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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 provided for to the end of his life—provided
for as the excellent part he had done by the child deserved。 Was it
not an appropriate thing for people in a higher station to take a
charge off the hands of a man in a lower？ It seemed an eminently
appropriate thing to Godfrey； for reasons that were known only to
himself； and by a common fallacy； he imagined the measure would
be easy because he had private motives for desiring it。 This was
rather a coarse mode of estimating Silas’s relation to Eppie； but
we must remember that many of the impressions which Godfrey
was likely to gather concerning the labouring…people around him
would favour the idea that deep affections can hardly go along
with callous palms and scant means； and he had not had the
opportunity； even if he had had the power； of entering intimately
into all that was exceptional in the weaver’s experience。 It was
only the want of adequate knowledge that could have made it
possible for Godfrey deliberately to entertain an unfeeling project：
his natural kindness had outlived that blighting time of cruel
wishes； and Nancy’s praise of him as a husband was not founded
entirely on a wilful illusion。
“I was right；” she said to herself； when she had recalled all their
scenes of discussion—”I feel I was right to say him nay； though it
hurt me more than anything； but how good Godfrey has been
about it！ Many men would have been very angry with me for
standing out against their wishes； and they might have thrown out
that they’d had ill…luck in marrying me； but Godfrey has never
been the man to say me an unkind word。 It’s only what he can’t
hide： everything seems so blank to him； I know； and the land—
what a difference it ’ud make to him； when he goes to see after
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things； if he’d children growing up that he was doing it all for！ But
I won’t murmur； and perhaps if he’d married a woman who’d have
had children； she’d have vexed him in other ways。”
This possibility was Nancy’s chief comfort； and to give it greater
strength； she laboured to make it impossible that any other wife
should have had more perfect tenderness。 She had been forced to
vex him by that one denial。 Godfrey was not insensible to her
loving effort； and did Nancy no injustice as to the motives of her
obstinacy。 It was impossible to ha