--- /dev/null
+Middlemarch\r
+\r
+\r
+By\r
+\r
+George Eliot\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+New York and Boston\r
+\r
+H. M. Caldwell Company Publishers\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+To my dear Husband, George Henry Lewes, in this nineteenth year of our\r
+blessed union.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CONTENTS\r
+\r
+BOOK I\r
+\r
+CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI\r
+CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK II\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII\r
+CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK III\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI CHAPTER XXVII\r
+CHAPTER XXVIII CHAPTER XXIX CHAPTER XXX CHAPTER XXXI CHAPTER XXXII\r
+CHAPTER XXXIII\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK IV\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXIV CHAPTER XXXV CHAPTER XXXVI CHAPTER XXXVII CHAPTER XXXVIII\r
+CHAPTER XXXIX CHAPTER XL CHAPTER XLI CHAPTER XLII\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK V\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLIII CHAPTER XLIV CHAPTER XLV CHAPTER XLVI CHAPTER XLVII\r
+CHAPTER XLVIII CHAPTER XLIX CHAPTER L CHAPTER LI CHAPTER LII\r
+CHAPTER LIII\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK VI\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LIV CHAPTER LV CHAPTER LVI CHAPTER LVII CHAPTER LVIII\r
+CHAPTER LIX CHAPTER LX CHAPTER LXI CHAPTER LXII\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK VII\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXIII CHAPTER LXIV CHAPTER LXV CHAPTER LXVI CHAPTER LXVII\r
+CHAPTER LXVIII CHAPTER LXIX CHAPTER LXX CHAPTER LXXI\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK VIII\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXII CHAPTER LXXIII CHAPTER LXXIV CHAPTER LXXV CHAPTER LXXVI\r
+CHAPTER LXXVII CHAPTER LXXVIII CHAPTER LXXIX CHAPTER LXXX CHAPTER LXXXI\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+PRELUDE\r
+\r
+\r
+Who that cares much to know the history of man, and how the mysterious\r
+mixture behaves under the varying experiments of Time, has not dwelt,\r
+at least briefly, on the life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with\r
+some gentleness at the thought of the little girl walking forth one\r
+morning hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to go and seek\r
+martyrdom in the country of the Moors? Out they toddled from rugged\r
+Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-looking as two fawns, but with human\r
+hearts, already beating to a national idea; until domestic reality met\r
+them in the shape of uncles, and turned them back from their great\r
+resolve. That child-pilgrimage was a fit beginning. Theresa's\r
+passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were many-volumed\r
+romances of chivalry and the social conquests of a brilliant girl to\r
+her? Her flame quickly burned up that light fuel; and, fed from\r
+within, soared after some illimitable satisfaction, some object which\r
+would never justify weariness, which would reconcile self-despair with\r
+the rapturous consciousness of life beyond self. She found her epos in\r
+the reform of a religious order.\r
+\r
+That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not\r
+the last of her kind. Many Theresas have been born who found for\r
+themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of\r
+far-resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of\r
+a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of\r
+opportunity; perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred poet and\r
+sank unwept into oblivion. With dim lights and tangled circumstance\r
+they tried to shape their thought and deed in noble agreement; but\r
+after all, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and\r
+formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent\r
+social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge\r
+for the ardently willing soul. Their ardor alternated between a vague\r
+ideal and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the one was\r
+disapproved as extravagance, and the other condemned as a lapse.\r
+\r
+Some have felt that these blundering lives are due to the inconvenient\r
+indefiniteness with which the Supreme Power has fashioned the natures\r
+of women: if there were one level of feminine incompetence as strict as\r
+the ability to count three and no more, the social lot of women might\r
+be treated with scientific certitude. Meanwhile the indefiniteness\r
+remains, and the limits of variation are really much wider than any one\r
+would imagine from the sameness of women's coiffure and the favorite\r
+love-stories in prose and verse. Here and there a cygnet is reared\r
+uneasily among the ducklings in the brown pond, and never finds the\r
+living stream in fellowship with its own oary-footed kind. Here and\r
+there is born a Saint Theresa, foundress of nothing, whose loving\r
+heart-beats and sobs after an unattained goodness tremble off and are\r
+dispersed among hindrances, instead of centring in some\r
+long-recognizable deed.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK I.\r
+\r
+MISS BROOKE.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER I.\r
+\r
+ "Since I can do no good because a woman,\r
+ Reach constantly at something that is near it.\r
+ --The Maid's Tragedy: BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.\r
+\r
+\r
+Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into\r
+relief by poor dress. Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that\r
+she could wear sleeves not less bare of style than those in which the\r
+Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters; and her profile as well as\r
+her stature and bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain\r
+garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her the\r
+impressiveness of a fine quotation from the Bible,--or from one of our\r
+elder poets,--in a paragraph of to-day's newspaper. She was usually\r
+spoken of as being remarkably clever, but with the addition that her\r
+sister Celia had more common-sense. Nevertheless, Celia wore scarcely\r
+more trimmings; and it was only to close observers that her dress\r
+differed from her sister's, and had a shade of coquetry in its\r
+arrangements; for Miss Brooke's plain dressing was due to mixed\r
+conditions, in most of which her sister shared. The pride of being\r
+ladies had something to do with it: the Brooke connections, though not\r
+exactly aristocratic, were unquestionably "good:" if you inquired\r
+backward for a generation or two, you would not find any yard-measuring\r
+or parcel-tying forefathers--anything lower than an admiral or a\r
+clergyman; and there was even an ancestor discernible as a Puritan\r
+gentleman who served under Cromwell, but afterwards conformed, and\r
+managed to come out of all political troubles as the proprietor of a\r
+respectable family estate. Young women of such birth, living in a\r
+quiet country-house, and attending a village church hardly larger than\r
+a parlor, naturally regarded frippery as the ambition of a huckster's\r
+daughter. Then there was well-bred economy, which in those days made\r
+show in dress the first item to be deducted from, when any margin was\r
+required for expenses more distinctive of rank. Such reasons would\r
+have been enough to account for plain dress, quite apart from religious\r
+feeling; but in Miss Brooke's case, religion alone would have\r
+determined it; and Celia mildly acquiesced in all her sister's\r
+sentiments, only infusing them with that common-sense which is able to\r
+accept momentous doctrines without any eccentric agitation. Dorothea\r
+knew many passages of Pascal's Pensees and of Jeremy Taylor by heart;\r
+and to her the destinies of mankind, seen by the light of Christianity,\r
+made the solicitudes of feminine fashion appear an occupation for\r
+Bedlam. She could not reconcile the anxieties of a spiritual life\r
+involving eternal consequences, with a keen interest in gimp and\r
+artificial protrusions of drapery. Her mind was theoretic, and yearned\r
+by its nature after some lofty conception of the world which might\r
+frankly include the parish of Tipton and her own rule of conduct there;\r
+she was enamoured of intensity and greatness, and rash in embracing\r
+whatever seemed to her to have those aspects; likely to seek martyrdom,\r
+to make retractations, and then to incur martyrdom after all in a\r
+quarter where she had not sought it. Certainly such elements in the\r
+character of a marriageable girl tended to interfere with her lot, and\r
+hinder it from being decided according to custom, by good looks,\r
+vanity, and merely canine affection. With all this, she, the elder of\r
+the sisters, was not yet twenty, and they had both been educated, since\r
+they were about twelve years old and had lost their parents, on plans\r
+at once narrow and promiscuous, first in an English family and\r
+afterwards in a Swiss family at Lausanne, their bachelor uncle and\r
+guardian trying in this way to remedy the disadvantages of their\r
+orphaned condition.\r
+\r
+It was hardly a year since they had come to live at Tipton Grange with\r
+their uncle, a man nearly sixty, of acquiescent temper, miscellaneous\r
+opinions, and uncertain vote. He had travelled in his younger years,\r
+and was held in this part of the county to have contracted a too\r
+rambling habit of mind. Mr. Brooke's conclusions were as difficult to\r
+predict as the weather: it was only safe to say that he would act with\r
+benevolent intentions, and that he would spend as little money as\r
+possible in carrying them out. For the most glutinously indefinite\r
+minds enclose some hard grains of habit; and a man has been seen lax\r
+about all his own interests except the retention of his snuff-box,\r
+concerning which he was watchful, suspicious, and greedy of clutch.\r
+\r
+In Mr. Brooke the hereditary strain of Puritan energy was clearly in\r
+abeyance; but in his niece Dorothea it glowed alike through faults and\r
+virtues, turning sometimes into impatience of her uncle's talk or his\r
+way of "letting things be" on his estate, and making her long all the\r
+more for the time when she would be of age and have some command of\r
+money for generous schemes. She was regarded as an heiress; for not\r
+only had the sisters seven hundred a-year each from their parents, but\r
+if Dorothea married and had a son, that son would inherit Mr. Brooke's\r
+estate, presumably worth about three thousand a-year--a rental which\r
+seemed wealth to provincial families, still discussing Mr. Peel's late\r
+conduct on the Catholic question, innocent of future gold-fields, and\r
+of that gorgeous plutocracy which has so nobly exalted the necessities\r
+of genteel life.\r
+\r
+And how should Dorothea not marry?--a girl so handsome and with such\r
+prospects? Nothing could hinder it but her love of extremes, and her\r
+insistence on regulating life according to notions which might cause a\r
+wary man to hesitate before he made her an offer, or even might lead\r
+her at last to refuse all offers. A young lady of some birth and\r
+fortune, who knelt suddenly down on a brick floor by the side of a sick\r
+laborer and prayed fervidly as if she thought herself living in the\r
+time of the Apostles--who had strange whims of fasting like a Papist,\r
+and of sitting up at night to read old theological books! Such a wife\r
+might awaken you some fine morning with a new scheme for the\r
+application of her income which would interfere with political economy\r
+and the keeping of saddle-horses: a man would naturally think twice\r
+before he risked himself in such fellowship. Women were expected to\r
+have weak opinions; but the great safeguard of society and of domestic\r
+life was, that opinions were not acted on. Sane people did what their\r
+neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know\r
+and avoid them.\r
+\r
+The rural opinion about the new young ladies, even among the cottagers,\r
+was generally in favor of Celia, as being so amiable and\r
+innocent-looking, while Miss Brooke's large eyes seemed, like her\r
+religion, too unusual and striking. Poor Dorothea! compared with her,\r
+the innocent-looking Celia was knowing and worldly-wise; so much\r
+subtler is a human mind than the outside tissues which make a sort of\r
+blazonry or clock-face for it.\r
+\r
+Yet those who approached Dorothea, though prejudiced against her by\r
+this alarming hearsay, found that she had a charm unaccountably\r
+reconcilable with it. Most men thought her bewitching when she was on\r
+horseback. She loved the fresh air and the various aspects of the\r
+country, and when her eyes and cheeks glowed with mingled pleasure she\r
+looked very little like a devotee. Riding was an indulgence which she\r
+allowed herself in spite of conscientious qualms; she felt that she\r
+enjoyed it in a pagan sensuous way, and always looked forward to\r
+renouncing it.\r
+\r
+She was open, ardent, and not in the least self-admiring; indeed, it\r
+was pretty to see how her imagination adorned her sister Celia with\r
+attractions altogether superior to her own, and if any gentleman\r
+appeared to come to the Grange from some other motive than that of\r
+seeing Mr. Brooke, she concluded that he must be in love with Celia:\r
+Sir James Chettam, for example, whom she constantly considered from\r
+Celia's point of view, inwardly debating whether it would be good for\r
+Celia to accept him. That he should be regarded as a suitor to herself\r
+would have seemed to her a ridiculous irrelevance. Dorothea, with all\r
+her eagerness to know the truths of life, retained very childlike ideas\r
+about marriage. She felt sure that she would have accepted the\r
+judicious Hooker, if she had been born in time to save him from that\r
+wretched mistake he made in matrimony; or John Milton when his\r
+blindness had come on; or any of the other great men whose odd habits\r
+it would have been glorious piety to endure; but an amiable handsome\r
+baronet, who said "Exactly" to her remarks even when she expressed\r
+uncertainty,--how could he affect her as a lover? The really\r
+delightful marriage must be that where your husband was a sort of\r
+father, and could teach you even Hebrew, if you wished it.\r
+\r
+These peculiarities of Dorothea's character caused Mr. Brooke to be all\r
+the more blamed in neighboring families for not securing some\r
+middle-aged lady as guide and companion to his nieces. But he himself\r
+dreaded so much the sort of superior woman likely to be available for\r
+such a position, that he allowed himself to be dissuaded by Dorothea's\r
+objections, and was in this case brave enough to defy the world--that\r
+is to say, Mrs. Cadwallader the Rector's wife, and the small group of\r
+gentry with whom he visited in the northeast corner of Loamshire. So\r
+Miss Brooke presided in her uncle's household, and did not at all\r
+dislike her new authority, with the homage that belonged to it.\r
+\r
+Sir James Chettam was going to dine at the Grange to-day with another\r
+gentleman whom the girls had never seen, and about whom Dorothea felt\r
+some venerating expectation. This was the Reverend Edward Casaubon,\r
+noted in the county as a man of profound learning, understood for many\r
+years to be engaged on a great work concerning religious history; also\r
+as a man of wealth enough to give lustre to his piety, and having views\r
+of his own which were to be more clearly ascertained on the publication\r
+of his book. His very name carried an impressiveness hardly to be\r
+measured without a precise chronology of scholarship.\r
+\r
+Early in the day Dorothea had returned from the infant school which she\r
+had set going in the village, and was taking her usual place in the\r
+pretty sitting-room which divided the bedrooms of the sisters, bent on\r
+finishing a plan for some buildings (a kind of work which she delighted\r
+in), when Celia, who had been watching her with a hesitating desire to\r
+propose something, said--\r
+\r
+"Dorothea, dear, if you don't mind--if you are not very busy--suppose\r
+we looked at mamma's jewels to-day, and divided them? It is exactly\r
+six months to-day since uncle gave them to you, and you have not looked\r
+at them yet."\r
+\r
+Celia's face had the shadow of a pouting expression in it, the full\r
+presence of the pout being kept back by an habitual awe of Dorothea and\r
+principle; two associated facts which might show a mysterious\r
+electricity if you touched them incautiously. To her relief,\r
+Dorothea's eyes were full of laughter as she looked up.\r
+\r
+"What a wonderful little almanac you are, Celia! Is it six calendar or\r
+six lunar months?"\r
+\r
+"It is the last day of September now, and it was the first of April\r
+when uncle gave them to you. You know, he said that he had forgotten\r
+them till then. I believe you have never thought of them since you\r
+locked them up in the cabinet here."\r
+\r
+"Well, dear, we should never wear them, you know." Dorothea spoke in a\r
+full cordial tone, half caressing, half explanatory. She had her\r
+pencil in her hand, and was making tiny side-plans on a margin.\r
+\r
+Celia colored, and looked very grave. "I think, dear, we are wanting\r
+in respect to mamma's memory, to put them by and take no notice of\r
+them. And," she added, after hesitating a little, with a rising sob of\r
+mortification, "necklaces are quite usual now; and Madame Poincon, who\r
+was stricter in some things even than you are, used to wear ornaments.\r
+And Christians generally--surely there are women in heaven now who wore\r
+jewels." Celia was conscious of some mental strength when she really\r
+applied herself to argument.\r
+\r
+"You would like to wear them?" exclaimed Dorothea, an air of astonished\r
+discovery animating her whole person with a dramatic action which she\r
+had caught from that very Madame Poincon who wore the ornaments. "Of\r
+course, then, let us have them out. Why did you not tell me before?\r
+But the keys, the keys!" She pressed her hands against the sides of her\r
+head and seemed to despair of her memory.\r
+\r
+"They are here," said Celia, with whom this explanation had been long\r
+meditated and prearranged.\r
+\r
+"Pray open the large drawer of the cabinet and get out the jewel-box."\r
+\r
+The casket was soon open before them, and the various jewels spread\r
+out, making a bright parterre on the table. It was no great\r
+collection, but a few of the ornaments were really of remarkable\r
+beauty, the finest that was obvious at first being a necklace of purple\r
+amethysts set in exquisite gold work, and a pearl cross with five\r
+brilliants in it. Dorothea immediately took up the necklace and\r
+fastened it round her sister's neck, where it fitted almost as closely\r
+as a bracelet; but the circle suited the Henrietta-Maria style of\r
+Celia's head and neck, and she could see that it did, in the pier-glass\r
+opposite.\r
+\r
+"There, Celia! you can wear that with your Indian muslin. But this\r
+cross you must wear with your dark dresses."\r
+\r
+Celia was trying not to smile with pleasure. "O Dodo, you must keep\r
+the cross yourself."\r
+\r
+"No, no, dear, no," said Dorothea, putting up her hand with careless\r
+deprecation.\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed you must; it would suit you--in your black dress, now,"\r
+said Celia, insistingly. "You _might_ wear that."\r
+\r
+"Not for the world, not for the world. A cross is the last thing I\r
+would wear as a trinket." Dorothea shuddered slightly.\r
+\r
+"Then you will think it wicked in me to wear it," said Celia, uneasily.\r
+\r
+"No, dear, no," said Dorothea, stroking her sister's cheek. "Souls\r
+have complexions too: what will suit one will not suit another."\r
+\r
+"But you might like to keep it for mamma's sake."\r
+\r
+"No, I have other things of mamma's--her sandal-wood box which I am so\r
+fond of--plenty of things. In fact, they are all yours, dear. We need\r
+discuss them no longer. There--take away your property."\r
+\r
+Celia felt a little hurt. There was a strong assumption of superiority\r
+in this Puritanic toleration, hardly less trying to the blond flesh of\r
+an unenthusiastic sister than a Puritanic persecution.\r
+\r
+"But how can I wear ornaments if you, who are the elder sister, will\r
+never wear them?"\r
+\r
+"Nay, Celia, that is too much to ask, that I should wear trinkets to\r
+keep you in countenance. If I were to put on such a necklace as that,\r
+I should feel as if I had been pirouetting. The world would go round\r
+with me, and I should not know how to walk."\r
+\r
+Celia had unclasped the necklace and drawn it off. "It would be a\r
+little tight for your neck; something to lie down and hang would suit\r
+you better," she said, with some satisfaction. The complete unfitness\r
+of the necklace from all points of view for Dorothea, made Celia\r
+happier in taking it. She was opening some ring-boxes, which disclosed\r
+a fine emerald with diamonds, and just then the sun passing beyond a\r
+cloud sent a bright gleam over the table.\r
+\r
+"How very beautiful these gems are!" said Dorothea, under a new current\r
+of feeling, as sudden as the gleam. "It is strange how deeply colors\r
+seem to penetrate one, like scent. I suppose that is the reason why\r
+gems are used as spiritual emblems in the Revelation of St. John. They\r
+look like fragments of heaven. I think that emerald is more beautiful\r
+than any of them."\r
+\r
+"And there is a bracelet to match it," said Celia. "We did not notice\r
+this at first."\r
+\r
+"They are lovely," said Dorothea, slipping the ring and bracelet on her\r
+finely turned finger and wrist, and holding them towards the window on\r
+a level with her eyes. All the while her thought was trying to justify\r
+her delight in the colors by merging them in her mystic religious joy.\r
+\r
+"You _would_ like those, Dorothea," said Celia, rather falteringly,\r
+beginning to think with wonder that her sister showed some weakness,\r
+and also that emeralds would suit her own complexion even better than\r
+purple amethysts. "You must keep that ring and bracelet--if nothing\r
+else. But see, these agates are very pretty and quiet."\r
+\r
+"Yes! I will keep these--this ring and bracelet," said Dorothea.\r
+Then, letting her hand fall on the table, she said in another\r
+tone--"Yet what miserable men find such things, and work at them, and\r
+sell them!" She paused again, and Celia thought that her sister was\r
+going to renounce the ornaments, as in consistency she ought to do.\r
+\r
+"Yes, dear, I will keep these," said Dorothea, decidedly. "But take\r
+all the rest away, and the casket."\r
+\r
+She took up her pencil without removing the jewels, and still looking\r
+at them. She thought of often having them by her, to feed her eye at\r
+these little fountains of pure color.\r
+\r
+"Shall you wear them in company?" said Celia, who was watching her with\r
+real curiosity as to what she would do.\r
+\r
+Dorothea glanced quickly at her sister. Across all her imaginative\r
+adornment of those whom she loved, there darted now and then a keen\r
+discernment, which was not without a scorching quality. If Miss Brooke\r
+ever attained perfect meekness, it would not be for lack of inward fire.\r
+\r
+"Perhaps," she said, rather haughtily. "I cannot tell to what level I\r
+may sink."\r
+\r
+Celia blushed, and was unhappy: she saw that she had offended her\r
+sister, and dared not say even anything pretty about the gift of the\r
+ornaments which she put back into the box and carried away. Dorothea\r
+too was unhappy, as she went on with her plan-drawing, questioning the\r
+purity of her own feeling and speech in the scene which had ended with\r
+that little explosion.\r
+\r
+Celia's consciousness told her that she had not been at all in the\r
+wrong: it was quite natural and justifiable that she should have asked\r
+that question, and she repeated to herself that Dorothea was\r
+inconsistent: either she should have taken her full share of the\r
+jewels, or, after what she had said, she should have renounced them\r
+altogether.\r
+\r
+"I am sure--at least, I trust," thought Celia, "that the wearing of a\r
+necklace will not interfere with my prayers. And I do not see that I\r
+should be bound by Dorothea's opinions now we are going into society,\r
+though of course she herself ought to be bound by them. But Dorothea\r
+is not always consistent."\r
+\r
+Thus Celia, mutely bending over her tapestry, until she heard her\r
+sister calling her.\r
+\r
+"Here, Kitty, come and look at my plan; I shall think I am a great\r
+architect, if I have not got incompatible stairs and fireplaces."\r
+\r
+As Celia bent over the paper, Dorothea put her cheek against her\r
+sister's arm caressingly. Celia understood the action. Dorothea saw\r
+that she had been in the wrong, and Celia pardoned her. Since they\r
+could remember, there had been a mixture of criticism and awe in the\r
+attitude of Celia's mind towards her elder sister. The younger had\r
+always worn a yoke; but is there any yoked creature without its private\r
+opinions?\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER II.\r
+\r
+ "'Dime; no ves aquel caballero que hacia nosotros viene\r
+ sobre un caballo rucio rodado que trae puesto en la cabeza\r
+ un yelmo de oro?' 'Lo que veo y columbro,' respondio Sancho,\r
+ 'no es sino un hombre sobre un as no pardo como el mio, que\r
+ trae sobre la cabeza una cosa que relumbra.' 'Pues ese es el\r
+ yelmo de Mambrino,' dijo Don Quijote."--CERVANTES.\r
+\r
+ "'Seest thou not yon cavalier who cometh toward us on a\r
+ dapple-gray steed, and weareth a golden helmet?' 'What I\r
+ see,' answered Sancho, 'is nothing but a man on a gray ass\r
+ like my own, who carries something shiny on his head.' 'Just\r
+ so,' answered Don Quixote: 'and that resplendent object is\r
+ the helmet of Mambrino.'"\r
+\r
+\r
+"Sir Humphry Davy?" said Mr. Brooke, over the soup, in his easy smiling\r
+way, taking up Sir James Chettam's remark that he was studying Davy's\r
+Agricultural Chemistry. "Well, now, Sir Humphry Davy; I dined with him\r
+years ago at Cartwright's, and Wordsworth was there too--the poet\r
+Wordsworth, you know. Now there was something singular. I was at\r
+Cambridge when Wordsworth was there, and I never met him--and I dined\r
+with him twenty years afterwards at Cartwright's. There's an oddity in\r
+things, now. But Davy was there: he was a poet too. Or, as I may say,\r
+Wordsworth was poet one, and Davy was poet two. That was true in every\r
+sense, you know."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt a little more uneasy than usual. In the beginning of\r
+dinner, the party being small and the room still, these motes from the\r
+mass of a magistrate's mind fell too noticeably. She wondered how a\r
+man like Mr. Casaubon would support such triviality. His manners, she\r
+thought, were very dignified; the set of his iron-gray hair and his\r
+deep eye-sockets made him resemble the portrait of Locke. He had the\r
+spare form and the pale complexion which became a student; as different\r
