in the shape of a system quite remote from her
knowledge： singular； if we did not know that human beliefs； like
all other natural growths； elude the barriers of system。
Godfrey had from the first specified Eppie； then about twelve
years old； as a child suitable for them to adopt。 It had never
occurred to him that Silas would rather part with his life than with
Eppie。 Surely the weaver would wish the best to the child he had
taken so much trouble with； and would be glad that such good
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fortune should happen to her： she would always be very grateful to
him； and he would be