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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 635 pages of information about Adam Bede.

“Ah, but the moods lie in his nature, my boy, just as much as his reflections did, and more.  A man can never do anything at variance with his own nature.  He carries within him the germ of his most exceptional action; and if we wise people make eminent fools of ourselves on any particular occasion, we must endure the legitimate conclusion that we carry a few grains of folly to our ounce of wisdom.”

“Well, but one may be betrayed into doing things by a combination of circumstances, which one might never have done otherwise.”

“Why, yes, a man can’t very well steal a bank-note unless the bank-note lies within convenient reach; but he won’t make us think him an honest man because he begins to howl at the bank-note for falling in his way.”

“But surely you don’t think a man who struggles against a temptation into which he falls at last as bad as the man who never struggles at all?”

“No, certainly; I pity him in proportion to his struggles, for they foreshadow the inward suffering which is the worst form of Nemesis.  Consequences are unpitying.  Our deeds carry their terrible consequences, quite apart from any fluctuations that went before—­consequences that are hardly ever confined to ourselves.  And it is best to fix our minds on that certainty, instead of considering what may be the elements of excuse for us.  But I never knew you so inclined for moral discussion, Arthur?  Is it some danger of your own that you are considering in this philosophical, general way?”

In asking this question, Mr. Irwine pushed his plate away, threw himself back in his chair, and looked straight at Arthur.  He really suspected that Arthur wanted to tell him something, and thought of smoothing the way for him by this direct question.  But he was mistaken.  Brought suddenly and involuntarily to the brink of confession, Arthur shrank back and felt less disposed towards it than ever.  The conversation had taken a more serious tone than he had intended—­it would quite mislead Irwine—­he would imagine there was a deep passion for Hetty, while there was no such thing.  He was conscious of colouring, and was annoyed at his boyishness.

“Oh no, no danger,” he said as indifferently as he could.  “I don’t know that I am more liable to irresolution than other people; only there are little incidents now and then that set one speculating on what might happen in the future.”

Was there a motive at work under this strange reluctance of Arthur’s which had a sort of backstairs influence, not admitted to himself?  Our mental business is carried on much in the same way as the business of the State:  a great deal of hard work is done by agents who are not acknowledged.  In a piece of machinery, too, I believe there is often a small unnoticeable wheel which has a great deal to do with the motion of the large obvious ones.  Possibly there was some such unrecognized agent secretly busy in Arthur’s mind at this moment—­possibly it was the fear lest he might hereafter find the fact of having made a confession to the rector a serious annoyance, in case he should not be able quite to carry out his good resolutions?  I dare not assert that it was not so.  The human soul is a very complex thing.

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