+as possible from the blooming Englishman of the red-whiskered type\r
+represented by Sir James Chettam.\r
+\r
+"I am reading the Agricultural Chemistry," said this excellent baronet,\r
+"because I am going to take one of the farms into my own hands, and see\r
+if something cannot be done in setting a good pattern of farming among\r
+my tenants. Do you approve of that, Miss Brooke?"\r
+\r
+"A great mistake, Chettam," interposed Mr. Brooke, "going into\r
+electrifying your land and that kind of thing, and making a parlor of\r
+your cow-house. It won't do. I went into science a great deal myself\r
+at one time; but I saw it would not do. It leads to everything; you\r
+can let nothing alone. No, no--see that your tenants don't sell their\r
+straw, and that kind of thing; and give them draining-tiles, you know.\r
+But your fancy farming will not do--the most expensive sort of whistle\r
+you can buy: you may as well keep a pack of hounds."\r
+\r
+"Surely," said Dorothea, "it is better to spend money in finding out\r
+how men can make the most of the land which supports them all, than in\r
+keeping dogs and horses only to gallop over it. It is not a sin to\r
+make yourself poor in performing experiments for the good of all."\r
+\r
+She spoke with more energy than is expected of so young a lady, but Sir\r
+James had appealed to her. He was accustomed to do so, and she had\r
+often thought that she could urge him to many good actions when he was\r
+her brother-in-law.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon turned his eyes very markedly on Dorothea while she was\r
+speaking, and seemed to observe her newly.\r
+\r
+"Young ladies don't understand political economy, you know," said Mr.\r
+Brooke, smiling towards Mr. Casaubon. "I remember when we were all\r
+reading Adam Smith. _There_ is a book, now. I took in all the new\r
+ideas at one time--human perfectibility, now. But some say, history\r
+moves in circles; and that may be very well argued; I have argued it\r
+myself. The fact is, human reason may carry you a little too far--over\r
+the hedge, in fact. It carried me a good way at one time; but I saw it\r
+would not do. I pulled up; I pulled up in time. But not too hard. I\r
+have always been in favor of a little theory: we must have Thought;\r
+else we shall be landed back in the dark ages. But talking of books,\r
+there is Southey's 'Peninsular War.' I am reading that of a morning.\r
+You know Southey?"\r
+\r
+"No" said Mr. Casaubon, not keeping pace with Mr. Brooke's impetuous\r
+reason, and thinking of the book only. "I have little leisure for such\r
+literature just now. I have been using up my eyesight on old\r
+characters lately; the fact is, I want a reader for my evenings; but I\r
+am fastidious in voices, and I cannot endure listening to an imperfect\r
+reader. It is a misfortune, in some senses: I feed too much on the\r
+inward sources; I live too much with the dead. My mind is something\r
+like the ghost of an ancient, wandering about the world and trying\r
+mentally to construct it as it used to be, in spite of ruin and\r
+confusing changes. But I find it necessary to use the utmost caution\r
+about my eyesight."\r
+\r
+This was the first time that Mr. Casaubon had spoken at any length. He\r
+delivered himself with precision, as if he had been called upon to make\r
+a public statement; and the balanced sing-song neatness of his speech,\r
+occasionally corresponded to by a movement of his head, was the more\r
+conspicuous from its contrast with good Mr. Brooke's scrappy\r
+slovenliness. Dorothea said to herself that Mr. Casaubon was the most\r
+interesting man she had ever seen, not excepting even Monsieur Liret,\r
+the Vaudois clergyman who had given conferences on the history of the\r
+Waldenses. To reconstruct a past world, doubtless with a view to the\r
+highest purposes of truth--what a work to be in any way present at, to\r
+assist in, though only as a lamp-holder! This elevating thought lifted\r
+her above her annoyance at being twitted with her ignorance of\r
+political economy, that never-explained science which was thrust as an\r
+extinguisher over all her lights.\r
+\r
+"But you are fond of riding, Miss Brooke," Sir James presently took an\r
+opportunity of saying. "I should have thought you would enter a little\r
+into the pleasures of hunting. I wish you would let me send over a\r
+chestnut horse for you to try. It has been trained for a lady. I saw\r
+you on Saturday cantering over the hill on a nag not worthy of you. My\r
+groom shall bring Corydon for you every day, if you will only mention\r
+the time."\r
+\r
+"Thank you, you are very good. I mean to give up riding. I shall not\r
+ride any more," said Dorothea, urged to this brusque resolution by a\r
+little annoyance that Sir James would be soliciting her attention when\r
+she wanted to give it all to Mr. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+"No, that is too hard," said Sir James, in a tone of reproach that\r
+showed strong interest. "Your sister is given to self-mortification,\r
+is she not?" he continued, turning to Celia, who sat at his right hand.\r
+\r
+"I think she is," said Celia, feeling afraid lest she should say\r
+something that would not please her sister, and blushing as prettily as\r
+possible above her necklace. "She likes giving up."\r
+\r
+"If that were true, Celia, my giving-up would be self-indulgence, not\r
+self-mortification. But there may be good reasons for choosing not to\r
+do what is very agreeable," said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke was speaking at the same time, but it was evident that Mr.\r
+Casaubon was observing Dorothea, and she was aware of it.\r
+\r
+"Exactly," said Sir James. "You give up from some high, generous\r
+motive."\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, not exactly. I did not say that of myself," answered\r
+Dorothea, reddening. Unlike Celia, she rarely blushed, and only from\r
+high delight or anger. At this moment she felt angry with the perverse\r
+Sir James. Why did he not pay attention to Celia, and leave her to\r
+listen to Mr. Casaubon?--if that learned man would only talk, instead\r
+of allowing himself to be talked to by Mr. Brooke, who was just then\r
+informing him that the Reformation either meant something or it did\r
+not, that he himself was a Protestant to the core, but that Catholicism\r
+was a fact; and as to refusing an acre of your ground for a Romanist\r
+chapel, all men needed the bridle of religion, which, properly\r
+speaking, was the dread of a Hereafter.\r
+\r
+"I made a great study of theology at one time," said Mr. Brooke, as if\r
+to explain the insight just manifested. "I know something of all\r
+schools. I knew Wilberforce in his best days. Do you know\r
+Wilberforce?"\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon said, "No."\r
+\r
+"Well, Wilberforce was perhaps not enough of a thinker; but if I went\r
+into Parliament, as I have been asked to do, I should sit on the\r
+independent bench, as Wilberforce did, and work at philanthropy."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon bowed, and observed that it was a wide field.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Mr. Brooke, with an easy smile, "but I have documents. I\r
+began a long while ago to collect documents. They want arranging, but\r
+when a question has struck me, I have written to somebody and got an\r
+answer. I have documents at my back. But now, how do you arrange your\r
+documents?"\r
+\r
+"In pigeon-holes partly," said Mr. Casaubon, with rather a startled air\r
+of effort.\r
+\r
+"Ah, pigeon-holes will not do. I have tried pigeon-holes, but\r
+everything gets mixed in pigeon-holes: I never know whether a paper is\r
+in A or Z."\r
+\r
+"I wish you would let me sort your papers for you, uncle," said\r
+Dorothea. "I would letter them all, and then make a list of subjects\r
+under each letter."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon gravely smiled approval, and said to Mr. Brooke, "You have\r
+an excellent secretary at hand, you perceive."\r
+\r
+"No, no," said Mr. Brooke, shaking his head; "I cannot let young ladies\r
+meddle with my documents. Young ladies are too flighty."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt hurt. Mr. Casaubon would think that her uncle had some\r
+special reason for delivering this opinion, whereas the remark lay in\r
+his mind as lightly as the broken wing of an insect among all the other\r
+fragments there, and a chance current had sent it alighting on _her_.\r
+\r
+When the two girls were in the drawing-room alone, Celia said--\r
+\r
+"How very ugly Mr. Casaubon is!"\r
+\r
+"Celia! He is one of the most distinguished-looking men I ever saw.\r
+He is remarkably like the portrait of Locke. He has the same deep\r
+eye-sockets."\r
+\r
+"Had Locke those two white moles with hairs on them?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I dare say! when people of a certain sort looked at him," said\r
+Dorothea, walking away a little.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Casaubon is so sallow."\r
+\r
+"All the better. I suppose you admire a man with the complexion of a\r
+cochon de lait."\r
+\r
+"Dodo!" exclaimed Celia, looking after her in surprise. "I never heard\r
+you make such a comparison before."\r
+\r
+"Why should I make it before the occasion came? It is a good\r
+comparison: the match is perfect."\r
+\r
+Miss Brooke was clearly forgetting herself, and Celia thought so.\r
+\r
+"I wonder you show temper, Dorothea."\r
+\r
+"It is so painful in you, Celia, that you will look at human beings as\r
+if they were merely animals with a toilet, and never see the great soul\r
+in a man's face."\r
+\r
+"Has Mr. Casaubon a great soul?" Celia was not without a touch of naive\r
+malice.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I believe he has," said Dorothea, with the full voice of\r
+decision. "Everything I see in him corresponds to his pamphlet on\r
+Biblical Cosmology."\r
+\r
+"He talks very little," said Celia\r
+\r
+"There is no one for him to talk to."\r
+\r
+Celia thought privately, "Dorothea quite despises Sir James Chettam; I\r
+believe she would not accept him." Celia felt that this was a pity.\r
+She had never been deceived as to the object of the baronet's interest.\r
+Sometimes, indeed, she had reflected that Dodo would perhaps not make a\r
+husband happy who had not her way of looking at things; and stifled in\r
+the depths of her heart was the feeling that her sister was too\r
+religious for family comfort. Notions and scruples were like spilt\r
+needles, making one afraid of treading, or sitting down, or even eating.\r
+\r
+When Miss Brooke was at the tea-table, Sir James came to sit down by\r
+her, not having felt her mode of answering him at all offensive. Why\r
+should he? He thought it probable that Miss Brooke liked him, and\r
+manners must be very marked indeed before they cease to be interpreted\r
+by preconceptions either confident or distrustful. She was thoroughly\r
+charming to him, but of course he theorized a little about his\r
+attachment. He was made of excellent human dough, and had the rare\r
+merit of knowing that his talents, even if let loose, would not set the\r
+smallest stream in the county on fire: hence he liked the prospect of a\r
+wife to whom he could say, "What shall we do?" about this or that; who\r
+could help her husband out with reasons, and would also have the\r
+property qualification for doing so. As to the excessive religiousness\r
+alleged against Miss Brooke, he had a very indefinite notion of what it\r
+consisted in, and thought that it would die out with marriage. In\r
+short, he felt himself to be in love in the right place, and was ready\r
+to endure a great deal of predominance, which, after all, a man could\r
+always put down when he liked. Sir James had no idea that he should\r
+ever like to put down the predominance of this handsome girl, in whose\r
+cleverness he delighted. Why not? A man's mind--what there is of\r
+it--has always the advantage of being masculine,--as the smallest\r
+birch-tree is of a higher kind than the most soaring palm,--and even\r
+his ignorance is of a sounder quality. Sir James might not have\r
+originated this estimate; but a kind Providence furnishes the limpest\r
+personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition.\r
+\r
+"Let me hope that you will rescind that resolution about the horse,\r
+Miss Brooke," said the persevering admirer. "I assure you, riding is\r
+the most healthy of exercises."\r
+\r
+"I am aware of it," said Dorothea, coldly. "I think it would do Celia\r
+good--if she would take to it."\r
+\r
+"But you are such a perfect horsewoman."\r
+\r
+"Excuse me; I have had very little practice, and I should be easily\r
+thrown."\r
+\r
+"Then that is a reason for more practice. Every lady ought to be a\r
+perfect horsewoman, that she may accompany her husband."\r
+\r
+"You see how widely we differ, Sir James. I have made up my mind that\r
+I ought not to be a perfect horsewoman, and so I should never\r
+correspond to your pattern of a lady." Dorothea looked straight before\r
+her, and spoke with cold brusquerie, very much with the air of a\r
+handsome boy, in amusing contrast with the solicitous amiability of her\r
+admirer.\r
+\r
+"I should like to know your reasons for this cruel resolution. It is\r
+not possible that you should think horsemanship wrong."\r
+\r
+"It is quite possible that I should think it wrong for me."\r
+\r
+"Oh, why?" said Sir James, in a tender tone of remonstrance.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon had come up to the table, teacup in hand, and was\r
+listening.\r
+\r
+"We must not inquire too curiously into motives," he interposed, in his\r
+measured way. "Miss Brooke knows that they are apt to become feeble in\r
+the utterance: the aroma is mixed with the grosser air. We must keep\r
+the germinating grain away from the light."\r
+\r
+Dorothea colored with pleasure, and looked up gratefully to the\r
+speaker. Here was a man who could understand the higher inward life,\r
+and with whom there could be some spiritual communion; nay, who could\r
+illuminate principle with the widest knowledge a man whose learning\r
+almost amounted to a proof of whatever he believed!\r
+\r
+Dorothea's inferences may seem large; but really life could never have\r
+gone on at any period but for this liberal allowance of conclusions,\r
+which has facilitated marriage under the difficulties of civilization.\r
+Has any one ever pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of\r
+pre-matrimonial acquaintanceship?\r
+\r
+"Certainly," said good Sir James. "Miss Brooke shall not be urged to\r
+tell reasons she would rather be silent upon. I am sure her reasons\r
+would do her honor."\r
+\r
+He was not in the least jealous of the interest with which Dorothea had\r
+looked up at Mr. Casaubon: it never occurred to him that a girl to whom\r
+he was meditating an offer of marriage could care for a dried bookworm\r
+towards fifty, except, indeed, in a religious sort of way, as for a\r
+clergyman of some distinction.\r
+\r
+However, since Miss Brooke had become engaged in a conversation with\r
+Mr. Casaubon about the Vaudois clergy, Sir James betook himself to\r
+Celia, and talked to her about her sister; spoke of a house in town,\r
+and asked whether Miss Brooke disliked London. Away from her sister,\r
+Celia talked quite easily, and Sir James said to himself that the\r
+second Miss Brooke was certainly very agreeable as well as pretty,\r
+though not, as some people pretended, more clever and sensible than the\r
+elder sister. He felt that he had chosen the one who was in all\r
+respects the superior; and a man naturally likes to look forward to\r
+having the best. He would be the very Mawworm of bachelors who\r
+pretended not to expect it.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER III.\r
+\r
+ "Say, goddess, what ensued, when Raphael,\r
+ The affable archangel . . .\r
+ Eve\r
+ The story heard attentive, and was filled\r
+ With admiration, and deep muse, to hear\r
+ Of things so high and strange."\r
+ --Paradise Lost, B. vii.\r
+\r
+\r
+If it had really occurred to Mr. Casaubon to think of Miss Brooke as a\r
+suitable wife for him, the reasons that might induce her to accept him\r
+were already planted in her mind, and by the evening of the next day\r
+the reasons had budded and bloomed. For they had had a long\r
+conversation in the morning, while Celia, who did not like the company\r
+of Mr. Casaubon's moles and sallowness, had escaped to the vicarage to\r
+play with the curate's ill-shod but merry children.\r
+\r
+Dorothea by this time had looked deep into the ungauged reservoir of\r
+Mr. Casaubon's mind, seeing reflected there in vague labyrinthine\r
+extension every quality she herself brought; had opened much of her own\r
+experience to him, and had understood from him the scope of his great\r
+work, also of attractively labyrinthine extent. For he had been as\r
+instructive as Milton's "affable archangel;" and with something of the\r
+archangelic manner he told her how he had undertaken to show (what\r
+indeed had been attempted before, but not with that thoroughness,\r
+justice of comparison, and effectiveness of arrangement at which Mr.\r
+Casaubon aimed) that all the mythical systems or erratic mythical\r
+fragments in the world were corruptions of a tradition originally\r
+revealed. Having once mastered the true position and taken a firm\r
+footing there, the vast field of mythical constructions became\r
+intelligible, nay, luminous with the reflected light of\r
+correspondences. But to gather in this great harvest of truth was no\r
+light or speedy work. His notes already made a formidable range of\r
+volumes, but the crowning task would be to condense these voluminous\r
+still-accumulating results and bring them, like the earlier vintage of\r
+Hippocratic books, to fit a little shelf. In explaining this to\r
+Dorothea, Mr. Casaubon expressed himself nearly as he would have done\r
+to a fellow-student, for he had not two styles of talking at command:\r
+it is true that when he used a Greek or Latin phrase he always gave the\r
+English with scrupulous care, but he would probably have done this in\r
+any case. A learned provincial clergyman is accustomed to think of his\r
+acquaintances as of "lords, knyghtes, and other noble and worthi men,\r
+that conne Latyn but lytille."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was altogether captivated by the wide embrace of this\r
+conception. Here was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school\r
+literature: here was a living Bossuet, whose work would reconcile\r
+complete knowledge with devoted piety; here was a modern Augustine who\r
+united the glories of doctor and saint.\r
+\r
+The sanctity seemed no less clearly marked than the learning, for when\r
+Dorothea was impelled to open her mind on certain themes which she\r
+could speak of to no one whom she had before seen at Tipton, especially\r
+on the secondary importance of ecclesiastical forms and articles of\r
+belief compared with that spiritual religion, that submergence of self\r
+in communion with Divine perfection which seemed to her to be expressed\r
+in the best Christian books of widely distant ages, she found in Mr.\r
+Casaubon a listener who understood her at once, who could assure her of\r
+his own agreement with that view when duly tempered with wise\r
+conformity, and could mention historical examples before unknown to her.\r
+\r
+"He thinks with me," said Dorothea to herself, "or rather, he thinks a\r
+whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror. And his\r
+feelings too, his whole experience--what a lake compared with my little\r
+pool!"\r
+\r
+Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly\r
+than other young ladies of her age. Signs are small measurable things,\r
+but interpretations are illimitable, and in girls of sweet, ardent\r
+nature, every sign is apt to conjure up wonder, hope, belief, vast as a\r
+sky, and colored by a diffused thimbleful of matter in the shape of\r
+knowledge. They are not always too grossly deceived; for Sinbad\r
+himself may have fallen by good-luck on a true description, and wrong\r
+reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a\r
+long way off the true point, and proceeding by loops and zigzags, we\r
+now and then arrive just where we ought to be. Because Miss Brooke was\r
+hasty in her trust, it is not therefore clear that Mr. Casaubon was\r
+unworthy of it.\r
+\r
+He stayed a little longer than he had intended, on a slight pressure of\r
+invitation from Mr. Brooke, who offered no bait except his own\r
+documents on machine-breaking and rick-burning. Mr. Casaubon was called\r
+into the library to look at these in a heap, while his host picked up\r
+first one and then the other to read aloud from in a skipping and\r
+uncertain way, passing from one unfinished passage to another with a\r
+"Yes, now, but here!" and finally pushing them all aside to open the\r
+journal of his youthful Continental travels.\r
+\r
+"Look here--here is all about Greece. Rhamnus, the ruins of\r
+Rhamnus--you are a great Grecian, now. I don't know whether you have\r
+given much study to the topography. I spent no end of time in making\r
+out these things--Helicon, now. Here, now!--'We started the next\r
+morning for Parnassus, the double-peaked Parnassus.' All this volume is\r
+about Greece, you know," Mr. Brooke wound up, rubbing his thumb\r
+transversely along the edges of the leaves as he held the book forward.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon made a dignified though somewhat sad audience; bowed in\r
+the right place, and avoided looking at anything documentary as far as\r
+possible, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this\r
+desultoriness was associated with the institutions of the country, and\r
+that the man who took him on this severe mental scamper was not only an\r
+amiable host, but a landholder and custos rotulorum. Was his endurance\r
+aided also by the reflection that Mr. Brooke was the uncle of Dorothea?\r
+\r
+Certainly he seemed more and more bent on making her talk to him, on\r
+drawing her out, as Celia remarked to herself; and in looking at her\r
+his face was often lit up by a smile like pale wintry sunshine. Before\r
+he left the next morning, while taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brooke\r
+along the gravelled terrace, he had mentioned to her that he felt the\r
+disadvantage of loneliness, the need of that cheerful companionship\r
+with which the presence of youth can lighten or vary the serious toils\r
+of maturity. And he delivered this statement with as much careful\r
+precision as if he had been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be\r
+attended with results. Indeed, Mr. Casaubon was not used to expect\r
+that he should have to repeat or revise his communications of a\r
+practical or personal kind. The inclinations which he had deliberately\r
+stated on the 2d of October he would think it enough to refer to by the\r
+mention of that date; judging by the standard of his own memory, which\r
+was a volume where a vide supra could serve instead of repetitions, and\r
+not the ordinary long-used blotting-book which only tells of forgotten\r
+writing. But in this case Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not likely to\r
+be falsified, for Dorothea heard and retained what he said with the\r
+eager interest of a fresh young nature to which every variety in\r
+experience is an epoch.\r
+\r
+It was three o'clock in the beautiful breezy autumn day when Mr.\r
+Casaubon drove off to his Rectory at Lowick, only five miles from\r
+Tipton; and Dorothea, who had on her bonnet and shawl, hurried along\r
+the shrubbery and across the park that she might wander through the\r
+bordering wood with no other visible companionship than that of Monk,\r
+the Great St. Bernard dog, who always took care of the young ladies in\r
+their walks. There had risen before her the girl's vision of a\r
+possible future for herself to which she looked forward with trembling\r
+hope, and she wanted to wander on in that visionary future without\r
+interruption. She walked briskly in the brisk air, the color rose in\r
+her cheeks, and her straw bonnet (which our contemporaries might look\r
+at with conjectural curiosity as at an obsolete form of basket) fell a\r
+little backward. She would perhaps be hardly characterized enough if\r
+it were omitted that she wore her brown hair flatly braided and coiled\r
+behind so as to expose the outline of her head in a daring manner at a\r
+time when public feeling required the meagreness of nature to be\r
+dissimulated by tall barricades of frizzed curls and bows, never\r
+surpassed by any great race except the Feejeean. This was a trait of\r
+Miss Brooke's asceticism. But there was nothing of an ascetic's\r
+expression in her bright full eyes, as she looked before her, not\r
+consciously seeing, but absorbing into the intensity of her mood, the\r
+solemn glory of the afternoon with its long swathes of light between\r
+the far-off rows of limes, whose shadows touched each other.\r
+\r
+All people, young or old (that is, all people in those ante-reform\r
+times), would have thought her an interesting object if they had\r
+referred the glow in her eyes and cheeks to the newly awakened ordinary\r
+images of young love: the illusions of Chloe about Strephon have been\r
+sufficiently consecrated in poetry, as the pathetic loveliness of all\r
+spontaneous trust ought to be. Miss Pippin adoring young Pumpkin, and\r
+dreaming along endless vistas of unwearying companionship, was a little\r
+drama which never tired our fathers and mothers, and had been put into\r
+all costumes. Let but Pumpkin have a figure which would sustain the\r
+disadvantages of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and everybody felt it\r
+not only natural but necessary to the perfection of womanhood, that a\r
+sweet girl should be at once convinced of his virtue, his exceptional\r
+ability, and above all, his perfect sincerity. But perhaps no persons\r
+then living--certainly none in the neighborhood of Tipton--would have\r
+had a sympathetic understanding for the dreams of a girl whose notions\r
+about marriage took their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm\r
+about the ends of life, an enthusiasm which was lit chiefly by its own\r
+fire, and included neither the niceties of the trousseau, the pattern\r
+of plate, nor even the honors and sweet joys of the blooming matron.\r
+\r
+It had now entered Dorothea's mind that Mr. Casaubon might wish to make\r
+her his wife, and the idea that he would do so touched her with a sort\r
+of reverential gratitude. How good of him--nay, it would be almost as\r
+if a winged messenger had suddenly stood beside her path and held out\r
+his hand towards her! For a long while she had been oppressed by the\r
+indefiniteness which hung in her mind, like a thick summer haze, over\r
+all her desire to make her life greatly effective. What could she do,\r
+what ought she to do?--she, hardly more than a budding woman, but yet\r
+with an active conscience and a great mental need, not to be satisfied\r
+by a girlish instruction comparable to the nibblings and judgments of a\r
+discursive mouse. With some endowment of stupidity and conceit, she\r
+might have thought that a Christian young lady of fortune should find\r
+her ideal of life in village charities, patronage of the humbler\r
+clergy, the perusal of "Female Scripture Characters," unfolding the\r
+private experience of Sara under the Old Dispensation, and Dorcas under\r
+the New, and the care of her soul over her embroidery in her own\r
+boudoir--with a background of prospective marriage to a man who, if\r
+less strict than herself, as being involved in affairs religiously\r
+inexplicable, might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted. From such\r
+contentment poor Dorothea was shut out. The intensity of her religious\r
+disposition, the coercion it exercised over her life, was but one\r
+aspect of a nature altogether ardent, theoretic, and intellectually\r
+consequent: and with such a nature struggling in the bands of a narrow\r
+teaching, hemmed in by a social life which seemed nothing but a\r
+labyrinth of petty courses, a walled-in maze of small paths that led no\r
+whither, the outcome was sure to strike others as at once exaggeration\r
+and inconsistency. The thing which seemed to her best, she wanted to\r
+justify by the completest knowledge; and not to live in a pretended\r
+admission of rules which were never acted on. Into this soul-hunger as\r
+yet all her youthful passion was poured; the union which attracted her\r
+was one that would deliver her from her girlish subjection to her own\r
+ignorance, and give her the freedom of voluntary submission to a guide\r
+who would take her along the grandest path.\r
+\r
+"I should learn everything then," she said to herself, still walking\r
+quickly along the bridle road through the wood. "It would be my duty\r
+to study that I might help him the better in his great works. There\r
+would be nothing trivial about our lives. Every-day things with us\r
+would mean the greatest things. It would be like marrying Pascal. I\r
+should learn to see the truth by the same light as great men have seen\r
+it by. And then I should know what to do, when I got older: I should\r
+see how it was possible to lead a grand life here--now--in England. I\r
+don't feel sure about doing good in any way now: everything seems like\r
+going on a mission to a people whose language I don't know;--unless it\r
+were building good cottages--there can be no doubt about that. Oh, I\r
+hope I should be able to get the people well housed in Lowick! I will\r
+draw plenty of plans while I have time."\r
+\r
+Dorothea checked herself suddenly with self-rebuke for the presumptuous\r
+way in which she was reckoning on uncertain events, but she was spared\r
+any inward effort to change the direction of her thoughts by the\r
+appearance of a cantering horseman round a turning of the road. The\r
+well-groomed chestnut horse and two beautiful setters could leave no\r
+doubt that the rider was Sir James Chettam. He discerned Dorothea,\r
+jumped off his horse at once, and, having delivered it to his groom,\r
+advanced towards her with something white on his arm, at which the two\r
+setters were barking in an excited manner.\r
+\r
+"How delightful to meet you, Miss Brooke," he said, raising his hat and\r
+showing his sleekly waving blond hair. "It has hastened the pleasure I\r
+was looking forward to."\r
+\r
+Miss Brooke was annoyed at the interruption. This amiable baronet,\r
+really a suitable husband for Celia, exaggerated the necessity of\r
+making himself agreeable to the elder sister. Even a prospective\r
+brother-in-law may be an oppression if he will always be presupposing\r
+too good an understanding with you, and agreeing with you even when you\r
+contradict him. The thought that he had made the mistake of paying his\r
+addresses to herself could not take shape: all her mental activity was\r
+used up in persuasions of another kind. But he was positively\r
+obtrusive at this moment, and his dimpled hands were quite\r
+disagreeable. Her roused temper made her color deeply, as she returned\r
+his greeting with some haughtiness.\r
+\r
+Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the way most gratifying\r
+to himself, and thought he never saw Miss Brooke looking so handsome.\r
+\r
+"I have brought a little petitioner," he said, "or rather, I have\r
+brought him to see if he will be approved before his petition is\r
+offered." He showed the white object under his arm, which was a tiny\r
+Maltese puppy, one of nature's most naive toys.\r
+\r
+"It is painful to me to see these creatures that are bred merely as\r
+pets," said Dorothea, whose opinion was forming itself that very moment\r
+(as opinions will) under the heat of irritation.\r
+\r
+"Oh, why?" said Sir James, as they walked forward.\r
+\r
+"I believe all the petting that is given them does not make them happy.\r
+They are too helpless: their lives are too frail. A weasel or a mouse\r
+that gets its own living is more interesting. I like to think that the\r
+animals about us have souls something like our own, and either carry on\r
+their own little affairs or can be companions to us, like Monk here.\r
+Those creatures are parasitic."\r
+\r
+"I am so glad I know that you do not like them," said good Sir James.\r
+"I should never keep them for myself, but ladies usually are fond of\r
+these Maltese dogs. Here, John, take this dog, will you?"\r
+\r
+The objectionable puppy, whose nose and eyes were equally black and\r
+expressive, was thus got rid of, since Miss Brooke decided that it had\r
+better not have been born. But she felt it necessary to explain.\r
+\r
+"You must not judge of Celia's feeling from mine. I think she likes\r
+these small pets. She had a tiny terrier once, which she was very fond\r
+of. It made me unhappy, because I was afraid of treading on it. I am\r
+rather short-sighted."\r
+\r
+"You have your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke, and it is\r
+always a good opinion."\r
+\r
+What answer was possible to such stupid complimenting?\r
+\r
+"Do you know, I envy you that," Sir James said, as they continued\r
+walking at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"I don't quite understand what you mean."\r
+\r
+"Your power of forming an opinion. I can form an opinion of persons.\r
+I know when I like people. But about other matters, do you know, I\r
+have often a difficulty in deciding. One hears very sensible things\r
+said on opposite sides."\r
+\r
+"Or that seem sensible. Perhaps we don't always discriminate between\r
+sense and nonsense."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt that she was rather rude.\r
+\r
+"Exactly," said Sir James. "But you seem to have the power of\r
+discrimination."\r
+\r
+"On the contrary, I am often unable to decide. But that is from\r
+ignorance. The right conclusion is there all the same, though I am\r
+unable to see it."\r
+\r
+"I think there are few who would see it more readily. Do you know,\r
+Lovegood was telling me yesterday that you had the best notion in the\r
+world of a plan for cottages--quite wonderful for a young lady, he\r
+thought. You had a real _genus_, to use his expression. He said you\r
+wanted Mr. Brooke to build a new set of cottages, but he seemed to\r
+think it hardly probable that your uncle would consent. Do you know,\r
+that is one of the things I wish to do--I mean, on my own estate. I\r
+should be so glad to carry out that plan of yours, if you would let me\r
+see it. Of course, it is sinking money; that is why people object to\r
+it. Laborers can never pay rent to make it answer. But, after all, it\r
+is worth doing."\r
+\r
+"Worth doing! yes, indeed," said Dorothea, energetically, forgetting\r
+her previous small vexations. "I think we deserve to be beaten out of\r
+our beautiful houses with a scourge of small cords--all of us who let\r
+tenants live in such sties as we see round us. Life in cottages might\r
+be happier than ours, if they were real houses fit for human beings\r
+from whom we expect duties and affections."\r
+\r
+"Will you show me your plan?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, certainly. I dare say it is very faulty. But I have been\r
+examining all the plans for cottages in Loudon's book, and picked out\r
+what seem the best things. Oh what a happiness it would be to set the\r
+pattern about here! I think instead of Lazarus at the gate, we should\r
+put the pigsty cottages outside the park-gate."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was in the best temper now. Sir James, as brother in-law,\r
+building model cottages on his estate, and then, perhaps, others being\r
+built at Lowick, and more and more elsewhere in imitation--it would be\r
+as if the spirit of Oberlin had passed over the parishes to make the\r
+life of poverty beautiful!\r
+\r
+Sir James saw all the plans, and took one away to consult upon with\r
+Lovegood. He also took away a complacent sense that he was making\r
+great progress in Miss Brooke's good opinion. The Maltese puppy was\r
+not offered to Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards thought of\r
+with surprise; but she blamed herself for it. She had been engrossing\r
+Sir James. After all, it was a relief that there was no puppy to tread\r
+upon.\r
+\r
+Celia was present while the plans were being examined, and observed Sir\r
+James's illusion. "He thinks that Dodo cares about him, and she only\r
+cares about her plans. Yet I am not certain that she would refuse him\r
+if she thought he would let her manage everything and carry out all her\r
+notions. And how very uncomfortable Sir James would be! I cannot bear\r
+notions."\r
+\r
+It was Celia's private luxury to indulge in this dislike. She dared\r
+not confess it to her sister in any direct statement, for that would be\r
+laying herself open to a demonstration that she was somehow or other at\r
+war with all goodness. But on safe opportunities, she had an indirect\r
+mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, and calling her\r
+down from her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that people were staring,\r
+not listening. Celia was not impulsive: what she had to say could\r
+wait, and came from her always with the same quiet staccato evenness.\r
+When people talked with energy and emphasis she watched their faces and\r
+features merely. She never could understand how well-bred persons\r
+consented to sing and open their mouths in the ridiculous manner\r
+requisite for that vocal exercise.\r
+\r
+It was not many days before Mr. Casaubon paid a morning visit, on which\r
+he was invited again for the following week to dine and stay the night.\r
+Thus Dorothea had three more conversations with him, and was convinced\r
+that her first impressions had been just. He was all she had at first\r
+imagined him to be: almost everything he had said seemed like a\r
+specimen from a mine, or the inscription on the door of a museum which\r
+might open on the treasures of past ages; and this trust in his mental\r
+wealth was all the deeper and more effective on her inclination because\r
+it was now obvious that his visits were made for her sake. This\r
+accomplished man condescended to think of a young girl, and take the\r
+pains to talk to her, not with absurd compliment, but with an appeal to\r
+her understanding, and sometimes with instructive correction. What\r
+delightful companionship! Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that\r
+trivialities existed, and never handed round that small-talk of heavy\r
+men which is as acceptable as stale bride-cake brought forth with an\r
+odor of cupboard. He talked of what he was interested in, or else he\r
+was silent and bowed with sad civility. To Dorothea this was adorable\r
+genuineness, and religious abstinence from that artificiality which\r
+uses up the soul in the efforts of pretence. For she looked as\r
+reverently at Mr. Casaubon's religious elevation above herself as she\r
+did at his intellect and learning. He assented to her expressions of\r
+devout feeling, and usually with an appropriate quotation; he allowed\r
+himself to say that he had gone through some spiritual conflicts in his\r
+youth; in short, Dorothea saw that here she might reckon on\r
+understanding, sympathy, and guidance. On one--only one--of her\r
+favorite themes she was disappointed. Mr. Casaubon apparently did not\r
+care about building cottages, and diverted the talk to the extremely\r
+narrow accommodation which was to be had in the dwellings of the\r
+ancient Egyptians, as if to check a too high standard. After he was\r
+gone, Dorothea dwelt with some agitation on this indifference of his;\r
+and her mind was much exercised with arguments drawn from the varying\r
+conditions of climate which modify human needs, and from the admitted\r
+wickedness of pagan despots. Should she not urge these arguments on\r
+Mr. Casaubon when he came again? But further reflection told her that\r
+she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a subject; he\r
+would not disapprove of her occupying herself with it in leisure\r
+moments, as other women expected to occupy themselves with their dress\r
+and embroidery--would not forbid it when--Dorothea felt rather ashamed\r
+as she detected herself in these speculations. But her uncle had been\r
+invited to go to Lowick to stay a couple of days: was it reasonable to\r
+suppose that Mr. Casaubon delighted in Mr. Brooke's society for its own\r
+sake, either with or without documents?\r
+\r
+Meanwhile that little disappointment made her delight the more in Sir\r
+James Chettam's readiness to set on foot the desired improvements. He\r
+came much oftener than Mr. Casaubon, and Dorothea ceased to find him\r
+disagreeable since he showed himself so entirely in earnest; for he had\r
+already entered with much practical ability into Lovegood's estimates,\r
+and was charmingly docile. She proposed to build a couple of cottages,\r
+and transfer two families from their old cabins, which could then be\r
+pulled down, so that new ones could be built on the old sites. Sir\r
+James said "Exactly," and she bore the word remarkably well.\r
+\r
+Certainly these men who had so few spontaneous ideas might be very\r
+useful members of society under good feminine direction, if they were\r
+fortunate in choosing their sisters-in-law! It is difficult to say\r
+whether there was or was not a little wilfulness in her continuing\r
+blind to the possibility that another sort of choice was in question in\r
+relation to her. But her life was just now full of hope and action:\r
+she was not only thinking of her plans, but getting down learned books\r
+from the library and reading many things hastily (that she might be a\r
+little less ignorant in talking to Mr. Casaubon), all the while being\r
+visited with conscientious questionings whether she were not exalting\r
+these poor doings above measure and contemplating them with that\r
+self-satisfaction which was the last doom of ignorance and folly.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER IV.\r
+\r
+ 1st Gent. Our deeds are fetters that we forge ourselves.\r
+ 2d Gent. Ay, truly: but I think it is the world\r
+ That brings the iron.\r
+\r
+\r
+"Sir James seems determined to do everything you wish," said Celia, as\r
+they were driving home from an inspection of the new building-site.\r
+\r
+"He is a good creature, and more sensible than any one would imagine,"\r
+said Dorothea, inconsiderately.\r
+\r
+"You mean that he appears silly."\r
+\r
+"No, no," said Dorothea, recollecting herself, and laying her hand on\r
+her sister's a moment, "but he does not talk equally well on all\r
+subjects."\r
+\r
+"I should think none but disagreeable people do," said Celia, in her\r
+usual purring way. "They must be very dreadful to live with. Only\r
+think! at breakfast, and always."\r
+\r
+Dorothea laughed. "O Kitty, you are a wonderful creature!" She pinched\r
+Celia's chin, being in the mood now to think her very winning and\r
+lovely--fit hereafter to be an eternal cherub, and if it were not\r
+doctrinally wrong to say so, hardly more in need of salvation than a\r
+squirrel. "Of course people need not be always talking well. Only one\r
+tells the quality of their minds when they try to talk well."\r
+\r
+"You mean that Sir James tries and fails."\r
+\r
+"I was speaking generally. Why do you catechise me about Sir James?\r
+It is not the object of his life to please me."\r
+\r
+"Now, Dodo, can you really believe that?"\r
+\r
+"Certainly. He thinks of me as a future sister--that is all." Dorothea\r
+had never hinted this before, waiting, from a certain shyness on such\r
+subjects which was mutual between the sisters, until it should be\r
+introduced by some decisive event. Celia blushed, but said at once--\r
+\r
+"Pray do not make that mistake any longer, Dodo. When Tantripp was\r
+brushing my hair the other day, she said that Sir James's man knew from\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader's maid that Sir James was to marry the eldest Miss\r
+Brooke."\r
+\r
+"How can you let Tantripp talk such gossip to you, Celia?" said\r
+Dorothea, indignantly, not the less angry because details asleep in her\r
+memory were now awakened to confirm the unwelcome revelation. "You\r
+must have asked her questions. It is degrading."\r
+\r
+"I see no harm at all in Tantripp's talking to me. It is better to\r
+hear what people say. You see what mistakes you make by taking up\r
+notions. I am quite sure that Sir James means to make you an offer;\r
+and he believes that you will accept him, especially since you have\r
+been so pleased with him about the plans. And uncle too--I know he\r
+expects it. Every one can see that Sir James is very much in love with\r
+you."\r
+\r
+The revulsion was so strong and painful in Dorothea's mind that the\r
+tears welled up and flowed abundantly. All her dear plans were\r
+embittered, and she thought with disgust of Sir James's conceiving that\r
+she recognized him as her lover. There was vexation too on account of\r
+Celia.\r
+\r
+"How could he expect it?" she burst forth in her most impetuous manner.\r
+"I have never agreed with him about anything but the cottages: I was\r
+barely polite to him before."\r
+\r
+"But you have been so pleased with him since then; he has begun to feel\r
+quite sure that you are fond of him."\r
+\r
+"Fond of him, Celia! How can you choose such odious expressions?" said\r
+Dorothea, passionately.\r
+\r
+"Dear me, Dorothea, I suppose it would be right for you to be fond of a\r
+man whom you accepted for a husband."\r
+\r
+"It is offensive to me to say that Sir James could think I was fond of\r
+him. Besides, it is not the right word for the feeling I must have\r
+towards the man I would accept as a husband."\r
+\r
+"Well, I am sorry for Sir James. I thought it right to tell you,\r
+because you went on as you always do, never looking just where you are,\r
+and treading in the wrong place. You always see what nobody else sees;\r
+it is impossible to satisfy you; yet you never see what is quite plain.\r
+That's your way, Dodo." Something certainly gave Celia unusual courage;\r
+and she was not sparing the sister of whom she was occasionally in awe.\r
+Who can tell what just criticisms Murr the Cat may be passing on us\r
+beings of wider speculation?\r
+\r
+"It is very painful," said Dorothea, feeling scourged. "I can have no\r
+more to do with the cottages. I must be uncivil to him. I must tell\r
+him I will have nothing to do with them. It is very painful." Her eyes\r
+filled again with tears.\r
+\r
+"Wait a little. Think about it. You know he is going away for a day\r
+or two to see his sister. There will be nobody besides Lovegood."\r
+Celia could not help relenting. "Poor Dodo," she went on, in an\r
+amiable staccato. "It is very hard: it is your favorite _fad_ to draw\r
+plans."\r
+\r
+"_Fad_ to draw plans! Do you think I only care about my\r
+fellow-creatures' houses in that childish way? I may well make\r
+mistakes. How can one ever do anything nobly Christian, living among\r
+people with such petty thoughts?"\r
+\r
+No more was said; Dorothea was too much jarred to recover her temper\r
+and behave so as to show that she admitted any error in herself. She\r
+was disposed rather to accuse the intolerable narrowness and the\r
+purblind conscience of the society around her: and Celia was no longer\r
+the eternal cherub, but a thorn in her spirit, a pink-and-white\r
+nullifidian, worse than any discouraging presence in the "Pilgrim's\r
+Progress." The _fad_ of drawing plans! What was life worth--what great\r
+faith was possible when the whole effect of one's actions could be\r
+withered up into such parched rubbish as that? When she got out of the\r
+carriage, her cheeks were pale and her eyelids red. She was an image\r
+of sorrow, and her uncle who met her in the hall would have been\r
+alarmed, if Celia had not been close to her looking so pretty and\r
+composed, that he at once concluded Dorothea's tears to have their\r
+origin in her excessive religiousness. He had returned, during their\r
+absence, from a journey to the county town, about a petition for the\r
+pardon of some criminal.\r
+\r
+"Well, my dears," he said, kindly, as they went up to kiss him, "I hope\r
+nothing disagreeable has happened while I have been away."\r
+\r
+"No, uncle," said Celia, "we have been to Freshitt to look at the\r
+cottages. We thought you would have been at home to lunch."\r
+\r
+"I came by Lowick to lunch--you didn't know I came by Lowick. And I\r
+have brought a couple of pamphlets for you, Dorothea--in the library,\r
+you know; they lie on the table in the library."\r
+\r
+It seemed as if an electric stream went through Dorothea, thrilling her\r
+from despair into expectation. They were pamphlets about the early\r
+Church. The oppression of Celia, Tantripp, and Sir James was shaken\r
+off, and she walked straight to the library. Celia went up-stairs. Mr.\r
+Brooke was detained by a message, but when he re-entered the library,\r
+he found Dorothea seated and already deep in one of the pamphlets which\r
+had some marginal manuscript of Mr. Casaubon's,--taking it in as\r
+eagerly as she might have taken in the scent of a fresh bouquet after a\r
+dry, hot, dreary walk.\r
+\r
+She was getting away from Tipton and Freshitt, and her own sad\r
+liability to tread in the wrong places on her way to the New Jerusalem.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke sat down in his arm-chair, stretched his legs towards the\r
+wood-fire, which had fallen into a wondrous mass of glowing dice\r
+between the dogs, and rubbed his hands gently, looking very mildly\r
+towards Dorothea, but with a neutral leisurely air, as if he had\r
+nothing particular to say. Dorothea closed her pamphlet, as soon as\r
+she was aware of her uncle's presence, and rose as if to go. Usually\r
+she would have been interested about her uncle's merciful errand on\r
+behalf of the criminal, but her late agitation had made her\r
+absent-minded.\r
+\r
+"I came back by Lowick, you know," said Mr. Brooke, not as if with any\r
+intention to arrest her departure, but apparently from his usual\r
+tendency to say what he had said before. This fundamental principle of\r
+human speech was markedly exhibited in Mr. Brooke. "I lunched there\r
+and saw Casaubon's library, and that kind of thing. There's a sharp\r
+air, driving. Won't you sit down, my dear? You look cold."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt quite inclined to accept the invitation. Some times,\r
+when her uncle's easy way of taking things did not happen to be\r
+exasperating, it was rather soothing. She threw off her mantle and\r
+bonnet, and sat down opposite to him, enjoying the glow, but lifting up\r
+her beautiful hands for a screen. They were not thin hands, or small\r
+hands; but powerful, feminine, maternal hands. She seemed to be\r
+holding them up in propitiation for her passionate desire to know and\r
+to think, which in the unfriendly mediums of Tipton and Freshitt had\r
+issued in crying and red eyelids.\r
+\r
+She bethought herself now of the condemned criminal. "What news have\r
+you brought about the sheep-stealer, uncle?"\r
+\r
+"What, poor Bunch?--well, it seems we can't get him off--he is to be\r
+hanged."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's brow took an expression of reprobation and pity.\r
+\r
+"Hanged, you know," said Mr. Brooke, with a quiet nod. "Poor Romilly!\r
+he would have helped us. I knew Romilly. Casaubon didn't know\r
+Romilly. He is a little buried in books, you know, Casaubon is."\r
+\r
+"When a man has great studies and is writing a great work, he must of\r
+course give up seeing much of the world. How can he go about making\r
+acquaintances?"\r
+\r
+"That's true. But a man mopes, you know. I have always been a\r
+bachelor too, but I have that sort of disposition that I never moped;\r
+it was my way to go about everywhere and take in everything. I never\r
+moped: but I can see that Casaubon does, you know. He wants a\r
+companion--a companion, you know."\r
+\r
+"It would be a great honor to any one to be his companion," said\r
+Dorothea, energetically.\r
+\r
+"You like him, eh?" said Mr. Brooke, without showing any surprise, or\r
+other emotion. "Well, now, I've known Casaubon ten years, ever since\r
+he came to Lowick. But I never got anything out of him--any ideas, you\r
+know. However, he is a tiptop man and may be a bishop--that kind of\r
+thing, you know, if Peel stays in. And he has a very high opinion of\r
+you, my dear."\r
+\r
+Dorothea could not speak.\r
+\r
+"The fact is, he has a very high opinion indeed of you. And he speaks\r
+uncommonly well--does Casaubon. He has deferred to me, you not being\r
+of age. In short, I have promised to speak to you, though I told him I\r
+thought there was not much chance. I was bound to tell him that. I\r
+said, my niece is very young, and that kind of thing. But I didn't\r
+think it necessary to go into everything. However, the long and the\r
+short of it is, that he has asked my permission to make you an offer of\r
+marriage--of marriage, you know," said Mr. Brooke, with his explanatory\r
+nod. "I thought it better to tell you, my dear."\r
+\r
+No one could have detected any anxiety in Mr. Brooke's manner, but he\r
+did really wish to know something of his niece's mind, that, if there\r
+were any need for advice, he might give it in time. What feeling he,\r
+as a magistrate who had taken in so many ideas, could make room for,\r
+was unmixedly kind. Since Dorothea did not speak immediately, he\r
+repeated, "I thought it better to tell you, my dear."\r
+\r
+"Thank you, uncle," said Dorothea, in a clear unwavering tone. "I am\r
+very grateful to Mr. Casaubon. If he makes me an offer, I shall accept\r
+him. I admire and honor him more than any man I ever saw."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke paused a little, and then said in a lingering low tone, "Ah?\r
+. . . Well! He is a good match in some respects. But now, Chettam is\r
+a good match. And our land lies together. I shall never interfere\r
+against your wishes, my dear. People should have their own way in\r
+marriage, and that sort of thing--up to a certain point, you know. I\r
+have always said that, up to a certain point. I wish you to marry\r
+well; and I have good reason to believe that Chettam wishes to marry\r
+you. I mention it, you know."\r
+\r
+"It is impossible that I should ever marry Sir James Chettam," said\r
+Dorothea. "If he thinks of marrying me, he has made a great mistake."\r
+\r
+"That is it, you see. One never knows. I should have thought Chettam\r
+was just the sort of man a woman would like, now."\r
+\r
+"Pray do not mention him in that light again, uncle," said Dorothea,\r
+feeling some of her late irritation revive.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke wondered, and felt that women were an inexhaustible subject\r
+of study, since even he at his age was not in a perfect state of\r
+scientific prediction about them. Here was a fellow like Chettam with\r
+no chance at all.\r
+\r
+"Well, but Casaubon, now. There is no hurry--I mean for you. It's\r
+true, every year will tell upon him. He is over five-and-forty, you\r
+know. I should say a good seven-and-twenty years older than you. To\r
+be sure,--if you like learning and standing, and that sort of thing, we\r
+can't have everything. And his income is good--he has a handsome\r
+property independent of the Church--his income is good. Still he is\r
+not young, and I must not conceal from you, my dear, that I think his\r
+health is not over-strong. I know nothing else against him."\r
+\r
+"I should not wish to have a husband very near my own age," said\r
+Dorothea, with grave decision. "I should wish to have a husband who\r
+was above me in judgment and in all knowledge."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke repeated his subdued, "Ah?--I thought you had more of your\r
+own opinion than most girls. I thought you liked your own\r
+opinion--liked it, you know."\r
+\r
+"I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions, but I should\r
+wish to have good reasons for them, and a wise man could help me to see\r
+which opinions had the best foundation, and would help me to live\r
+according to them."\r
+\r
+"Very true. You couldn't put the thing better--couldn't put it better,\r
+beforehand, you know. But there are oddities in things," continued Mr.\r
+Brooke, whose conscience was really roused to do the best he could for\r
+his niece on this occasion. "Life isn't cast in a mould--not cut out\r
+by rule and line, and that sort of thing. I never married myself, and\r
+it will be the better for you and yours. The fact is, I never loved\r
+any one well enough to put myself into a noose for them. It _is_ a\r
+noose, you know. Temper, now. There is temper. And a husband likes\r
+to be master."\r
+\r
+"I know that I must expect trials, uncle. Marriage is a state of\r
+higher duties. I never thought of it as mere personal ease," said poor\r
+Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"Well, you are not fond of show, a great establishment, balls, dinners,\r
+that kind of thing. I can see that Casaubon's ways might suit you\r
+better than Chettam's. And you shall do as you like, my dear. I would\r
+not hinder Casaubon; I said so at once; for there is no knowing how\r
+anything may turn out. You have not the same tastes as every young\r
+lady; and a clergyman and scholar--who may be a bishop--that kind of\r
+thing--may suit you better than Chettam. Chettam is a good fellow, a\r
+good sound-hearted fellow, you know; but he doesn't go much into ideas.\r
+I did, when I was his age. But Casaubon's eyes, now. I think he has\r
+hurt them a little with too much reading."\r
+\r
+"I should be all the happier, uncle, the more room there was for me to\r
+help him," said Dorothea, ardently.\r
+\r
+"You have quite made up your mind, I see. Well, my dear, the fact is,\r
+I have a letter for you in my pocket." Mr. Brooke handed the letter to\r
+Dorothea, but as she rose to go away, he added, "There is not too much\r
+hurry, my dear. Think about it, you know."\r
+\r
+When Dorothea had left him, he reflected that he had certainly spoken\r
+strongly: he had put the risks of marriage before her in a striking\r
+manner. It was his duty to do so. But as to pretending to be wise for\r
+young people,--no uncle, however much he had travelled in his youth,\r
+absorbed the new ideas, and dined with celebrities now deceased, could\r
+pretend to judge what sort of marriage would turn out well for a young\r
+girl who preferred Casaubon to Chettam. In short, woman was a problem\r
+which, since Mr. Brooke's mind felt blank before it, could be hardly\r
+less complicated than the revolutions of an irregular solid.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER V.\r
+\r
+ "Hard students are commonly troubled with gowts, catarrhs,\r
+ rheums, cachexia, bradypepsia, bad eyes, stone, and collick,\r
+ crudities, oppilations, vertigo, winds, consumptions, and\r
+ all such diseases as come by over-much sitting: they are\r
+ most part lean, dry, ill-colored . . . and all through\r
+ immoderate pains and extraordinary studies. If you will not\r
+ believe the truth of this, look upon great Tostatus and\r
+ Thomas Aquainas' works; and tell me whether those men took\r
+ pains."--BURTON'S Anatomy of Melancholy, P. I, s. 2.\r
+\r
+\r
+This was Mr. Casaubon's letter.\r
+\r
+\r
+MY DEAR MISS BROOKE,--I have your guardian's permission to address you\r
+on a subject than which I have none more at heart. I am not, I trust,\r
+mistaken in the recognition of some deeper correspondence than that of\r
+date in the fact that a consciousness of need in my own life had arisen\r
+contemporaneously with the possibility of my becoming acquainted with\r
+you. For in the first hour of meeting you, I had an impression of your\r
+eminent and perhaps exclusive fitness to supply that need (connected, I\r
+may say, with such activity of the affections as even the\r
+preoccupations of a work too special to be abdicated could not\r
+uninterruptedly dissimulate); and each succeeding opportunity for\r
+observation has given the impression an added depth by convincing me\r
+more emphatically of that fitness which I had preconceived, and thus\r
+evoking more decisively those affections to which I have but now\r
+referred. Our conversations have, I think, made sufficiently clear to\r
+you the tenor of my life and purposes: a tenor unsuited, I am aware, to\r
+the commoner order of minds. But I have discerned in you an elevation\r
+of thought and a capability of devotedness, which I had hitherto not\r
+conceived to be compatible either with the early bloom of youth or with\r
+those graces of sex that may be said at once to win and to confer\r
+distinction when combined, as they notably are in you, with the mental\r
+qualities above indicated. It was, I confess, beyond my hope to meet\r
+with this rare combination of elements both solid and attractive,\r
+adapted to supply aid in graver labors and to cast a charm over vacant\r
+hours; and but for the event of my introduction to you (which, let me\r
+again say, I trust not to be superficially coincident with\r
+foreshadowing needs, but providentially related thereto as stages\r
+towards the completion of a life's plan), I should presumably have gone\r
+on to the last without any attempt to lighten my solitariness by a\r
+matrimonial union.\r
+\r
+Such, my dear Miss Brooke, is the accurate statement of my feelings;\r
+and I rely on your kind indulgence in venturing now to ask you how far\r
+your own are of a nature to confirm my happy presentiment. To be\r
+accepted by you as your husband and the earthly guardian of your\r
+welfare, I should regard as the highest of providential gifts. In\r
+return I can at least offer you an affection hitherto unwasted, and the\r
+faithful consecration of a life which, however short in the sequel, has\r
+no backward pages whereon, if you choose to turn them, you will find\r
+records such as might justly cause you either bitterness or shame. I\r
+await the expression of your sentiments with an anxiety which it would\r
+be the part of wisdom (were it possible) to divert by a more arduous\r
+labor than usual. But in this order of experience I am still young,\r
+and in looking forward to an unfavorable possibility I cannot but feel\r
+that resignation to solitude will be more difficult after the temporary\r
+illumination of hope.\r
+\r
+ In any case, I shall remain,\r
+ Yours with sincere devotion,\r
+ EDWARD CASAUBON.\r
+\r
+\r
+Dorothea trembled while she read this letter; then she fell on her\r
+knees, buried her face, and sobbed. She could not pray: under the rush\r
+of solemn emotion in which thoughts became vague and images floated\r
+uncertainly, she could but cast herself, with a childlike sense of\r
+reclining, in the lap of a divine consciousness which sustained her\r
+own. She remained in that attitude till it was time to dress for\r
+dinner.\r
+\r
+How could it occur to her to examine the letter, to look at it\r
+critically as a profession of love? Her whole soul was possessed by\r
+the fact that a fuller life was opening before her: she was a neophyte\r
+about to enter on a higher grade of initiation. She was going to have\r
+room for the energies which stirred uneasily under the dimness and\r
+pressure of her own ignorance and the petty peremptoriness of the\r
+world's habits.\r
+\r
+Now she would be able to devote herself to large yet definite duties;\r
+now she would be allowed to live continually in the light of a mind\r
+that she could reverence. This hope was not unmixed with the glow of\r
+proud delight--the joyous maiden surprise that she was chosen by the\r
+man whom her admiration had chosen. All Dorothea's passion was\r
+transfused through a mind struggling towards an ideal life; the\r
+radiance of her transfigured girlhood fell on the first object that\r
+came within its level. The impetus with which inclination became\r
+resolution was heightened by those little events of the day which had\r
+roused her discontent with the actual conditions of her life.\r
+\r
+After dinner, when Celia was playing an "air, with variations," a small\r
+kind of tinkling which symbolized the aesthetic part of the young\r
+ladies' education, Dorothea went up to her room to answer Mr.\r
+Casaubon's letter. Why should she defer the answer? She wrote it over\r
+three times, not because she wished to change the wording, but because\r
+her hand was unusually uncertain, and she could not bear that Mr.\r
+Casaubon should think her handwriting bad and illegible. She piqued\r
+herself on writing a hand in which each letter was distinguishable\r
+without any large range of conjecture, and she meant to make much use\r
+of this accomplishment, to save Mr. Casaubon's eyes. Three times she\r
+wrote.\r
+\r
+MY DEAR MR. CASAUBON,--I am very grateful to you for loving me, and\r
+thinking me worthy to be your wife. I can look forward to no better\r
+happiness than that which would be one with yours. If I said more, it\r
+would only be the same thing written out at greater length, for I\r
+cannot now dwell on any other thought than that I may be through life\r
+\r
+ Yours devotedly,\r
+ DOROTHEA BROOKE.\r
+\r
+\r
+Later in the evening she followed her uncle into the library to give\r
+him the letter, that he might send it in the morning. He was\r
+surprised, but his surprise only issued in a few moments' silence,\r
+during which he pushed about various objects on his writing-table, and\r
+finally stood with his back to the fire, his glasses on his nose,\r
+looking at the address of Dorothea's letter.\r
+\r
+"Have you thought enough about this, my dear?" he said at last.\r
+\r
+"There was no need to think long, uncle. I know of nothing to make me\r
+vacillate. If I changed my mind, it must be because of something\r
+important and entirely new to me."\r
+\r
+"Ah!--then you have accepted him? Then Chettam has no chance? Has\r
+Chettam offended you--offended you, you know? What is it you don't\r
+like in Chettam?"\r
+\r
+"There is nothing that I like in him," said Dorothea, rather\r
+impetuously.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke threw his head and shoulders backward as if some one had\r
+thrown a light missile at him. Dorothea immediately felt some\r
+self-rebuke, and said--\r
+\r
+"I mean in the light of a husband. He is very kind, I think--really\r
+very good about the cottages. A well-meaning man."\r
+\r
+"But you must have a scholar, and that sort of thing? Well, it lies a\r
+little in our family. I had it myself--that love of knowledge, and\r
+going into everything--a little too much--it took me too far; though\r
+that sort of thing doesn't often run in the female-line; or it runs\r
+underground like the rivers in Greece, you know--it comes out in the\r
+sons. Clever sons, clever mothers. I went a good deal into that, at\r
+one time. However, my dear, I have always said that people should do\r
+as they like in these things, up to a certain point. I couldn't, as\r
+your guardian, have consented to a bad match. But Casaubon stands\r
+well: his position is good. I am afraid Chettam will be hurt, though,\r
+and Mrs. Cadwallader will blame me."\r
+\r
+That evening, of course, Celia knew nothing of what had happened. She\r
+attributed Dorothea's abstracted manner, and the evidence of further\r
+crying since they had got home, to the temper she had been in about Sir\r
+James Chettam and the buildings, and was careful not to give further\r
+offence: having once said what she wanted to say, Celia had no\r
+disposition to recur to disagreeable subjects. It had been her nature\r
+when a child never to quarrel with any one--only to observe with wonder\r
+that they quarrelled with her, and looked like turkey-cocks; whereupon\r
+she was ready to play at cat's cradle with them whenever they recovered\r
+themselves. And as to Dorothea, it had always been her way to find\r
+something wrong in her sister's words, though Celia inwardly protested\r
+that she always said just how things were, and nothing else: she never\r
+did and never could put words together out of her own head. But the\r
+best of Dodo was, that she did not keep angry for long together. Now,\r
+though they had hardly spoken to each other all the evening, yet when\r
+Celia put by her work, intending to go to bed, a proceeding in which\r
+she was always much the earlier, Dorothea, who was seated on a low\r
+stool, unable to occupy herself except in meditation, said, with the\r
+musical intonation which in moments of deep but quiet feeling made her\r
+speech like a fine bit of recitative--\r
+\r
+"Celia, dear, come and kiss me," holding her arms open as she spoke.\r
+\r
+Celia knelt down to get the right level and gave her little butterfly\r
+kiss, while Dorothea encircled her with gentle arms and pressed her\r
+lips gravely on each cheek in turn.\r
+\r
+"Don't sit up, Dodo, you are so pale to-night: go to bed soon," said\r
+Celia, in a comfortable way, without any touch of pathos.\r
+\r
+"No, dear, I am very, very happy," said Dorothea, fervently.\r
+\r
+"So much the better," thought Celia. "But how strangely Dodo goes from\r
+one extreme to the other."\r
+\r
+The next day, at luncheon, the butler, handing something to Mr. Brooke,\r
+said, "Jonas is come back, sir, and has brought this letter."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke read the letter, and then, nodding toward Dorothea, said,\r
+"Casaubon, my dear: he will be here to dinner; he didn't wait to write\r
+more--didn't wait, you know."\r
+\r
+It could not seem remarkable to Celia that a dinner guest should be\r
+announced to her sister beforehand, but, her eyes following the same\r
+direction as her uncle's, she was struck with the peculiar effect of\r
+the announcement on Dorothea. It seemed as if something like the\r
+reflection of a white sunlit wing had passed across her features,\r
+ending in one of her rare blushes. For the first time it entered into\r
+Celia's mind that there might be something more between Mr. Casaubon\r
+and her sister than his delight in bookish talk and her delight in\r
+listening. Hitherto she had classed the admiration for this "ugly" and\r
+learned acquaintance with the admiration for Monsieur Liret at\r
+Lausanne, also ugly and learned. Dorothea had never been tired of\r
+listening to old Monsieur Liret when Celia's feet were as cold as\r
+possible, and when it had really become dreadful to see the skin of his\r
+bald head moving about. Why then should her enthusiasm not extend to\r
+Mr. Casaubon simply in the same way as to Monsieur Liret? And it\r
+seemed probable that all learned men had a sort of schoolmaster's view\r
+of young people.\r
+\r
+But now Celia was really startled at the suspicion which had darted\r
+into her mind. She was seldom taken by surprise in this way, her\r
+marvellous quickness in observing a certain order of signs generally\r
+preparing her to expect such outward events as she had an interest in.\r
+Not that she now imagined Mr. Casaubon to be already an accepted lover:\r
+she had only begun to feel disgust at the possibility that anything in\r
+Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an issue. Here was something\r
+really to vex her about Dodo: it was all very well not to accept Sir\r
+James Chettam, but the idea of marrying Mr. Casaubon! Celia felt a\r
+sort of shame mingled with a sense of the ludicrous. But perhaps Dodo,\r
+if she were really bordering on such an extravagance, might be turned\r
+away from it: experience had often shown that her impressibility might\r
+be calculated on. The day was damp, and they were not going to walk\r
+out, so they both went up to their sitting-room; and there Celia\r
+observed that Dorothea, instead of settling down with her usual\r
+diligent interest to some occupation, simply leaned her elbow on an\r
+open book and looked out of the window at the great cedar silvered with\r
+the damp. She herself had taken up the making of a toy for the\r
+curate's children, and was not going to enter on any subject too\r
+precipitately.\r
+\r
+Dorothea was in fact thinking that it was desirable for Celia to know\r
+of the momentous change in Mr. Casaubon's position since he had last\r
+been in the house: it did not seem fair to leave her in ignorance of\r
+what would necessarily affect her attitude towards him; but it was\r
+impossible not to shrink from telling her. Dorothea accused herself of\r
+some meanness in this timidity: it was always odious to her to have any\r
+small fears or contrivances about her actions, but at this moment she\r
+was seeking the highest aid possible that she might not dread the\r
+corrosiveness of Celia's pretty carnally minded prose. Her reverie was\r
+broken, and the difficulty of decision banished, by Celia's small and\r
+rather guttural voice speaking in its usual tone, of a remark aside or\r
+a "by the bye."\r
+\r
+"Is any one else coming to dine besides Mr. Casaubon?"\r
+\r
+"Not that I know of."\r
+\r
+"I hope there is some one else. Then I shall not hear him eat his soup\r
+so."\r
+\r
+"What is there remarkable about his soup-eating?"\r
+\r
+"Really, Dodo, can't you hear how he scrapes his spoon? And he always\r
+blinks before he speaks. I don't know whether Locke blinked, but I'm\r
+sure I am sorry for those who sat opposite to him if he did."\r
+\r
+"Celia," said Dorothea, with emphatic gravity, "pray don't make any\r
+more observations of that kind."\r
+\r
+"Why not? They are quite true," returned Celia, who had her reasons\r
+for persevering, though she was beginning to be a little afraid.\r
+\r
+"Many things are true which only the commonest minds observe."\r
+\r
+"Then I think the commonest minds must be rather useful. I think it is\r
+a pity Mr. Casaubon's mother had not a commoner mind: she might have\r
+taught him better." Celia was inwardly frightened, and ready to run\r
+away, now she had hurled this light javelin.\r
+\r
+Dorothea's feelings had gathered to an avalanche, and there could be no\r
+further preparation.\r
+\r
+"It is right to tell you, Celia, that I am engaged to marry Mr.\r
+Casaubon."\r
+\r
+Perhaps Celia had never turned so pale before. The paper man she was\r
+making would have had his leg injured, but for her habitual care of\r
+whatever she held in her hands. She laid the fragile figure down at\r
+once, and sat perfectly still for a few moments. When she spoke there\r
+was a tear gathering.\r
+\r
+"Oh, Dodo, I hope you will be happy." Her sisterly tenderness could not\r
+but surmount other feelings at this moment, and her fears were the\r
+fears of affection.\r
+\r
+Dorothea was still hurt and agitated.\r
+\r
+"It is quite decided, then?" said Celia, in an awed under tone. "And\r
+uncle knows?"\r
+\r
+"I have accepted Mr. Casaubon's offer. My uncle brought me the letter\r
+that contained it; he knew about it beforehand."\r
+\r
+"I beg your pardon, if I have said anything to hurt you, Dodo," said\r
+Celia, with a slight sob. She never could have thought that she should\r
+feel as she did. There was something funereal in the whole affair, and\r
+Mr. Casaubon seemed to be the officiating clergyman, about whom it\r
+would be indecent to make remarks.\r
+\r
+"Never mind, Kitty, do not grieve. We should never admire the same\r
+people. I often offend in something of the same way; I am apt to speak\r
+too strongly of those who don't please me."\r
+\r
+In spite of this magnanimity Dorothea was still smarting: perhaps as\r
+much from Celia's subdued astonishment as from her small criticisms.\r
+Of course all the world round Tipton would be out of sympathy with this\r
+marriage. Dorothea knew of no one who thought as she did about life\r
+and its best objects.\r
+\r
+Nevertheless before the evening was at an end she was very happy. In\r
+an hour's tete-a-tete with Mr. Casaubon she talked to him with more\r
+freedom than she had ever felt before, even pouring out her joy at the\r
+thought of devoting herself to him, and of learning how she might best\r
+share and further all his great ends. Mr. Casaubon was touched with an\r
+unknown delight (what man would not have been?) at this childlike\r
+unrestrained ardor: he was not surprised (what lover would have been?)\r
+that he should be the object of it.\r
+\r
+"My dear young lady--Miss Brooke--Dorothea!" he said, pressing her hand\r
+between his hands, "this is a happiness greater than I had ever\r
+imagined to be in reserve for me. That I should ever meet with a mind\r
+and person so rich in the mingled graces which could render marriage\r
+desirable, was far indeed from my conception. You have all--nay, more\r
+than all--those qualities which I have ever regarded as the\r
+characteristic excellences of womanhood. The great charm of your sex\r
+is its capability of an ardent self-sacrificing affection, and herein\r
+we see its fitness to round and complete the existence of our own.\r
+Hitherto I have known few pleasures save of the severer kind: my\r
+satisfactions have been those of the solitary student. I have been\r
+little disposed to gather flowers that would wither in my hand, but now\r
+I shall pluck them with eagerness, to place them in your bosom."\r
+\r
+No speech could have been more thoroughly honest in its intention: the\r
+frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as the bark of a dog, or the\r
+cawing of an amorous rook. Would it not be rash to conclude that there\r
+was no passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as the\r
+thin music of a mandolin?\r
+\r
+Dorothea's faith supplied all that Mr. Casaubon's words seemed to leave\r
+unsaid: what believer sees a disturbing omission or infelicity? The\r
+text, whether of prophet or of poet, expands for whatever we can put\r
+into it, and even his bad grammar is sublime.\r
+\r
+"I am very ignorant--you will quite wonder at my ignorance," said\r
+Dorothea. "I have so many thoughts that may be quite mistaken; and now\r
+I shall be able to tell them all to you, and ask you about them. But,"\r
+she added, with rapid imagination of Mr. Casaubon's probable feeling,\r
+"I will not trouble you too much; only when you are inclined to listen\r
+to me. You must often be weary with the pursuit of subjects in your\r
+own track. I shall gain enough if you will take me with you there."\r
+\r
+"How should I be able now to persevere in any path without your\r
+companionship?" said Mr. Casaubon, kissing her candid brow, and feeling\r
+that heaven had vouchsafed him a blessing in every way suited to his\r
+peculiar wants. He was being unconsciously wrought upon by the charms\r
+of a nature which was entirely without hidden calculations either for\r
+immediate effects or for remoter ends. It was this which made Dorothea\r
+so childlike, and, according to some judges, so stupid, with all her\r
+reputed cleverness; as, for example, in the present case of throwing\r
+herself, metaphorically speaking, at Mr. Casaubon's feet, and kissing\r
+his unfashionable shoe-ties as if he were a Protestant Pope. She was\r
+not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough\r
+for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good\r
+enough for Mr. Casaubon. Before he left the next day it had been\r
+decided that the marriage should take place within six weeks. Why not?\r
+Mr. Casaubon's house was ready. It was not a parsonage, but a\r
+considerable mansion, with much land attached to it. The parsonage was\r
+inhabited by the curate, who did all the duty except preaching the\r
+morning sermon.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER VI.\r
+\r
+ My lady's tongue is like the meadow blades,\r
+ That cut you stroking them with idle hand.\r
+ Nice cutting is her function: she divides\r
+ With spiritual edge the millet-seed,\r
+ And makes intangible savings.\r
+\r
+\r
+As Mr. Casaubon's carriage was passing out of the gateway, it arrested\r
+the entrance of a pony phaeton driven by a lady with a servant seated\r
+behind. It was doubtful whether the recognition had been mutual, for\r
+Mr. Casaubon was looking absently before him; but the lady was\r
+quick-eyed, and threw a nod and a "How do you do?" in the nick of time.\r
+In spite of her shabby bonnet and very old Indian shawl, it was plain\r
+that the lodge-keeper regarded her as an important personage, from the\r
+low curtsy which was dropped on the entrance of the small phaeton.\r
+\r
+"Well, Mrs. Fitchett, how are your fowls laying now?" said the\r
+high-colored, dark-eyed lady, with the clearest chiselled utterance.\r
+\r
+"Pretty well for laying, madam, but they've ta'en to eating their eggs:\r
+I've no peace o' mind with 'em at all."\r
+\r
+"Oh, the cannibals! Better sell them cheap at once. What will you\r
+sell them a couple? One can't eat fowls of a bad character at a high\r
+price."\r
+\r
+"Well, madam, half-a-crown: I couldn't let 'em go, not under."\r
+\r
+"Half-a-crown, these times! Come now--for the Rector's chicken-broth\r
+on a Sunday. He has consumed all ours that I can spare. You are half\r
+paid with the sermon, Mrs. Fitchett, remember that. Take a pair of\r
+tumbler-pigeons for them--little beauties. You must come and see them.\r
+You have no tumblers among your pigeons."\r
+\r
+"Well, madam, Master Fitchett shall go and see 'em after work. He's\r
+very hot on new sorts; to oblige you."\r
+\r
+"Oblige me! It will be the best bargain he ever made. A pair of\r
+church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their own\r
+eggs! Don't you and Fitchett boast too much, that is all!"\r
+\r
+The phaeton was driven onwards with the last words, leaving Mrs.\r
+Fitchett laughing and shaking her head slowly, with an interjectional\r
+"Sure_ly_, sure_ly_!"--from which it might be inferred that she would\r
+have found the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's lady had\r
+been less free-spoken and less of a skinflint. Indeed, both the\r
+farmers and laborers in the parishes of Freshitt and Tipton would have\r
+felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories about what Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably high birth, descended,\r
+as it were, from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades--who\r
+pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the most\r
+companionable manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you know\r
+who she was. Such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank and\r
+religion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A much\r
+more exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would not\r
+have furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles, and\r
+would have been less socially uniting.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke, seeing Mrs. Cadwallader's merits from a different point of\r
+view, winced a little when her name was announced in the library, where\r
+he was sitting alone.\r
+\r
+"I see you have had our Lowick Cicero here," she said, seating herself\r
+comfortably, throwing back her wraps, and showing a thin but well-built\r
+figure. "I suspect you and he are brewing some bad polities, else you\r
+would not be seeing so much of the lively man. I shall inform against\r
+you: remember you are both suspicious characters since you took Peel's\r
+side about the Catholic Bill. I shall tell everybody that you are\r
+going to put up for Middlemarch on the Whig side when old Pinkerton\r
+resigns, and that Casaubon is going to help you in an underhand manner:\r
+going to bribe the voters with pamphlets, and throw open the\r
+public-houses to distribute them. Come, confess!"\r
+\r
+"Nothing of the sort," said Mr. Brooke, smiling and rubbing his\r
+eye-glasses, but really blushing a little at the impeachment.\r
+"Casaubon and I don't talk politics much. He doesn't care much about\r
+the philanthropic side of things; punishments, and that kind of thing.\r
+He only cares about Church questions. That is not my line of action,\r
+you know."\r
+\r
+"Ra-a-ther too much, my friend. I have heard of your doings. Who was\r
+it that sold his bit of land to the Papists at Middlemarch? I believe\r
+you bought it on purpose. You are a perfect Guy Faux. See if you are\r
+not burnt in effigy this 5th of November coming. Humphrey would not\r
+come to quarrel with you about it, so I am come."\r
+\r
+"Very good. I was prepared to be persecuted for not persecuting--not\r
+persecuting, you know."\r
+\r
+"There you go! That is a piece of clap-trap you have got ready for the\r
+hustings. Now, _do not_ let them lure you to the hustings, my dear Mr.\r
+Brooke. A man always makes a fool of himself, speechifying: there's no\r
+excuse but being on the right side, so that you can ask a blessing on\r
+your humming and hawing. You will lose yourself, I forewarn you. You\r
+will make a Saturday pie of all parties' opinions, and be pelted by\r
+everybody."\r
+\r
+"That is what I expect, you know," said Mr. Brooke, not wishing to\r
+betray how little he enjoyed this prophetic sketch--"what I expect as\r
+an independent man. As to the Whigs, a man who goes with the thinkers\r
+is not likely to be hooked on by any party. He may go with them up to\r
+a certain point--up to a certain point, you know. But that is what you\r
+ladies never understand."\r
+\r
+"Where your certain point is? No. I should like to be told how a man\r
+can have any certain point when he belongs to no party--leading a\r
+roving life, and never letting his friends know his address. 'Nobody\r
+knows where Brooke will be--there's no counting on Brooke'--that is\r
+what people say of you, to be quite frank. Now, do turn respectable.\r
+How will you like going to Sessions with everybody looking shy on you,\r
+and you with a bad conscience and an empty pocket?"\r
+\r
+"I don't pretend to argue with a lady on politics," said Mr. Brooke,\r
+with an air of smiling indifference, but feeling rather unpleasantly\r
+conscious that this attack of Mrs. Cadwallader's had opened the\r
+defensive campaign to which certain rash steps had exposed him. "Your\r
+sex are not thinkers, you know--varium et mutabile semper--that kind of\r
+thing. You don't know Virgil. I knew"--Mr. Brooke reflected in time\r
+that he had not had the personal acquaintance of the Augustan poet--"I\r
+was going to say, poor Stoddart, you know. That was what _he_ said.\r
+You ladies are always against an independent attitude--a man's caring\r
+for nothing but truth, and that sort of thing. And there is no part of\r
+the county where opinion is narrower than it is here--I don't mean to\r
+throw stones, you know, but somebody is wanted to take the independent\r
+line; and if I don't take it, who will?"\r
+\r
+"Who? Why, any upstart who has got neither blood nor position. People\r
+of standing should consume their independent nonsense at home, not hawk\r
+it about. And you! who are going to marry your niece, as good as your\r
+daughter, to one of our best men. Sir James would be cruelly annoyed:\r
+it will be too hard on him if you turn round now and make yourself a\r
+Whig sign-board."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for Dorothea's engagement had no\r
+sooner been decided, than he had thought of Mrs. Cadwallader's\r
+prospective taunts. It might have been easy for ignorant observers to\r
+say, "Quarrel with Mrs. Cadwallader;" but where is a country gentleman\r
+to go who quarrels with his oldest neighbors? Who could taste the fine\r
+flavor in the name of Brooke if it were delivered casually, like wine\r
+without a seal? Certainly a man can only be cosmopolitan up to a\r
+certain point.\r
+\r
+"I hope Chettam and I shall always be good friends; but I am sorry to\r
+say there is no prospect of his marrying my niece," said Mr. Brooke,\r
+much relieved to see through the window that Celia was coming in.\r
+\r
+"Why not?" said Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharp note of surprise. "It\r
+is hardly a fortnight since you and I were talking about it."\r
+\r
+"My niece has chosen another suitor--has chosen him, you know. I have\r
+had nothing to do with it. I should have preferred Chettam; and I\r
+should have said Chettam was the man any girl would have chosen. But\r
+there is no accounting for these things. Your sex is capricious, you\r
+know."\r
+\r
+"Why, whom do you mean to say that you are going to let her marry?"\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader's mind was rapidly surveying the possibilities of\r
+choice for Dorothea.\r
+\r
+But here Celia entered, blooming from a walk in the garden, and the\r
+greeting with her delivered Mr. Brooke from the necessity of answering\r
+immediately. He got up hastily, and saying, "By the way, I must speak\r
+to Wright about the horses," shuffled quickly out of the room.\r
+\r
+"My dear child, what is this?--this about your sister's engagement?"\r
+said Mrs. Cadwallader.\r
+\r
+"She is engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon," said Celia, resorting, as\r
+usual, to the simplest statement of fact, and enjoying this opportunity\r
+of speaking to the Rector's wife alone.\r
+\r
+"This is frightful. How long has it been going on?"\r
+\r
+"I only knew of it yesterday. They are to be married in six weeks."\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear, I wish you joy of your brother-in-law."\r
+\r
+"I am so sorry for Dorothea."\r
+\r
+"Sorry! It is her doing, I suppose."\r
+\r
+"Yes; she says Mr. Casaubon has a great soul."\r
+\r
+"With all my heart."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Mrs. Cadwallader, I don't think it can be nice to marry a man with\r
+a great soul."\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear, take warning. You know the look of one now; when the\r
+next comes and wants to marry you, don't you accept him."\r
+\r
+"I'm sure I never should."\r
+\r
+"No; one such in a family is enough. So your sister never cared about\r
+Sir James Chettam? What would you have said to _him_ for a\r
+brother-in-law?"\r
+\r
+"I should have liked that very much. I am sure he would have been a\r
+good husband. Only," Celia added, with a slight blush (she sometimes\r
+seemed to blush as she breathed), "I don't think he would have suited\r
+Dorothea."\r
+\r
+"Not high-flown enough?"\r
+\r
+"Dodo is very strict. She thinks so much about everything, and is so\r
+particular about what one says. Sir James never seemed to please her."\r
+\r
+"She must have encouraged him, I am sure. That is not very creditable."\r
+\r
+"Please don't be angry with Dodo; she does not see things. She thought\r
+so much about the cottages, and she was rude to Sir James sometimes;\r
+but he is so kind, he never noticed it."\r
+\r
+"Well," said Mrs. Cadwallader, putting on her shawl, and rising, as if\r
+in haste, "I must go straight to Sir James and break this to him. He\r
+will have brought his mother back by this time, and I must call. Your\r
+uncle will never tell him. We are all disappointed, my dear. Young\r
+people should think of their families in marrying. I set a bad\r
+example--married a poor clergyman, and made myself a pitiable object\r
+among the De Bracys--obliged to get my coals by stratagem, and pray to\r
+heaven for my salad oil. However, Casaubon has money enough; I must do\r
+him that justice. As to his blood, I suppose the family quarterings\r
+are three cuttle-fish sable, and a commentator rampant. By the bye,\r
+before I go, my dear, I must speak to your Mrs. Carter about pastry. I\r
+want to send my young cook to learn of her. Poor people with four\r
+children, like us, you know, can't afford to keep a good cook. I have\r
+no doubt Mrs. Carter will oblige me. Sir James's cook is a perfect\r
+dragon."\r
+\r
+In less than an hour, Mrs. Cadwallader had circumvented Mrs. Carter and\r
+driven to Freshitt Hall, which was not far from her own parsonage, her\r
+husband being resident in Freshitt and keeping a curate in Tipton.\r
+\r
+Sir James Chettam had returned from the short journey which had kept\r
+him absent for a couple of days, and had changed his dress, intending\r
+to ride over to Tipton Grange. His horse was standing at the door when\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader drove up, and he immediately appeared there himself,\r
+whip in hand. Lady Chettam had not yet returned, but Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader's errand could not be despatched in the presence of grooms,\r
+so she asked to be taken into the conservatory close by, to look at the\r
+new plants; and on coming to a contemplative stand, she said--\r
+\r
+"I have a great shock for you; I hope you are not so far gone in love\r
+as you pretended to be."\r
+\r
+It was of no use protesting, against Mrs. Cadwallader's way of putting\r
+things. But Sir James's countenance changed a little. He felt a vague\r
+alarm.\r
+\r
+"I do believe Brooke is going to expose himself after all. I accused\r
+him of meaning to stand for Middlemarch on the Liberal side, and he\r
+looked silly and never denied it--talked about the independent line,\r
+and the usual nonsense."\r
+\r
+"Is that all?" said Sir James, much relieved.\r
+\r
+"Why," rejoined Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharper note, "you don't mean\r
+to say that you would like him to turn public man in that way--making a\r
+sort of political Cheap Jack of himself?"\r
+\r
+"He might be dissuaded, I should think. He would not like the expense."\r
+\r
+"That is what I told him. He is vulnerable to reason there--always a\r
+few grains of common-sense in an ounce of miserliness. Miserliness is\r
+a capital quality to run in families; it's the safe side for madness to\r
+dip on. And there must be a little crack in the Brooke family, else we\r
+should not see what we are to see."\r
+\r
+"What? Brooke standing for Middlemarch?"\r
+\r
+"Worse than that. I really feel a little responsible. I always told\r
+you Miss Brooke would be such a fine match. I knew there was a great\r
+deal of nonsense in her--a flighty sort of Methodistical stuff. But\r
+these things wear out of girls. However, I am taken by surprise for\r
+once."\r
+\r
+"What do you mean, Mrs. Cadwallader?" said Sir James. His fear lest\r
+Miss Brooke should have run away to join the Moravian Brethren, or some\r
+preposterous sect unknown to good society, was a little allayed by the\r
+knowledge that Mrs. Cadwallader always made the worst of things. "What\r
+has happened to Miss Brooke? Pray speak out."\r
+\r
+"Very well. She is engaged to be married." Mrs. Cadwallader paused a\r
+few moments, observing the deeply hurt expression in her friend's face,\r
+which he was trying to conceal by a nervous smile, while he whipped his\r
+boot; but she soon added, "Engaged to Casaubon."\r
+\r
+Sir James let his whip fall and stooped to pick it up. Perhaps his\r
+face had never before gathered so much concentrated disgust as when he\r
+turned to Mrs. Cadwallader and repeated, "Casaubon?"\r
+\r
+"Even so. You know my errand now."\r
+\r
+"Good God! It is horrible! He is no better than a mummy!" (The point\r
+of view has to be allowed for, as that of a blooming and disappointed\r
+rival.)\r
+\r
+"She says, he is a great soul.--A great bladder for dried peas to\r
+rattle in!" said Mrs. Cadwallader.\r
+\r
+"What business has an old bachelor like that to marry?" said Sir James.\r
+"He has one foot in the grave."\r
+\r
+"He means to draw it out again, I suppose."\r
+\r
+"Brooke ought not to allow it: he should insist on its being put off\r
+till she is of age. She would think better of it then. What is a\r
+guardian for?"\r
+\r
+"As if you could ever squeeze a resolution out of Brooke!"\r
+\r
+"Cadwallader might talk to him."\r
+\r
+"Not he! Humphrey finds everybody charming. I never can get him to\r
+abuse Casaubon. He will even speak well of the bishop, though I tell\r
+him it is unnatural in a beneficed clergyman; what can one do with a\r
+husband who attends so little to the decencies? I hide it as well as I\r
+can by abusing everybody myself. Come, come, cheer up! you are well\r
+rid of Miss Brooke, a girl who would have been requiring you to see the\r
+stars by daylight. Between ourselves, little Celia is worth two of\r
+her, and likely after all to be the better match. For this marriage to\r
+Casaubon is as good as going to a nunnery."\r
+\r
+"Oh, on my own account--it is for Miss Brooke's sake I think her\r
+friends should try to use their influence."\r
+\r
+"Well, Humphrey doesn't know yet. But when I tell him, you may depend\r
+on it he will say, 'Why not? Casaubon is a good fellow--and\r
+young--young enough.' These charitable people never know vinegar from\r
+wine till they have swallowed it and got the colic. However, if I were\r
+a man I should prefer Celia, especially when Dorothea was gone. The\r
+truth is, you have been courting one and have won the other. I can see\r
+that she admires you almost as much as a man expects to be admired. If\r
+it were any one but me who said so, you might think it exaggeration.\r
+Good-by!"\r
+\r
+Sir James handed Mrs. Cadwallader to the phaeton, and then jumped on\r
+his horse. He was not going to renounce his ride because of his\r
+friend's unpleasant news--only to ride the faster in some other\r
+direction than that of Tipton Grange.\r
+\r
+Now, why on earth should Mrs. Cadwallader have been at all busy about\r
+Miss Brooke's marriage; and why, when one match that she liked to think\r
+she had a hand in was frustrated, should she have straightway contrived\r
+the preliminaries of another? Was there any ingenious plot, any\r
+hide-and-seek course of action, which might be detected by a careful\r
+telescopic watch? Not at all: a telescope might have swept the\r
+parishes of Tipton and Freshitt, the whole area visited by Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader in her phaeton, without witnessing any interview that could\r
+excite suspicion, or any scene from which she did not return with the\r
+same unperturbed keenness of eye and the same high natural color. In\r
+fact, if that convenient vehicle had existed in the days of the Seven\r
+Sages, one of them would doubtless have remarked, that you can know\r
+little of women by following them about in their pony-phaetons. Even\r
+with a microscope directed on a water-drop we find ourselves making\r
+interpretations which turn out to be rather coarse; for whereas under a\r
+weak lens you may seem to see a creature exhibiting an active voracity\r
+into which other smaller creatures actively play as if they were so\r
+many animated tax-pennies, a stronger lens reveals to you certain\r
+tiniest hairlets which make vortices for these victims while the\r
+swallower waits passively at his receipt of custom. In this way,\r
+metaphorically speaking, a strong lens applied to Mrs. Cadwallader's\r
+match-making will show a play of minute causes producing what may be\r
+called thought and speech vortices to bring her the sort of food she\r
+needed. Her life was rurally simple, quite free from secrets either\r
+foul, dangerous, or otherwise important, and not consciously affected\r
+by the great affairs of the world. All the more did the affairs of the\r
+great world interest her, when communicated in the letters of high-born\r
+relations: the way in which fascinating younger sons had gone to the\r
+dogs by marrying their mistresses; the fine old-blooded idiocy of young\r
+Lord Tapir, and the furious gouty humors of old Lord Megatherium; the\r
+exact crossing of genealogies which had brought a coronet into a new\r
+branch and widened the relations of scandal,--these were topics of\r
+which she retained details with the utmost accuracy, and reproduced\r
+them in an excellent pickle of epigrams, which she herself enjoyed the\r
+more because she believed as unquestionably in birth and no-birth as\r
+she did in game and vermin. She would never have disowned any one on\r
+the ground of poverty: a De Bracy reduced to take his dinner in a basin\r
+would have seemed to her an example of pathos worth exaggerating, and I\r
+fear his aristocratic vices would not have horrified her. But her\r
+feeling towards the vulgar rich was a sort of religious hatred: they\r
+had probably made all their money out of high retail prices, and Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was not paid in\r
+kind at the Rectory: such people were no part of God's design in making\r
+the world; and their accent was an affliction to the ears. A town\r
+where such monsters abounded was hardly more than a sort of low comedy,\r
+which could not be taken account of in a well-bred scheme of the\r
+universe. Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs. Cadwallader\r
+inquire into the comprehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and be\r
+quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have\r
+the honor to coexist with hers.\r
+\r
+With such a mind, active as phosphorus, biting everything that came\r
+near into the form that suited it, how could Mrs. Cadwallader feel that\r
+the Miss Brookes and their matrimonial prospects were alien to her?\r
+especially as it had been the habit of years for her to scold Mr.\r
+Brooke with the friendliest frankness, and let him know in confidence\r
+that she thought him a poor creature. From the first arrival of the\r
+young ladies in Tipton she had prearranged Dorothea's marriage with Sir\r
+James, and if it had taken place would have been quite sure that it was\r
+her doing: that it should not take place after she had preconceived it,\r
+caused her an irritation which every thinker will sympathize with. She\r
+was the diplomatist of Tipton and Freshitt, and for anything to happen\r
+in spite of her was an offensive irregularity. As to freaks like this\r
+of Miss Brooke's, Mrs. Cadwallader had no patience with them, and now\r
+saw that her opinion of this girl had been infected with some of her\r
+husband's weak charitableness: those Methodistical whims, that air of\r
+being more religious than the rector and curate together, came from a\r
+deeper and more constitutional disease than she had been willing to\r
+believe.\r
+\r
+"However," said Mrs. Cadwallader, first to herself and afterwards to\r
+her husband, "I throw her over: there was a chance, if she had married\r
+Sir James, of her becoming a sane, sensible woman. He would never have\r
+contradicted her, and when a woman is not contradicted, she has no\r
+motive for obstinacy in her absurdities. But now I wish her joy of her\r
+hair shirt."\r
+\r
+It followed that Mrs. Cadwallader must decide on another match for Sir\r
+James, and having made up her mind that it was to be the younger Miss\r
+Brooke, there could not have been a more skilful move towards the\r
+success of her plan than her hint to the baronet that he had made an\r
+impression on Celia's heart. For he was not one of those gentlemen who\r
+languish after the unattainable Sappho's apple that laughs from the\r
+topmost bough--the charms which\r
+\r
+ "Smile like the knot of cowslips on the cliff,\r
+ Not to be come at by the willing hand."\r
+\r
+He had no sonnets to write, and it could not strike him agreeably that\r
+he was not an object of preference to the woman whom he had preferred.\r
+Already the knowledge that Dorothea had chosen Mr. Casaubon had bruised\r
+his attachment and relaxed its hold. Although Sir James was a\r
+sportsman, he had some other feelings towards women than towards grouse\r
+and foxes, and did not regard his future wife in the light of prey,\r
+valuable chiefly for the excitements of the chase. Neither was he so\r
+well acquainted with the habits of primitive races as to feel that an\r
+ideal combat for her, tomahawk in hand, so to speak, was necessary to\r
+the historical continuity of the marriage-tie. On the contrary, having\r
+the amiable vanity which knits us to those who are fond of us, and\r
+disinclines us to those who are indifferent, and also a good grateful\r
+nature, the mere idea that a woman had a kindness towards him spun\r
+little threads of tenderness from out his heart towards hers.\r
+\r
+Thus it happened, that after Sir James had ridden rather fast for half\r
+an hour in a direction away from Tipton Grange, he slackened his pace,\r
+and at last turned into a road which would lead him back by a shorter\r
+cut. Various feelings wrought in him the determination after all to go\r
+to the Grange to-day as if nothing new had happened. He could not help\r
+rejoicing that he had never made the offer and been rejected; mere\r
+friendly politeness required that he should call to see Dorothea about\r
+the cottages, and now happily Mrs. Cadwallader had prepared him to\r
+offer his congratulations, if necessary, without showing too much\r
+awkwardness. He really did not like it: giving up Dorothea was very\r
+painful to him; but there was something in the resolve to make this\r
+visit forthwith and conquer all show of feeling, which was a sort of\r
+file-biting and counter-irritant. And without his distinctly\r
+recognizing the impulse, there certainly was present in him the sense\r
+that Celia would be there, and that he should pay her more attention\r
+than he had done before.\r
+\r
+We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between\r
+breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale\r
+about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pride\r
+helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide\r
+our own hurts--not to hurt others.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER VII.\r
+\r
+ "Piacer e popone\r
+ Vuol la sua stagione."\r
+ --Italian Proverb.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon, as might be expected, spent a great deal of his time at\r
+the Grange in these weeks, and the hindrance which courtship occasioned\r
+to the progress of his great work--the Key to all\r
+Mythologies--naturally made him look forward the more eagerly to the\r
+happy termination of courtship. But he had deliberately incurred the\r
+hindrance, having made up his mind that it was now time for him to\r
+adorn his life with the graces of female companionship, to irradiate\r
+the gloom which fatigue was apt to hang over the intervals of studious\r
+labor with the play of female fancy, and to secure in this, his\r
+culminating age, the solace of female tendance for his declining years.\r
+Hence he determined to abandon himself to the stream of feeling, and\r
+perhaps was surprised to find what an exceedingly shallow rill it was.\r
+As in droughty regions baptism by immersion could only be performed\r
+symbolically, Mr. Casaubon found that sprinkling was the utmost\r
+approach to a plunge which his stream would afford him; and he\r
+concluded that the poets had much exaggerated the force of masculine\r
+passion. Nevertheless, he observed with pleasure that Miss Brooke\r
+showed an ardent submissive affection which promised to fulfil his most\r
+agreeable previsions of marriage. It had once or twice crossed his\r
+mind that possibly there was some deficiency in Dorothea to account for\r
+the moderation of his abandonment; but he was unable to discern the\r
+deficiency, or to figure to himself a woman who would have pleased him\r
+better; so that there was clearly no reason to fall back upon but the\r
+exaggerations of human tradition.\r
+\r
+"Could I not be preparing myself now to be more useful?" said Dorothea\r
+to him, one morning, early in the time of courtship; "could I not learn\r
+to read Latin and Greek aloud to you, as Milton's daughters did to\r
+their father, without understanding what they read?"\r
+\r
+"I fear that would be wearisome to you," said Mr. Casaubon, smiling;\r
+"and, indeed, if I remember rightly, the young women you have mentioned\r
+regarded that exercise in unknown tongues as a ground for rebellion\r
+against the poet."\r
+\r
+"Yes; but in the first place they were very naughty girls, else they\r
+would have been proud to minister to such a father; and in the second\r
+place they might have studied privately and taught themselves to\r
+understand what they read, and then it would have been interesting. I\r
+hope you don't expect me to be naughty and stupid?"\r
+\r
+"I expect you to be all that an exquisite young lady can be in every\r
+possible relation of life. Certainly it might be a great advantage if\r
+you were able to copy the Greek character, and to that end it were well\r
+to begin with a little reading."\r
+\r
+Dorothea seized this as a precious permission. She would not have\r
+asked Mr. Casaubon at once to teach her the languages, dreading of all\r
+things to be tiresome instead of helpful; but it was not entirely out\r
+of devotion to her future husband that she wished to know Latin and\r
+Greek. Those provinces of masculine knowledge seemed to her a\r
+standing-ground from which all truth could be seen more truly. As it\r
+was, she constantly doubted her own conclusions, because she felt her\r
+own ignorance: how could she be confident that one-roomed cottages were\r
+not for the glory of God, when men who knew the classics appeared to\r
+conciliate indifference to the cottages with zeal for the glory?\r
+Perhaps even Hebrew might be necessary--at least the alphabet and a few\r
+roots--in order to arrive at the core of things, and judge soundly on\r
+the social duties of the Christian. And she had not reached that point\r
+of renunciation at which she would have been satisfied with having a\r
+wise husband: she wished, poor child, to be wise herself. Miss Brooke\r
+was certainly very naive with all her alleged cleverness. Celia, whose\r
+mind had never been thought too powerful, saw the emptiness of other\r
+people's pretensions much more readily. To have in general but little\r
+feeling, seems to be the only security against feeling too much on any\r
+particular occasion.\r
+\r
+However, Mr. Casaubon consented to listen and teach for an hour\r
+together, like a schoolmaster of little boys, or rather like a lover,\r
+to whom a mistress's elementary ignorance and difficulties have a\r
+touching fitness. Few scholars would have disliked teaching the\r
+alphabet under such circumstances. But Dorothea herself was a little\r
+shocked and discouraged at her own stupidity, and the answers she got\r
+to some timid questions about the value of the Greek accents gave her a\r
+painful suspicion that here indeed there might be secrets not capable\r
+of explanation to a woman's reason.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke had no doubt on that point, and expressed himself with his\r
+usual strength upon it one day that he came into the library while the\r
+reading was going forward.\r
+\r
+"Well, but now, Casaubon, such deep studies, classics, mathematics,\r
+that kind of thing, are too taxing for a woman--too taxing, you know."\r
+\r
+"Dorothea is learning to read the characters simply," said Mr.\r
+Casaubon, evading the question. "She had the very considerate thought\r
+of saving my eyes."\r
+\r
+"Ah, well, without understanding, you know--that may not be so bad.\r
+But there is a lightness about the feminine mind--a touch and\r
+go--music, the fine arts, that kind of thing--they should study those\r
+up to a certain point, women should; but in a light way, you know. A\r
+woman should be able to sit down and play you or sing you a good old\r
+English tune. That is what I like; though I have heard most\r
+things--been at the opera in Vienna: Gluck, Mozart, everything of that\r
+sort. But I'm a conservative in music--it's not like ideas, you know.\r
+I stick to the good old tunes."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Casaubon is not fond of the piano, and I am very glad he is not,"\r
+said Dorothea, whose slight regard for domestic music and feminine fine\r
+art must be forgiven her, considering the small tinkling and smearing\r
+in which they chiefly consisted at that dark period. She smiled and\r
+looked up at her betrothed with grateful eyes. If he had always been\r
+asking her to play the "Last Rose of Summer," she would have required\r
+much resignation. "He says there is only an old harpsichord at Lowick,\r
+and it is covered with books."\r
+\r
+"Ah, there you are behind Celia, my dear. Celia, now, plays very\r
+prettily, and is always ready to play. However, since Casaubon does\r
+not like it, you are all right. But it's a pity you should not have\r
+little recreations of that sort, Casaubon: the bow always strung--that\r
+kind of thing, you know--will not do."\r
+\r
+"I never could look on it in the light of a recreation to have my ears\r
+teased with measured noises," said Mr. Casaubon. "A tune much iterated\r
+has the ridiculous effect of making the words in my mind perform a sort\r
+of minuet to keep time--an effect hardly tolerable, I imagine, after\r
+boyhood. As to the grander forms of music, worthy to accompany solemn\r
+celebrations, and even to serve as an educating influence according to\r
+the ancient conception, I say nothing, for with these we are not\r
+immediately concerned."\r
+\r
+"No; but music of that sort I should enjoy," said Dorothea. "When we\r
+were coming home from Lausanne my uncle took us to hear the great organ\r
+at Freiberg, and it made me sob."\r
+\r
+"That kind of thing is not healthy, my dear," said Mr. Brooke.\r
+"Casaubon, she will be in your hands now: you must teach my niece to\r
+take things more quietly, eh, Dorothea?"\r
+\r
+He ended with a smile, not wishing to hurt his niece, but really\r
+thinking that it was perhaps better for her to be early married to so\r
+sober a fellow as Casaubon, since she would not hear of Chettam.\r
+\r
+"It is wonderful, though," he said to himself as he shuffled out of the\r
+room--"it is wonderful that she should have liked him. However, the\r
+match is good. I should have been travelling out of my brief to have\r
+hindered it, let Mrs. Cadwallader say what she will. He is pretty\r
+certain to be a bishop, is Casaubon. That was a very seasonable\r
+pamphlet of his on the Catholic Question:--a deanery at least. They\r
+owe him a deanery."\r
+\r
+And here I must vindicate a claim to philosophical reflectiveness, by\r
+remarking that Mr. Brooke on this occasion little thought of the\r
+Radical speech which, at a later period, he was led to make on the\r
+incomes of the bishops. What elegant historian would neglect a\r
+striking opportunity for pointing out that his heroes did not foresee\r
+the history of the world, or even their own actions?--For example, that\r
+Henry of Navarre, when a Protestant baby, little thought of being a\r
+Catholic monarch; or that Alfred the Great, when he measured his\r
+laborious nights with burning candles, had no idea of future gentlemen\r
+measuring their idle days with watches. Here is a mine of truth,\r
+which, however vigorously it may be worked, is likely to outlast our\r
+coal.\r
+\r
+But of Mr. Brooke I make a further remark perhaps less warranted by\r
+precedent--namely, that if he had foreknown his speech, it might not\r
+have made any great difference. To think with pleasure of his niece's\r
+husband having a large ecclesiastical income was one thing--to make a\r
+Liberal speech was another thing; and it is a narrow mind which cannot\r
+look at a subject from various points of view.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER VIII.\r
+\r
+ "Oh, rescue her! I am her brother now,\r
+ And you her father. Every gentle maid\r
+ Should have a guardian in each gentleman."\r
+\r
+\r
+It was wonderful to Sir James Chettam how well he continued to like\r
+going to the Grange after he had once encountered the difficulty of\r
+seeing Dorothea for the first time in the light of a woman who was\r
+engaged to another man. Of course the forked lightning seemed to pass\r
+through him when he first approached her, and he remained conscious\r
+throughout the interview of hiding uneasiness; but, good as he was, it\r
+must be owned that his uneasiness was less than it would have been if\r
+he had thought his rival a brilliant and desirable match. He had no\r
+sense of being eclipsed by Mr. Casaubon; he was only shocked that\r
+Dorothea was under a melancholy illusion, and his mortification lost\r
+some of its bitterness by being mingled with compassion.\r
+\r
+Nevertheless, while Sir James said to himself that he had completely\r
+resigned her, since with the perversity of a Desdemona she had not\r
+affected a proposed match that was clearly suitable and according to\r
+nature; he could not yet be quite passive under the idea of her\r
+engagement to Mr. Casaubon. On the day when he first saw them together\r
+in the light of his present knowledge, it seemed to him that he had not\r
+taken the affair seriously enough. Brooke was really culpable; he\r
+ought to have hindered it. Who could speak to him? Something might be\r
+done perhaps even now, at least to defer the marriage. On his way home\r
+he turned into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader. Happily, the\r
+Rector was at home, and his visitor was shown into the study, where all\r
+the fishing tackle hung. But he himself was in a little room\r
+adjoining, at work with his turning apparatus, and he called to the\r
+baronet to join him there. The two were better friends than any other\r
+landholder and clergyman in the county--a significant fact which was in\r
+agreement with the amiable expression of their faces.\r
+\r
+Mr. Cadwallader was a large man, with full lips and a sweet smile; very\r
+plain and rough in his exterior, but with that solid imperturbable ease\r
+and good-humor which is infectious, and like great grassy hills in the\r
+sunshine, quiets even an irritated egoism, and makes it rather ashamed\r
+of itself. "Well, how are you?" he said, showing a hand not quite fit\r
+to be grasped. "Sorry I missed you before. Is there anything\r
+particular? You look vexed."\r
+\r
+Sir James's brow had a little crease in it, a little depression of the\r
+eyebrow, which he seemed purposely to exaggerate as he answered.\r
+\r
+"It is only this conduct of Brooke's. I really think somebody should\r
+speak to him."\r
+\r
+"What? meaning to stand?" said Mr. Cadwallader, going on with the\r
+arrangement of the reels which he had just been turning. "I hardly\r
+think he means it. But where's the harm, if he likes it? Any one who\r
+objects to Whiggery should be glad when the Whigs don't put up the\r
+strongest fellow. They won't overturn the Constitution with our friend\r
+Brooke's head for a battering ram."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I don't mean that," said Sir James, who, after putting down his\r
+hat and throwing himself into a chair, had begun to nurse his leg and\r
+examine the sole of his boot with much bitterness. "I mean this\r
+marriage. I mean his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon."\r
+\r
+"What is the matter with Casaubon? I see no harm in him--if the girl\r
+likes him."\r
+\r
+"She is too young to know what she likes. Her guardian ought to\r
+interfere. He ought not to allow the thing to be done in this headlong\r
+manner. I wonder a man like you, Cadwallader--a man with daughters,\r
+can look at the affair with indifference: and with such a heart as\r
+yours! Do think seriously about it."\r
+\r
+"I am not joking; I am as serious as possible," said the Rector, with a\r
+provoking little inward laugh. "You are as bad as Elinor. She has\r
+been wanting me to go and lecture Brooke; and I have reminded her that\r
+her friends had a very poor opinion of the match she made when she\r
+married me."\r
+\r
+"But look at Casaubon," said Sir James, indignantly. "He must be\r
+fifty, and I don't believe he could ever have been much more than the\r
+shadow of a man. Look at his legs!"\r
+\r
+"Confound you handsome young fellows! you think of having it all your\r
+own way in the world. You don't under stand women. They don't admire\r
+you half so much as you admire yourselves. Elinor used to tell her\r
+sisters that she married me for my ugliness--it was so various and\r
+amusing that it had quite conquered her prudence."\r
+\r
+"You! it was easy enough for a woman to love you. But this is no\r
+question of beauty. I don't _like_ Casaubon." This was Sir James's\r
+strongest way of implying that he thought ill of a man's character.\r
+\r
+"Why? what do you know against him?" said the Rector laying down his\r
+reels, and putting his thumbs into his armholes with an air of\r
+attention.\r
+\r
+Sir James paused. He did not usually find it easy to give his reasons:\r
+it seemed to him strange that people should not know them without being\r
+told, since he only felt what was reasonable. At last he said--\r
+\r
+"Now, Cadwallader, has he got any heart?"\r
+\r
+"Well, yes. I don't mean of the melting sort, but a sound kernel,\r
+_that_ you may be sure of. He is very good to his poor relations:\r
+pensions several of the women, and is educating a young fellow at a\r
+good deal of expense. Casaubon acts up to his sense of justice. His\r
+mother's sister made a bad match--a Pole, I think--lost herself--at any\r
+rate was disowned by her family. If it had not been for that, Casaubon\r
+would not have had so much money by half. I believe he went himself to\r
+find out his cousins, and see what he could do for them. Every man\r
+would not ring so well as that, if you tried his metal. _You_ would,\r
+Chettam; but not every man."\r
+\r
+"I don't know," said Sir James, coloring. "I am not so sure of\r
+myself." He paused a moment, and then added, "That was a right thing\r
+for Casaubon to do. But a man may wish to do what is right, and yet be\r
+a sort of parchment code. A woman may not be happy with him. And I\r
+think when a girl is so young as Miss Brooke is, her friends ought to\r
+interfere a little to hinder her from doing anything foolish. You\r
+laugh, because you fancy I have some feeling on my own account. But\r
+upon my honor, it is not that. I should feel just the same if I were\r
+Miss Brooke's brother or uncle."\r
+\r
+"Well, but what should you do?"\r
+\r
+"I should say that the marriage must not be decided on until she was of\r
+age. And depend upon it, in that case, it would never come off. I\r
+wish you saw it as I do--I wish you would talk to Brooke about it."\r
+\r
+Sir James rose as he was finishing his sentence, for he saw Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader entering from the study. She held by the hand her youngest\r
+girl, about five years old, who immediately ran to papa, and was made\r
+comfortable on his knee.\r
+\r
+"I hear what you are talking about," said the wife. "But you will make\r
+no impression on Humphrey. As long as the fish rise to his bait,\r
+everybody is what he ought to be. Bless you, Casaubon has got a\r
+trout-stream, and does not care about fishing in it himself: could\r
+there be a better fellow?"\r
+\r
+"Well, there is something in that," said the Rector, with his quiet,\r
+inward laugh. "It is a very good quality in a man to have a\r
+trout-stream."\r
+\r
+"But seriously," said Sir James, whose vexation had not yet spent\r
+itself, "don't you think the Rector might do some good by speaking?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I told you beforehand what he would say," answered Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, lifting up her eyebrows. "I have done what I could: I\r
+wash my hands of the marriage."\r
+\r
+"In the first place," said the Rector, looking rather grave, "it would\r
+be nonsensical to expect that I could convince Brooke, and make him act\r
+accordingly. Brooke is a very good fellow, but pulpy; he will run into\r
+any mould, but he won't keep shape."\r
+\r
+"He might keep shape long enough to defer the marriage," said Sir James.\r
+\r
+"But, my dear Chettam, why should I use my influence to Casaubon's\r
+disadvantage, unless I were much surer than I am that I should be\r
+acting for the advantage of Miss Brooke? I know no harm of Casaubon.\r
+I don't care about his Xisuthrus and Fee-fo-fum and the rest; but then\r
+he doesn't care about my fishing-tackle. As to the line he took on the\r
+Catholic Question, that was unexpected; but he has always been civil to\r
+me, and I don't see why I should spoil his sport. For anything I can\r
+tell, Miss Brooke may be happier with him than she would be with any\r
+other man."\r
+\r
+"Humphrey! I have no patience with you. You know you would rather\r
+dine under the hedge than with Casaubon alone. You have nothing to say\r
+to each other."\r
+\r
+"What has that to do with Miss Brooke's marrying him? She does not do\r
+it for my amusement."\r
+\r
+"He has got no good red blood in his body," said Sir James.\r
+\r
+"No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying-glass and it was all\r
+semicolons and parentheses," said Mrs. Cadwallader.\r
+\r
+"Why does he not bring out his book, instead of marrying," said Sir\r
+James, with a disgust which he held warranted by the sound feeling of\r
+an English layman.\r
+\r
+"Oh, he dreams footnotes, and they run away with all his brains. They\r
+say, when he was a little boy, he made an abstract of 'Hop o' my\r
+Thumb,' and he has been making abstracts ever since. Ugh! And that is\r
+the man Humphrey goes on saying that a woman may be happy with."\r
+\r
+"Well, he is what Miss Brooke likes," said the Rector. "I don't\r
+profess to understand every young lady's taste."\r
+\r
+"But if she were your own daughter?" said Sir James.\r
+\r
+"That would be a different affair. She is _not_ my daughter, and I\r
+don't feel called upon to interfere. Casaubon is as good as most of\r
+us. He is a scholarly clergyman, and creditable to the cloth. Some\r
+Radical fellow speechifying at Middlemarch said Casaubon was the\r
+learned straw-chopping incumbent, and Freke was the brick-and-mortar\r
+incumbent, and I was the angling incumbent. And upon my word, I don't\r
+see that one is worse or better than the other." The Rector ended with\r
+his silent laugh. He always saw the joke of any satire against\r
+himself. His conscience was large and easy, like the rest of him: it\r
+did only what it could do without any trouble.\r
+\r
+Clearly, there would be no interference with Miss Brooke's marriage\r
+through Mr. Cadwallader; and Sir James felt with some sadness that she\r
+was to have perfect liberty of misjudgment. It was a sign of his good\r
+disposition that he did not slacken at all in his intention of carrying\r
+out Dorothea's design of the cottages. Doubtless this persistence was\r
+the best course for his own dignity: but pride only helps us to be\r
+generous; it never makes us so, any more than vanity makes us witty.\r
+She was now enough aware of Sir James's position with regard to her, to\r
+appreciate the rectitude of his perseverance in a landlord's duty, to\r
+which he had at first been urged by a lover's complaisance, and her\r
+pleasure in it was great enough to count for something even in her\r
+present happiness. Perhaps she gave to Sir James Chettam's cottages\r
+all the interest she could spare from Mr. Casaubon, or rather from the\r
+symphony of hopeful dreams, admiring trust, and passionate self\r
+devotion which that learned gentleman had set playing in her soul.\r
+Hence it happened that in the good baronet's succeeding visits, while\r
+he was beginning to pay small attentions to Celia, he found himself\r
+talking with more and more pleasure to Dorothea. She was perfectly\r
+unconstrained and without irritation towards him now, and he was\r
+gradually discovering the delight there is in frank kindness and\r
+companionship between a man and a woman who have no passion to hide or\r
+confess.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER IX.\r
+\r
+ 1st Gent. An ancient land in ancient oracles\r
+ Is called "law-thirsty": all the struggle there\r
+ Was after order and a perfect rule.\r
+ Pray, where lie such lands now? . . .\r
+ 2d Gent. Why, where they lay of old--in human souls.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon's behavior about settlements was highly satisfactory to\r
+Mr. Brooke, and the preliminaries of marriage rolled smoothly along,\r
+shortening the weeks of courtship. The betrothed bride must see her\r
+future home, and dictate any changes that she would like to have made\r
+there. A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an\r
+appetite for submission afterwards. And certainly, the mistakes that\r
+we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly\r
+raise some wonder that we are so fond of it.\r
+\r
+On a gray but dry November morning Dorothea drove to Lowick in company\r
+with her uncle and Celia. Mr. Casaubon's home was the manor-house.\r
+Close by, visible from some parts of the garden, was the little church,\r
+with the old parsonage opposite. In the beginning of his career, Mr.\r
+Casaubon had only held the living, but the death of his brother had put\r
+him in possession of the manor also. It had a small park, with a fine\r
+old oak here and there, and an avenue of limes towards the southwest\r
+front, with a sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so that from\r
+the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope\r
+of greensward till the limes ended in a level of corn and pastures,\r
+which often seemed to melt into a lake under the setting sun. This was\r
+the happy side of the house, for the south and east looked rather\r
+melancholy even under the brightest morning. The grounds here were\r
+more confined, the flower-beds showed no very careful tendance, and\r
+large clumps of trees, chiefly of sombre yews, had risen high, not ten\r
+yards from the windows. The building, of greenish stone, was in the\r
+old English style, not ugly, but small-windowed and melancholy-looking:\r
+the sort of house that must have children, many flowers, open windows,\r
+and little vistas of bright things, to make it seem a joyous home. In\r
+this latter end of autumn, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves\r
+falling slowly athwart the dark evergreens in a stillness without\r
+sunshine, the house too had an air of autumnal decline, and Mr.\r
+Casaubon, when he presented himself, had no bloom that could be thrown\r
+into relief by that background.\r
+\r
+"Oh dear!" Celia said to herself, "I am sure Freshitt Hall would have\r
+been pleasanter than this." She thought of the white freestone, the\r
+pillared portico, and the terrace full of flowers, Sir James smiling\r
+above them like a prince issuing from his enchantment in a rose-bush,\r
+with a handkerchief swiftly metamorphosed from the most delicately\r
+odorous petals--Sir James, who talked so agreeably, always about things\r
+which had common-sense in them, and not about learning! Celia had\r
+those light young feminine tastes which grave and weatherworn gentlemen\r
+sometimes prefer in a wife; but happily Mr. Casaubon's bias had been\r
+different, for he would have had no chance with Celia.\r
+\r
+Dorothea, on the contrary, found the house and grounds all that she\r
+could wish: the dark book-shelves in the long library, the carpets and\r
+curtains with colors subdued by time, the curious old maps and\r
+bird's-eye views on the walls of the corridor, with here and there an\r
+old vase below, had no oppression for her, and seemed more cheerful\r
+than the easts and pictures at the Grange, which her uncle had long ago\r
+brought home from his travels--they being probably among the ideas he\r
+had taken in at one time. To poor Dorothea these severe classical\r
+nudities and smirking Renaissance-Correggiosities were painfully\r
+inexplicable, staring into the midst of her Puritanic conceptions: she\r
+had never been taught how she could bring them into any sort of\r
+relevance with her life. But the owners of Lowick apparently had not\r
+been travellers, and Mr. Casaubon's studies of the past were not\r
+carried on by means of such aids.\r
+\r
+Dorothea walked about the house with delightful emotion. Everything\r
+seemed hallowed to her: this was to be the home of her wifehood, and\r
+she looked up with eyes full of confidence to Mr. Casaubon when he drew\r
+her attention specially to some actual arrangement and asked her if she\r
+would like an alteration. All appeals to her taste she met gratefully,\r
+but saw nothing to alter. His efforts at exact courtesy and formal\r
+tenderness had no defect for her. She filled up all blanks with\r
+unmanifested perfections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works\r
+of Providence, and accounting for seeming discords by her own deafness\r
+to the higher harmonies. And there are many blanks left in the weeks\r
+of courtship which a loving faith fills with happy assurance.\r
+\r
+"Now, my dear Dorothea, I wish you to favor me by pointing out which\r
+room you would like to have as your boudoir," said Mr. Casaubon,\r
+showing that his views of the womanly nature were sufficiently large to\r
+include that requirement.\r
+\r
+"It is very kind of you to think of that," said Dorothea, "but I assure\r
+you I would rather have all those matters decided for me. I shall be\r
+much happier to take everything as it is--just as you have been used to\r
+have it, or as you will yourself choose it to be. I have no motive for\r
+wishing anything else."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Dodo," said Celia, "will you not have the bow-windowed room\r
+up-stairs?"\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon led the way thither. The bow-window looked down the\r
+avenue of limes; the furniture was all of a faded blue, and there were\r
+miniatures of ladies and gentlemen with powdered hair hanging in a\r
+group. A piece of tapestry over a door also showed a blue-green world\r
+with a pale stag in it. The chairs and tables were thin-legged and\r
+easy to upset. It was a room where one might fancy the ghost of a\r
+tight-laced lady revisiting the scene of her embroidery. A light\r
+bookcase contained duodecimo volumes of polite literature in calf,\r
+completing the furniture.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Mr. Brooke, "this would be a pretty room with some new\r
+hangings, sofas, and that sort of thing. A little bare now."\r
+\r
+"No, uncle," said Dorothea, eagerly. "Pray do not speak of altering\r
+anything. There are so many other things in the world that want\r
+altering--I like to take these things as they are. And you like them\r
+as they are, don't you?" she added, looking at Mr. Casaubon. "Perhaps\r
+this was your mother's room when she was young."\r
+\r
+"It was," he said, with his slow bend of the head.\r
+\r
+"This is your mother," said Dorothea, who had turned to examine the\r
+group of miniatures. "It is like the tiny one you brought me; only, I\r
+should think, a better portrait. And this one opposite, who is this?"\r
+\r
+"Her elder sister. They were, like you and your sister, the only two\r
+children of their parents, who hang above them, you see."\r
+\r
+"The sister is pretty," said Celia, implying that she thought less\r
+favorably of Mr. Casaubon's mother. It was a new opening to Celia's\r
+imagination, that he came of a family who had all been young in their\r
+time--the ladies wearing necklaces.\r
+\r
+"It is a peculiar face," said Dorothea, looking closely. "Those deep\r
+gray eyes rather near together--and the delicate irregular nose with a\r
+sort of ripple in it--and all the powdered curls hanging backward.\r
+Altogether it seems to me peculiar rather than pretty. There is not\r
+even a family likeness between her and your mother."\r
+\r
+"No. And they were not alike in their lot."\r
+\r
+"You did not mention her to me," said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"My aunt made an unfortunate marriage. I never saw her."\r
+\r
+Dorothea wondered a little, but felt that it would be indelicate just\r
+then to ask for any information which Mr. Casaubon did not proffer, and\r
+she turned to the window to admire the view. The sun had lately\r
+pierced the gray, and the avenue of limes cast shadows.\r
+\r
+"Shall we not walk in the garden now?" said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"And you would like to see the church, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "It\r
+is a droll little church. And the village. It all lies in a\r
+nut-shell. By the way, it will suit you, Dorothea; for the cottages are\r
+like a row of alms-houses--little gardens, gilly-flowers, that sort of\r
+thing."\r
+\r
+"Yes, please," said Dorothea, looking at Mr. Casaubon, "I should like\r
+to see all that." She had got nothing from him more graphic about the\r
+Lowick cottages than that they were "not bad."\r
+\r
+They were soon on a gravel walk which led chiefly between grassy\r
+borders and clumps of trees, this being the nearest way to the church,\r
+Mr. Casaubon said. At the little gate leading into the churchyard\r
+there was a pause while Mr. Casaubon went to the parsonage close by to\r
+fetch a key. Celia, who had been hanging a little in the rear, came up\r
+presently, when she saw that Mr. Casaubon was gone away, and said in\r
+her easy staccato, which always seemed to contradict the suspicion of\r
+any malicious intent--\r
+\r
+"Do you know, Dorothea, I saw some one quite young coming up one of the\r
+walks."\r
+\r
+"Is that astonishing, Celia?"\r
+\r
+"There may be a young gardener, you know--why not?" said Mr. Brooke.\r
+"I told Casaubon he should change his gardener."\r
+\r
+"No, not a gardener," said Celia; "a gentleman with a sketch-book. He\r
+had light-brown curls. I only saw his back. But he was quite young."\r
+\r
+"The curate's son, perhaps," said Mr. Brooke. "Ah, there is Casaubon\r
+again, and Tucker with him. He is going to introduce Tucker. You\r
+don't know Tucker yet."\r
+\r
+Mr. Tucker was the middle-aged curate, one of the "inferior clergy,"\r
+who are usually not wanting in sons. But after the introduction, the\r
+conversation did not lead to any question about his family, and the\r
+startling apparition of youthfulness was forgotten by every one but\r
+Celia. She inwardly declined to believe that the light-brown curls and\r
+slim figure could have any relationship to Mr. Tucker, who was just as\r
+old and musty-looking as she would have expected Mr. Casaubon's curate\r
+to be; doubtless an excellent man who would go to heaven (for Celia\r
+wished not to be unprincipled), but the corners of his mouth were so\r
+unpleasant. Celia thought with some dismalness of the time she should\r
+have to spend as bridesmaid at Lowick, while the curate had probably no\r
+pretty little children whom she could like, irrespective of principle.\r
+\r
+Mr. Tucker was invaluable in their walk; and perhaps Mr. Casaubon had\r
+not been without foresight on this head, the curate being able to\r
+answer all Dorothea's questions about the villagers and the other\r
+parishioners. Everybody, he assured her, was well off in Lowick: not a\r
+cottager in those double cottages at a low rent but kept a pig, and the\r
+strips of garden at the back were well tended. The small boys wore\r
+excellent corduroy, the girls went out as tidy servants, or did a\r
+little straw-plaiting at home: no looms here, no Dissent; and though\r
+the public disposition was rather towards laying by money than towards\r
+spirituality, there was not much vice. The speckled fowls were so\r
+numerous that Mr. Brooke observed, "Your farmers leave some barley for\r
+the women to glean, I see. The poor folks here might have a fowl in\r
+their pot, as the good French king used to wish for all his people.\r
+The French eat a good many fowls--skinny fowls, you know."\r
+\r
+"I think it was a very cheap wish of his," said Dorothea, indignantly.\r
+"Are kings such monsters that a wish like that must be reckoned a royal\r
+virtue?"\r
+\r
+"And if he wished them a skinny fowl," said Celia, "that would not be\r
+nice. But perhaps he wished them to have fat fowls."\r
+\r
+"Yes, but the word has dropped out of the text, or perhaps was\r
+subauditum; that is, present in the king's mind, but not uttered," said\r
+Mr. Casaubon, smiling and bending his head towards Celia, who\r
+immediately dropped backward a little, because she could not bear Mr.\r
+Casaubon to blink at her.\r
+\r
+Dorothea sank into silence on the way back to the house. She felt some\r
+disappointment, of which she was yet ashamed, that there was nothing\r
+for her to do in Lowick; and in the next few minutes her mind had\r
+glanced over the possibility, which she would have preferred, of\r
+finding that her home would be in a parish which had a larger share of\r
+the world's misery, so that she might have had more active duties in\r
+it. Then, recurring to the future actually before her, she made a\r
+picture of more complete devotion to Mr. Casaubon's aims in which she\r
+would await new duties. Many such might reveal themselves to the\r
+higher knowledge gained by her in that companionship.\r
+\r
+Mr. Tucker soon left them, having some clerical work which would not\r
+allow him to lunch at the Hall; and as they were re-entering the garden\r
+through the little gate, Mr. Casaubon said--\r
+\r
+"You seem a little sad, Dorothea. I trust you are pleased with what\r
+you have seen."\r
+\r
+"I am feeling something which is perhaps foolish and wrong," answered\r
+Dorothea, with her usual openness--"almost wishing that the people\r
+wanted more to be done for them here. I have known so few ways of\r
+making my life good for anything. Of course, my notions of usefulness\r
+must be narrow. I must learn new ways of helping people."\r
+\r
+"Doubtless," said Mr. Casaubon. "Each position has its corresponding\r
+duties. Yours, I trust, as the mistress of Lowick, will not leave any\r
+yearning unfulfilled."\r
+\r
+"Indeed, I believe that," said Dorothea, earnestly. "Do not suppose\r
+that I am sad."\r
+\r
+"That is well. But, if you are not tired, we will take another way to\r
+the house than that by which we came."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was not at all tired, and a little circuit was made towards a\r
+fine yew-tree, the chief hereditary glory of the grounds on this side\r
+of the house. As they approached it, a figure, conspicuous on a dark\r
+background of evergreens, was seated on a bench, sketching the old\r
+tree. Mr. Brooke, who was walking in front with Celia, turned his\r
+head, and said--\r
+\r
+"Who is that youngster, Casaubon?"\r
+\r
+They had come very near when Mr. Casaubon answered--\r
+\r
+"That is a young relative of mine, a second cousin: the grandson, in\r
+fact," he added, looking at Dorothea, "of the lady whose portrait you\r
+have been noticing, my aunt Julia."\r
+\r
+The young man had laid down his sketch-book and risen. His bushy\r
+light-brown curls, as well as his youthfulness, identified him at once\r
+with Celia's apparition.\r
+\r
+"Dorothea, let me introduce to you my cousin, Mr. Ladislaw. Will, this\r
+is Miss Brooke."\r
+\r
+The cousin was so close now, that, when he lifted his hat, Dorothea\r
+could see a pair of gray eyes rather near together, a delicate\r
+irregular nose with a little ripple in it, and hair falling backward;\r
+but there was a mouth and chin of a more prominent, threatening aspect\r
+than belonged to the type of the grandmother's miniature. Young\r
+Ladislaw did not feel it necessary to smile, as if he were charmed with\r
+this introduction to his future second cousin and her relatives; but\r
+wore rather a pouting air of discontent.\r
+\r
+"You are an artist, I see," said Mr. Brooke, taking up the sketch-book\r
+and turning it over in his unceremonious fashion.\r
+\r
+"No, I only sketch a little. There is nothing fit to be seen there,"\r
+said young Ladislaw, coloring, perhaps with temper rather than modesty.\r
+\r
+"Oh, come, this is a nice bit, now. I did a little in this way myself\r
+at one time, you know. Look here, now; this is what I call a nice\r
+thing, done with what we used to call _brio_." Mr. Brooke held out\r
+towards the two girls a large colored sketch of stony ground and trees,\r
+with a pool.\r
+\r
+"I am no judge of these things," said Dorothea, not coldly, but with an\r
+eager deprecation of the appeal to her. "You know, uncle, I never see\r
+the beauty of those pictures which you say are so much praised. They\r
+are a language I do not understand. I suppose there is some relation\r
+between pictures and nature which I am too ignorant to feel--just as\r
+you see what a Greek sentence stands for which means nothing to me."\r
+Dorothea looked up at Mr. Casaubon, who bowed his head towards her,\r
+while Mr. Brooke said, smiling nonchalantly--\r
+\r
+"Bless me, now, how different people are! But you had a bad style of\r
+teaching, you know--else this is just the thing for girls--sketching,\r
+fine art and so on. But you took to drawing plans; you don't\r
+understand morbidezza, and that kind of thing. You will come to my\r
+house, I hope, and I will show you what I did in this way," he\r
+continued, turning to young Ladislaw, who had to be recalled from his\r
+preoccupation in observing Dorothea. Ladislaw had made up his mind\r
+that she must be an unpleasant girl, since she was going to marry\r
+Casaubon, and what she said of her stupidity about pictures would have\r
+confirmed that opinion even if he had believed her. As it was, he took\r
+her words for a covert judgment, and was certain that she thought his\r
+sketch detestable. There was too much cleverness in her apology: she\r
+was laughing both at her uncle and himself. But what a voice! It was\r
+like the voice of a soul that had once lived in an Aeolian harp. This\r
+must be one of Nature's inconsistencies. There could be no sort of\r
+passion in a girl who would marry Casaubon. But he turned from her,\r
+and bowed his thanks for Mr. Brooke's invitation.\r
+\r
+"We will turn over my Italian engravings together," continued that\r
+good-natured man. "I have no end of those things, that I have laid by\r
+for years. One gets rusty in this part of the country, you know. Not\r
+you, Casaubon; you stick to your studies; but my best ideas get\r
+undermost--out of use, you know. You clever young men must guard\r
+against indolence. I was too indolent, you know: else I might have\r
+been anywhere at one time."\r
+\r
+"That is a seasonable admonition," said Mr. Casaubon; "but now we will\r
+pass on to the house, lest the young ladies should be tired of\r
+standing."\r
+\r
+When their backs were turned, young Ladislaw sat down to go on with his\r
+sketching, and as he did so his face broke into an expression of\r
+amusement which increased as he went on drawing, till at last he threw\r
+back his head and laughed aloud. Partly it was the reception of his\r
+own artistic production that tickled him; partly the notion of his\r
+grave cousin as the lover of that girl; and partly Mr. Brooke's\r
+definition of the place he might have held but for the impediment of\r
+indolence. Mr. Will Ladislaw's sense of the ludicrous lit up his\r
+features very agreeably: it was the pure enjoyment of comicality, and\r
+had no mixture of sneering and self-exaltation.\r
+\r
+"What is your nephew going to do with himself, Casaubon?" said Mr.\r
+Brooke, as they went on.\r
+\r
+"My cousin, you mean--not my nephew."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes, cousin. But in the way of a career, you know."\r
+\r
+"The answer to that question is painfully doubtful. On leaving Rugby\r
+he declined to go to an English university, where I would gladly have\r
+placed him, and chose what I must consider the anomalous course of\r
+studying at Heidelberg. And now he wants to go abroad again, without\r
+any special object, save the vague purpose of what he calls culture,\r
+preparation for he knows not what. He declines to choose a profession."\r
+\r
+"He has no means but what you furnish, I suppose."\r
+\r
+"I have always given him and his friends reason to understand that I\r
+would furnish in moderation what was necessary for providing him with a\r
+scholarly education, and launching him respectably. I am-therefore\r
+bound to fulfil the expectation so raised," said Mr. Casaubon, putting\r
+his conduct in the light of mere rectitude: a trait of delicacy which\r
+Dorothea noticed with admiration.\r
+\r
+"He has a thirst for travelling; perhaps he may turn out a Bruce or a\r
+Mungo Park," said Mr. Brooke. "I had a notion of that myself at one\r
+time."\r
+\r
+"No, he has no bent towards exploration, or the enlargement of our\r
+geognosis: that would be a special purpose which I could recognize with\r
+some approbation, though without felicitating him on a career which so\r
+often ends in premature and violent death. But so far is he from\r
+having any desire for a more accurate knowledge of the earth's surface,\r
+that he said he should prefer not to know the sources of the Nile, and\r
+that there should be some unknown regions preserved as hunting grounds\r
+for the poetic imagination."\r
+\r
+"Well, there is something in that, you know," said Mr. Brooke, who had\r
+certainly an impartial mind.\r
+\r
+"It is, I fear, nothing more than a part of his general inaccuracy and\r
+indisposition to thoroughness of all kinds, which would be a bad augury\r
+for him in any profession, civil or sacred, even were he so far\r
+submissive to ordinary rule as to choose one."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps he has conscientious scruples founded on his own unfitness,"\r
+said Dorothea, who was interesting herself in finding a favorable\r
+explanation. "Because the law and medicine should be very serious\r
+professions to undertake, should they not? People's lives and fortunes\r
+depend on them."\r
+\r
+"Doubtless; but I fear that my young relative Will Ladislaw is chiefly\r
+determined in his aversion to these callings by a dislike to steady\r
+application, and to that kind of acquirement which is needful\r
+instrumentally, but is not charming or immediately inviting to\r
+self-indulgent taste. I have insisted to him on what Aristotle has\r
+stated with admirable brevity, that for the achievement of any work\r
+regarded as an end there must be a prior exercise of many energies or\r
+acquired facilities of a secondary order, demanding patience. I have\r
+pointed to my own manuscript volumes, which represent the toil of years\r
+preparatory to a work not yet accomplished. But in vain. To careful\r
+reasoning of this kind he replies by calling himself Pegasus, and every\r
+form of prescribed work 'harness.'"\r
+\r
+Celia laughed. She was surprised to find that Mr. Casaubon could say\r
+something quite amusing.\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, he may turn out a Byron, a Chatterton, a\r
+Churchill--that sort of thing--there's no telling," said Mr. Brooke.\r
+"Shall you let him go to Italy, or wherever else he wants to go?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; I have agreed to furnish him with moderate supplies for a year or\r
+so; he asks no more. I shall let him be tried by the test of freedom."\r
+\r
+"That is very kind of you," said Dorothea, looking up at Mr. Casaubon\r
+with delight. "It is noble. After all, people may really have in them\r
+some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not?\r
+They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be\r
+very patient with each other, I think."\r
+\r
+"I suppose it is being engaged to be married that has made you think\r
+patience good," said Celia, as soon as she and Dorothea were alone\r
+together, taking off their wrappings.\r
+\r
+"You mean that I am very impatient, Celia."\r
+\r
+"Yes; when people don't do and say just what you like." Celia had\r
+become less afraid of "saying things" to Dorothea since this\r
+engagement: cleverness seemed to her more pitiable than ever.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER X.\r
+\r
+ "He had catched a great cold, had he had no other clothes\r
+ to wear than the skin of a bear not yet killed."--FULLER.\r
+\r
+\r
+Young Ladislaw did not pay that visit to which Mr. Brooke had invited\r
+him, and only six days afterwards Mr. Casaubon mentioned that his young\r
+relative had started for the Continent, seeming by this cold vagueness\r
+to waive inquiry. Indeed, Will had declined to fix on any more precise\r
+destination than the entire area of Europe. Genius, he held, is\r
+necessarily intolerant of fetters: on the one hand it must have the\r
+utmost play for its spontaneity; on the other, it may confidently await\r
+those messages from the universe which summon it to its peculiar work,\r
+only placing itself in an attitude of receptivity towards all sublime\r
+chances. The attitudes of receptivity are various, and Will had\r
+sincerely tried many of them. He was not excessively fond of wine, but\r
+he had several times taken too much, simply as an experiment in that\r
+form of ecstasy; he had fasted till he was faint, and then supped on\r
+lobster; he had made himself ill with doses of opium. Nothing greatly\r
+original had resulted from these measures; and the effects of the opium\r
+had convinced him that there was an entire dissimilarity between his\r
+constitution and De Quincey's. The superadded circumstance which would\r
+evolve the genius had not yet come; the universe had not yet beckoned.\r
+Even Caesar's fortune at one time was, but a grand presentiment. We\r
+know what a masquerade all development is, and what effective shapes\r
+may be disguised in helpless embryos.--In fact, the world is full of\r
+hopeful analogies and handsome dubious eggs called possibilities. Will\r
+saw clearly enough the pitiable instances of long incubation producing\r
+no chick, and but for gratitude would have laughed at Casaubon, whose\r
+plodding application, rows of note-books, and small taper of learned\r
+theory exploring the tossed ruins of the world, seemed to enforce a\r
+moral entirely encouraging to Will's generous reliance on the\r
+intentions of the universe with regard to himself. He held that\r
+reliance to be a mark of genius; and certainly it is no mark to the\r
+contrary; genius consisting neither in self-conceit nor in humility,\r
+but in a power to make or do, not anything in general, but something in\r
+particular. Let him start for the Continent, then, without our\r
+pronouncing on his future. Among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the\r
+most gratuitous.\r
+\r
+But at present this caution against a too hasty judgment interests me\r
+more in relation to Mr. Casaubon than to his young cousin. If to\r
+Dorothea Mr. Casaubon had been the mere occasion which had set alight\r
+the fine inflammable material of her youthful illusions, does it follow\r
+that he was fairly represented in the minds of those less impassioned\r
+personages who have hitherto delivered their judgments concerning him?\r
+I protest against any absolute conclusion, any prejudice derived from\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader's contempt for a neighboring clergyman's alleged\r
+greatness of soul, or Sir James Chettam's poor opinion of his rival's\r
+legs,--from Mr. Brooke's failure to elicit a companion's ideas, or from\r
+Celia's criticism of a middle-aged scholar's personal appearance. I am\r
+not sure that the greatest man of his age, if ever that solitary\r
+superlative existed, could escape these unfavorable reflections of\r
+himself in various small mirrors; and even Milton, looking for his\r
+portrait in a spoon, must submit to have the facial angle of a bumpkin.\r
+Moreover, if Mr. Casaubon, speaking for himself, has rather a chilling\r
+rhetoric, it is not therefore certain that there is no good work or\r
+fine feeling in him. Did not an immortal physicist and interpreter of\r
+hieroglyphs write detestable verses? Has the theory of the solar\r
+system been advanced by graceful manners and conversational tact?\r
+Suppose we turn from outside estimates of a man, to wonder, with keener\r
+interest, what is the report of his own consciousness about his doings\r
+or capacity: with what hindrances he is carrying on his daily labors;\r
+what fading of hopes, or what deeper fixity of self-delusion the years\r
+are marking off within him; and with what spirit he wrestles against\r
+universal pressure, which will one day be too heavy for him, and bring\r
+his heart to its final pause. Doubtless his lot is important in his\r
+own eyes; and the chief reason that we think he asks too large a place\r
+in our consideration must be our want of room for him, since we refer\r
+him to the Divine regard with perfect confidence; nay, it is even held\r
+sublime for our neighbor to expect the utmost there, however little he\r
+may have got from us. Mr. Casaubon, too, was the centre of his own\r
+world; if he was liable to think that others were providentially made\r
+for him, and especially to consider them in the light of their fitness\r
+for the author of a "Key to all Mythologies," this trait is not quite\r
+alien to us, and, like the other mendicant hopes of mortals, claims\r
+some of our pity.\r
+\r
+Certainly this affair of his marriage with Miss Brooke touched him more\r
+nearly than it did any one of the persons who have hitherto shown their\r
+disapproval of it, and in the present stage of things I feel more\r
+tenderly towards his experience of success than towards the\r
+disappointment of the amiable Sir James. For in truth, as the day\r
+fixed for his marriage came nearer, Mr. Casaubon did not find his\r
+spirits rising; nor did the contemplation of that matrimonial garden\r
+scene, where, as all experience showed, the path was to be bordered\r
+with flowers, prove persistently more enchanting to him than the\r
+accustomed vaults where he walked taper in hand. He did not confess to\r
+himself, still less could he have breathed to another, his surprise\r
+that though he had won a lovely and noble-hearted girl he had not won\r
+delight,--which he had also regarded as an object to be found by\r
+search. It is true that he knew all the classical passages implying\r
+the contrary; but knowing classical passages, we find, is a mode of\r
+motion, which explains why they leave so little extra force for their\r
+personal application.\r
+\r
+Poor Mr. Casaubon had imagined that his long studious bachelorhood had\r
+stored up for him a compound interest of enjoyment, and that large\r
+drafts on his affections would not fail to be honored; for we all of\r
+us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act\r
+fatally on the strength of them. And now he was in danger of being\r
+saddened by the very conviction that his circumstances were unusually\r
+happy: there was nothing external by which he could account for a\r
+certain blankness of sensibility which came over him just when his\r
+expectant gladness should have been most lively, just when he exchanged\r
+the accustomed dulness of his Lowick library for his visits to the\r
+Grange. Here was a weary experience in which he was as utterly\r
+condemned to loneliness as in the despair which sometimes threatened\r
+him while toiling in the morass of authorship without seeming nearer to\r
+the goal. And his was that worst loneliness which would shrink from\r
+sympathy. He could not but wish that Dorothea should think him not\r
+less happy than the world would expect her successful suitor to be; and\r
+in relation to his authorship he leaned on her young trust and\r
+veneration, he liked to draw forth her fresh interest in listening, as\r
+a means of encouragement to himself: in talking to her he presented all\r
+his performance and intention with the reflected confidence of the\r
+pedagogue, and rid himself for the time of that chilling ideal audience\r
+which crowded his laborious uncreative hours with the vaporous pressure\r
+of Tartarean shades.\r
+\r
+For to Dorothea, after that toy-box history of the world adapted to\r
+young ladies which had made the chief part of her education, Mr.\r
+Casaubon's talk about his great book was full of new vistas; and this\r
+sense of revelation, this surprise of a nearer introduction to Stoics\r
+and Alexandrians, as people who had ideas not totally unlike her own,\r
+kept in abeyance for the time her usual eagerness for a binding theory\r
+which could bring her own life and doctrine into strict connection with\r
+that amazing past, and give the remotest sources of knowledge some\r
+bearing on her actions. That more complete teaching would come--Mr.\r
+Casaubon would tell her all that: she was looking forward to higher\r
+initiation in ideas, as she was looking forward to marriage, and\r
+blending her dim conceptions of both. It would be a great mistake to\r
+suppose that Dorothea would have cared about any share in Mr.\r
+Casaubon's learning as mere accomplishment; for though opinion in the\r
+neighborhood of Freshitt and Tipton had pronounced her clever, that\r
+epithet would not have described her to circles in whose more precise\r
+vocabulary cleverness implies mere aptitude for knowing and doing,\r
+apart from character. All her eagerness for acquirement lay within\r
+that full current of sympathetic motive in which her ideas and impulses\r
+were habitually swept along. She did not want to deck herself with\r
+knowledge--to wear it loose from the nerves and blood that fed her\r
+action; and if she had written a book she must have done it as Saint\r
+Theresa did, under the command of an authority that constrained her\r
+conscience. But something she yearned for by which her life might be\r
+filled with action at once rational and ardent; and since the time was\r
+gone by for guiding visions and spiritual directors, since prayer\r
+heightened yearning but not instruction, what lamp was there but\r
+knowledge? Surely learned men kept the only oil; and who more learned\r
+than Mr. Casaubon?\r
+\r
+Thus in these brief weeks Dorothea's joyous grateful expectation was\r
+unbroken, and however her lover might occasionally be conscious of\r
+flatness, he could never refer it to any slackening of her affectionate\r
+interest.\r
+\r
+The season was mild enough to encourage the project of extending the\r
+wedding journey as far as Rome, and Mr. Casaubon was anxious for this\r
+because he wished to inspect some manuscripts in the Vatican.\r
+\r
+"I still regret that your sister is not to accompany us," he said one\r
+morning, some time after it had been ascertained that Celia objected to\r
+go, and that Dorothea did not wish for her companionship. "You will\r
+have many lonely hours, Dorothea, for I shall be constrained to make\r
+the utmost use of my time during our stay in Rome, and I should feel\r
+more at liberty if you had a companion."\r
+\r
+The words "I should feel more at liberty" grated on Dorothea. For the\r
+first time in speaking to Mr. Casaubon she colored from annoyance.\r
+\r
+"You must have misunderstood me very much," she said, "if you think I\r
+should not enter into the value of your time--if you think that I\r
+should not willingly give up whatever interfered with your using it to\r
+the best purpose."\r
+\r
+"That is very amiable in you, my dear Dorothea," said Mr. Casaubon, not\r
+in the least noticing that she was hurt; "but if you had a lady as your\r
+companion, I could put you both under the care of a cicerone, and we\r
+could thus achieve two purposes in the same space of time."\r
+\r
+"I beg you will not refer to this again," said Dorothea, rather\r
+haughtily. But immediately she feared that she was wrong, and turning\r
+towards him she laid her hand on his, adding in a different tone, "Pray\r
+do not be anxious about me. I shall have so much to think of when I am\r
+alone. And Tantripp will be a sufficient companion, just to take care\r
+of me. I could not bear to have Celia: she would be miserable."\r
+\r
+It was time to dress. There was to be a dinner-party that day, the\r
+last of the parties which were held at the Grange as proper\r
+preliminaries to the wedding, and Dorothea was glad of a reason for\r
+moving away at once on the sound of the bell, as if she needed more\r
+than her usual amount of preparation. She was ashamed of being\r
+irritated from some cause she could not define even to herself; for\r
+though she had no intention to be untruthful, her reply had not touched\r
+the real hurt within her. Mr. Casaubon's words had been quite\r
+reasonable, yet they had brought a vague instantaneous sense of\r
+aloofness on his part.\r
+\r
+"Surely I am in a strangely selfish weak state of mind," she said to\r
+herself. "How can I have a husband who is so much above me without\r
+knowing that he needs me less than I need him?"\r
+\r
+Having convinced herself that Mr. Casaubon was altogether right, she\r
+recovered her equanimity, and was an agreeable image of serene dignity\r
+when she came into the drawing-room in her silver-gray dress--the\r
+simple lines of her dark-brown hair parted over her brow and coiled\r
+massively behind, in keeping with the entire absence from her manner\r
+and expression of all search after mere effect. Sometimes when\r
+Dorothea was in company, there seemed to be as complete an air of\r
+repose about her as if she had been a picture of Santa Barbara looking\r
+out from her tower into the clear air; but these intervals of quietude\r
+made the energy of her speech and emotion the more remarked when some\r
+outward appeal had touched her.\r
+\r
+She was naturally the subject of many observations this evening, for\r
+the dinner-party was large and rather more miscellaneous as to the male\r
+portion than any which had been held at the Grange since Mr. Brooke's\r
+nieces had resided with him, so that the talking was done in duos and\r
+trios more or less inharmonious. There was the newly elected mayor of\r
+Middlemarch, who happened to be a manufacturer; the philanthropic\r
+banker his brother-in-law, who predominated so much in the town that\r
+some called him a Methodist, others a hypocrite, according to the\r
+resources of their vocabulary; and there were various professional men.\r
+In fact, Mrs. Cadwallader said that Brooke was beginning to treat the\r
+Middlemarchers, and that she preferred the farmers at the tithe-dinner,\r
+who drank her health unpretentiously, and were not ashamed of their\r
+grandfathers' furniture. For in that part of the country, before\r
+reform had done its notable part in developing the political\r
+consciousness, there was a clearer distinction of ranks and a dimmer\r
+distinction of parties; so that Mr. Brooke's miscellaneous invitations\r
+seemed to belong to that general laxity which came from his inordinate\r
+travel and habit of taking too much in the form of ideas.\r
+\r
+Already, as Miss Brooke passed out of the dining-room, opportunity was\r
+found for some interjectional "asides."\r
+\r
+"A fine woman, Miss Brooke! an uncommonly fine woman, by God!" said Mr.\r
+Standish, the old lawyer, who had been so long concerned with the\r
+landed gentry that he had become landed himself, and used that oath in\r
+a deep-mouthed manner as a sort of armorial bearings, stamping the\r
+speech of a man who held a good position.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, the banker, seemed to be addressed, but that gentleman\r
+disliked coarseness and profanity, and merely bowed. The remark was\r
+taken up by Mr. Chichely, a middle-aged bachelor and coursing\r
+celebrity, who had a complexion something like an Easter egg, a few\r
+hairs carefully arranged, and a carriage implying the consciousness of\r
+a distinguished appearance.\r
+\r
+"Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who lays herself out a\r
+little more to please us. There should be a little filigree about a\r
+woman--something of the coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge.\r
+The more of a dead set she makes at you the better."\r
+\r
+"There's some truth in that," said Mr. Standish, disposed to be genial.\r
+"And, by God, it's usually the way with them. I suppose it answers\r
+some wise ends: Providence made them so, eh, Bulstrode?"\r
+\r
+"I should be disposed to refer coquetry to another source," said Mr.\r
+Bulstrode. "I should rather refer it to the devil."\r
+\r
+"Ay, to be sure, there should be a little devil in a woman," said Mr.\r
+Chichely, whose study of the fair sex seemed to have been detrimental\r
+to his theology. "And I like them blond, with a certain gait, and a\r
+swan neck. Between ourselves, the mayor's daughter is more to my taste\r
+than Miss Brooke or Miss Celia either. If I were a marrying man I\r
+should choose Miss Vincy before either of them."\r
+\r
+"Well, make up, make up," said Mr. Standish, jocosely; "you see the\r
+middle-aged fellows early the day."\r
+\r
+Mr. Chichely shook his head with much meaning: he was not going to\r
+incur the certainty of being accepted by the woman he would choose.\r
+\r
+The Miss Vincy who had the honor of being Mr. Chichely's ideal was of\r
+course not present; for Mr. Brooke, always objecting to go too far,\r
+would not have chosen that his nieces should meet the daughter of a\r
+Middlemarch manufacturer, unless it were on a public occasion. The\r
+feminine part of the company included none whom Lady Chettam or Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader could object to; for Mrs. Renfrew, the colonel's widow, was\r
+not only unexceptionable in point of breeding, but also interesting on\r
+the ground of her complaint, which puzzled the doctors, and seemed\r
+clearly a case wherein the fulness of professional knowledge might need\r
+the supplement of quackery. Lady Chettam, who attributed her own\r
+remarkable health to home-made bitters united with constant medical\r
+attendance, entered with much exercise of the imagination into Mrs.\r
+Renfrew's account of symptoms, and into the amazing futility in her\r
+case of all strengthening medicines.\r
+\r
+"Where can all the strength of those medicines go, my dear?" said the\r
+mild but stately dowager, turning to Mrs. Cadwallader reflectively,\r
+when Mrs. Renfrew's attention was called away.\r
+\r
+"It strengthens the disease," said the Rector's wife, much too\r
+well-born not to be an amateur in medicine. "Everything depends on the\r
+constitution: some people make fat, some blood, and some bile--that's\r
+my view of the matter; and whatever they take is a sort of grist to the\r
+mill."\r
+\r
+"Then she ought to take medicines that would reduce--reduce the\r
+disease, you know, if you are right, my dear. And I think what you say\r
+is reasonable."\r
+\r
+"Certainly it is reasonable. You have two sorts of potatoes, fed on\r
+the same soil. One of them grows more and more watery--"\r
+\r
+"Ah! like this poor Mrs. Renfrew--that is what I think. Dropsy! There\r
+is no swelling yet--it is inward. I should say she ought to take\r
+drying medicines, shouldn't you?--or a dry hot-air bath. Many things\r
+might be tried, of a drying nature."\r
+\r
+"Let her try a certain person's pamphlets," said Mrs. Cadwallader in an\r
+undertone, seeing the gentlemen enter. "He does not want drying."\r
+\r
+"Who, my dear?" said Lady Chettam, a charming woman, not so quick as to\r
+nullify the pleasure of explanation.\r
+\r
+"The bridegroom--Casaubon. He has certainly been drying up faster since\r
+the engagement: the flame of passion, I suppose."\r
+\r
+"I should think he is far from having a good constitution," said Lady\r
+Chettam, with a still deeper undertone. "And then his studies--so very\r
+dry, as you say."\r
+\r
+"Really, by the side of Sir James, he looks like a death's head skinned\r
+over for the occasion. Mark my words: in a year from this time that\r
+girl will hate him. She looks up to him as an oracle now, and\r
+by-and-by she will be at the other extreme. All flightiness!"\r
+\r
+"How very shocking! I fear she is headstrong. But tell me--you know\r
+all about him--is there anything very bad? What is the truth?"\r
+\r
+"The truth? he is as bad as the wrong physic--nasty to take, and sure\r
+to disagree."\r
+\r
+"There could not be anything worse than that," said Lady Chettam, with\r
+so vivid a conception of the physic that she seemed to have learned\r
+something exact about Mr. Casaubon's disadvantages. "However, James\r
+will hear nothing against Miss Brooke. He says she is the mirror of\r
+women still."\r
+\r
+"That is a generous make-believe of his. Depend upon it, he likes\r
+little Celia better, and she appreciates him. I hope you like my\r
+little Celia?"\r
+\r
+"Certainly; she is fonder of geraniums, and seems more docile, though\r
+not so fine a figure. But we were talking of physic. Tell me about\r
+this new young surgeon, Mr. Lydgate. I am told he is wonderfully\r
+clever: he certainly looks it--a fine brow indeed."\r
+\r
+"He is a gentleman. I heard him talking to Humphrey. He talks well."\r
+\r
+"Yes. Mr. Brooke says he is one of the Lydgates of Northumberland,\r
+really well connected. One does not expect it in a practitioner of\r
+that kind. For my own part, I like a medical man more on a footing\r
+with the servants; they are often all the cleverer. I assure you I\r
+found poor Hicks's judgment unfailing; I never knew him wrong. He was\r
+coarse and butcher-like, but he knew my constitution. It was a loss to\r
+me his going off so suddenly. Dear me, what a very animated\r
+conversation Miss Brooke seems to be having with this Mr. Lydgate!"\r
+\r
+"She is talking cottages and hospitals with him," said Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, whose ears and power of interpretation were quick. "I\r
+believe he is a sort of philanthropist, so Brooke is sure to take him\r
+up."\r
+\r
+"James," said Lady Chettam when her son came near, "bring Mr. Lydgate\r
+and introduce him to me. I want to test him."\r
+\r
+The affable dowager declared herself delighted with this opportunity of\r
+making Mr. Lydgate's acquaintance, having heard of his success in\r
+treating fever on a new plan.\r
+\r
+Mr. Lydgate had the medical accomplishment of looking perfectly grave\r
+whatever nonsense was talked to him, and his dark steady eyes gave him\r
+impressiveness as a listener. He was as little as possible like the\r
+lamented Hicks, especially in a certain careless refinement about his\r
+toilet and utterance. Yet Lady Chettam gathered much confidence in\r
+him. He confirmed her view of her own constitution as being peculiar,\r
+by admitting that all constitutions might be called peculiar, and he\r
+did not deny that hers might be more peculiar than others. He did not\r
+approve of a too lowering system, including reckless cupping, nor, on\r
+the other hand, of incessant port wine and bark. He said "I think so"\r
+with an air of so much deference accompanying the insight of agreement,\r
+that she formed the most cordial opinion of his talents.\r
+\r
+"I am quite pleased with your protege," she said to Mr. Brooke before\r
+going away.\r
+\r
+"My protege?--dear me!--who is that?" said Mr. Brooke.\r
+\r
+"This young Lydgate, the new doctor. He seems to me to understand his\r
+profession admirably."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Lydgate! he is not my protege, you know; only I knew an uncle of\r
+his who sent me a letter about him. However, I think he is likely to\r
+be first-rate--has studied in Paris, knew Broussais; has ideas, you\r
+know--wants to raise the profession."\r
+\r
+"Lydgate has lots of ideas, quite new, about ventilation and diet, that\r
+sort of thing," resumed Mr. Brooke, after he had handed out Lady\r
+Chettam, and had returned to be civil to a group of Middlemarchers.\r
+\r
+"Hang it, do you think that is quite sound?--upsetting The old\r
+treatment, which has made Englishmen what they are?" said Mr. Standish.\r
+\r
+"Medical knowledge is at a low ebb among us," said Mr. Bulstrode, who\r
+spoke in a subdued tone, and had rather a sickly air. "I, for my part,\r
+hail the advent of Mr. Lydgate. I hope to find good reason for\r
+confiding the new hospital to his management."\r
+\r
+"That is all very fine," replied Mr. Standish, who was not fond of Mr.\r
+Bulstrode; "if you like him to try experiments on your hospital\r
+patients, and kill a few people for charity I have no objection. But I\r
+am not going to hand money out of my purse to have experiments tried on\r
+me. I like treatment that has been tested a little."\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, Standish, every dose you take is an experiment-an\r
+experiment, you know," said Mr. Brooke, nodding towards the lawyer.\r
+\r
+"Oh, if you talk in that sense!" said Mr. Standish, with as much\r
+disgust at such non-legal quibbling as a man can well betray towards a\r
+valuable client.\r
+\r
+"I should be glad of any treatment that would cure me without reducing\r
+me to a skeleton, like poor Grainger," said Mr. Vincy, the mayor, a\r
+florid man, who would have served for a study of flesh in striking\r
+contrast with the Franciscan tints of Mr. Bulstrode. "It's an\r
+uncommonly dangerous thing to be left without any padding against the\r
+shafts of disease, as somebody said,--and I think it a very good\r
+expression myself."\r
+\r
+Mr. Lydgate, of course, was out of hearing. He had quitted the party\r
+early, and would have thought it altogether tedious but for the novelty\r
+of certain introductions, especially the introduction to Miss Brooke,\r
+whose youthful bloom, with her approaching marriage to that faded\r
+scholar, and her interest in matters socially useful, gave her the\r
+piquancy of an unusual combination.\r
+\r
+"She is a good creature--that fine girl--but a little too earnest," he\r
+thought. "It is troublesome to talk to such women. They are always\r
+wanting reasons, yet they are too ignorant to understand the merits of\r
+any question, and usually fall back on their moral sense to settle\r
+things after their own taste."\r
+\r
+Evidently Miss Brooke was not Mr. Lydgate's style of woman any more\r
+than Mr. Chichely's. Considered, indeed, in relation to the latter,\r
+whose mind was matured, she was altogether a mistake, and calculated to\r
+shock his trust in final causes, including the adaptation of fine young\r
+women to purplefaced bachelors. But Lydgate was less ripe, and might\r
+possibly have experience before him which would modify his opinion as\r
+to the most excellent things in woman.\r
+\r
+Miss Brooke, however, was not again seen by either of these gentlemen\r
+under her maiden name. Not long after that dinner-party she had become\r
+Mrs. Casaubon, and was on her way to Rome.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XI.\r
+\r
+ "But deeds and language such as men do use,\r
+ And persons such as comedy would choose,\r
+ When she would show an image of the times,\r
+ And sport with human follies, not with crimes."\r
+ --BEN JONSON.\r
+\r
+\r
+Lydgate, in fact, was already conscious of being fascinated by a woman\r
+strikingly different from Miss Brooke: he did not in the least suppose\r
+that he had lost his balance and fallen in love, but he had said of\r
+that particular woman, "She is grace itself; she is perfectly lovely\r
+and accomplished. That is what a woman ought to be: she ought to\r
+produce the effect of exquisite music." Plain women he regarded as he\r
+did the other severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy and\r
+investigated by science. But Rosamond Vincy seemed to have the true\r
+melodic charm; and when a man has seen the woman whom he would have\r
+chosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor\r
+will usually depend on her resolution rather than on his. Lydgate\r
+believed that he should not marry for several years: not marry until he\r
+had trodden out a good clear path for himself away from the broad road\r
+which was quite ready made. He had seen Miss Vincy above his horizon\r
+almost as long as it had taken Mr. Casaubon to become engaged and\r
+married: but this learned gentleman was possessed of a fortune; he had\r
+assembled his voluminous notes, and had made that sort of reputation\r
+which precedes performance,--often the larger part of a man's fame. He\r
+took a wife, as we have seen, to adorn the remaining quadrant of his\r
+course, and be a little moon that would cause hardly a calculable\r
+perturbation. But Lydgate was young, poor, ambitious. He had his\r
+half-century before him instead of behind him, and he had come to\r
+Middlemarch bent on doing many things that were not directly fitted to\r
+make his fortune or even secure him a good income. To a man under such\r
+circumstances, taking a wife is something more than a question of\r
+adornment, however highly he may rate this; and Lydgate was disposed to\r
+give it the first place among wifely functions. To his taste, guided\r
+by a single conversation, here was the point on which Miss Brooke would\r
+be found wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. She did not\r
+look at things from the proper feminine angle. The society of such\r
+women was about as relaxing as going from your work to teach the second\r
+form, instead of reclining in a paradise with sweet laughs for\r
+bird-notes, and blue eyes for a heaven.\r
+\r
+Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important to Lydgate\r
+than the turn of Miss Brooke's mind, or to Miss Brooke than the\r
+qualities of the woman who had attracted this young surgeon. But any\r
+one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow\r
+preparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like a\r
+calculated irony on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we\r
+look at our unintroduced neighbor. Destiny stands by sarcastic with\r
+our dramatis personae folded in her hand.\r
+\r
+Old provincial society had its share of this subtle movement: had not\r
+only its striking downfalls, its brilliant young professional dandies\r
+who ended by living up an entry with a drab and six children for their\r
+establishment, but also those less marked vicissitudes which are\r
+constantly shifting the boundaries of social intercourse, and begetting\r
+new consciousness of interdependence. Some slipped a little downward,\r
+some got higher footing: people denied aspirates, gained wealth, and\r
+fastidious gentlemen stood for boroughs; some were caught in political\r
+currents, some in ecclesiastical, and perhaps found themselves\r
+surprisingly grouped in consequence; while a few personages or families\r
+that stood with rocky firmness amid all this fluctuation, were slowly\r
+presenting new aspects in spite of solidity, and altering with the\r
+double change of self and beholder. Municipal town and rural parish\r
+gradually made fresh threads of connection--gradually, as the old\r
+stocking gave way to the savings-bank, and the worship of the solar\r
+guinea became extinct; while squires and baronets, and even lords who\r
+had once lived blamelessly afar from the civic mind, gathered the\r
+faultiness of closer acquaintanceship. Settlers, too, came from\r
+distant counties, some with an alarming novelty of skill, others with\r
+an offensive advantage in cunning. In fact, much the same sort of\r
+movement and mixture went on in old England as we find in older\r
+Herodotus, who also, in telling what had been, thought it well to take\r
+a woman's lot for his starting-point; though Io, as a maiden apparently\r
+beguiled by attractive merchandise, was the reverse of Miss Brooke, and\r
+in this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to Rosamond Vincy, who\r
+had excellent taste in costume, with that nymph-like figure and pure\r
+blindness which give the largest range to choice in the flow and color\r
+of drapery. But these things made only part of her charm. She was\r
+admitted to be the flower of Mrs. Lemon's school, the chief school in\r
+the county, where the teaching included all that was demanded in the\r
+accomplished female--even to extras, such as the getting in and out of\r
+a carriage. Mrs. Lemon herself had always held up Miss Vincy as an\r
+example: no pupil, she said, exceeded that young lady for mental\r
+acquisition and propriety of speech, while her musical execution was\r
+quite exceptional. We cannot help the way in which people speak of us,\r
+and probably if Mrs. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen,\r
+these heroines would not have seemed poetical. The first vision of\r
+Rosamond would have been enough with most judges to dispel any\r
+prejudice excited by Mrs. Lemon's praise.\r
+\r
+Lydgate could not be long in Middlemarch without having that agreeable\r
+vision, or even without making the acquaintance of the Vincy family;\r
+for though Mr. Peacock, whose practice he had paid something to enter\r
+on, had not been their doctor (Mrs. Vincy not liking the lowering\r
+system adopted by him), he had many patients among their connections\r
+and acquaintances. For who of any consequence in Middlemarch was not\r
+connected or at least acquainted with the Vincys? They were old\r
+manufacturers, and had kept a good house for three generations, in\r
+which there had naturally been much intermarrying with neighbors more\r
+or less decidedly genteel. Mr. Vincy's sister had made a wealthy match\r
+in accepting Mr. Bulstrode, who, however, as a man not born in the\r
+town, and altogether of dimly known origin, was considered to have done\r
+well in uniting himself with a real Middlemarch family; on the other\r
+hand, Mr. Vincy had descended a little, having taken an innkeeper's\r
+daughter. But on this side too there was a cheering sense of money;\r
+for Mrs. Vincy's sister had been second wife to rich old Mr.\r
+Featherstone, and had died childless years ago, so that her nephews and\r
+nieces might be supposed to touch the affections of the widower. And\r
+it happened that Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Featherstone, two of Peacock's\r
+most important patients, had, from different causes, given an\r
+especially good reception to his successor, who had raised some\r
+partisanship as well as discussion. Mr. Wrench, medical attendant to\r
+the Vincy family, very early had grounds for thinking lightly of\r
+Lydgate's professional discretion, and there was no report about him\r
+which was not retailed at the Vincys', where visitors were frequent.\r
+Mr. Vincy was more inclined to general good-fellowship than to taking\r
+sides, but there was no need for him to be hasty in making any new man\r
+acquaintance. Rosamond silently wished that her father would invite\r
+Mr. Lydgate. She was tired of the faces and figures she had always\r
+been used to--the various irregular profiles and gaits and turns of\r
+phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men whom she had known as\r
+boys. She had been at school with girls of higher position, whose\r
+brothers, she felt sure, it would have been possible for her to be more\r
+interested in, than in these inevitable Middlemarch companions. But\r
+she would not have chosen to mention her wish to her father; and he,\r
+for his part, was in no hurry on the subject. An alderman about to be\r
+mayor must by-and-by enlarge his dinner-parties, but at present there\r
+were plenty of guests at his well-spread table.\r
+\r
+That table often remained covered with the relics of the family\r
+breakfast long after Mr. Vincy had gone with his second son to the\r
+warehouse, and when Miss Morgan was already far on in morning lessons\r
+with the younger girls in the schoolroom. It awaited the family\r
+laggard, who found any sort of inconvenience (to others) less\r
+disagreeable than getting up when he was called. This was the case one\r
+morning of the October in which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon\r
+visiting the Grange; and though the room was a little overheated with\r
+the fire, which had sent the spaniel panting to a remote corner,\r
+Rosamond, for some reason, continued to sit at her embroidery longer\r
+than usual, now and then giving herself a little shake, and laying her\r
+work on her knee to contemplate it with an air of hesitating weariness.\r
+Her mamma, who had returned from an excursion to the kitchen, sat on\r
+the other side of the small work-table with an air of more entire\r
+placidity, until, the clock again giving notice that it was going to\r
+strike, she looked up from the lace-mending which was occupying her\r
+plump fingers and rang the bell.\r
+\r
+"Knock at Mr. Fred's door again, Pritchard, and tell him it has struck\r
+half-past ten."\r
+\r
+This was said without any change in the radiant good-humor of Mrs.\r
+Vincy's face, in which forty-five years had delved neither angles nor\r
+parallels; and pushing back her pink capstrings, she let her work rest\r
+on her lap, while she looked admiringly at her daughter.\r
+\r
+"Mamma," said Rosamond, "when Fred comes down I wish you would not let\r
+him have red herrings. I cannot bear the smell of them all over the\r
+house at this hour of the morning."\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, you are so hard on your brothers! It is the only fault I\r
+have to find with you. You are the sweetest temper in the world, but\r
+you are so tetchy with your brothers."\r
+\r
+"Not tetchy, mamma: you never hear me speak in an unladylike way."\r
+\r
+"Well, but you want to deny them things."\r
+\r
+"Brothers are so unpleasant."\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, you must allow for young men. Be thankful if they have\r
+good hearts. A woman must learn to put up with little things. You\r
+will be married some day."\r
+\r
+"Not to any one who is like Fred."\r
+\r
+"Don't decry your own brother, my dear. Few young men have less\r
+against them, although he couldn't take his degree--I'm sure I can't\r
+understand why, for he seems to me most clever. And you know yourself\r
+he was thought equal to the best society at college. So particular as\r
+you are, my dear, I wonder you are not glad to have such a gentlemanly\r
+young man for a brother. You are always finding fault with Bob because\r
+he is not Fred."\r
+\r
+"Oh no, mamma, only because he is Bob."\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear, you will not find any Middlemarch young man who has not\r
+something against him."\r
+\r
+"But"--here Rosamond's face broke into a smile which suddenly revealed\r
+two dimples. She herself thought unfavorably of these dimples and\r
+smiled little in general society. "But I shall not marry any\r
+Middlemarch young man."\r
+\r
+"So it seems, my love, for you have as good as refused the pick of\r
+them; and if there's better to be had, I'm sure there's no girl better\r
+deserves it."\r
+\r
+"Excuse me, mamma--I wish you would not say, 'the pick of them.'"\r
+\r
+"Why, what else are they?"\r
+\r
+"I mean, mamma, it is rather a vulgar expression."\r
+\r
+"Very likely, my dear; I never was a good speaker. What should I say?"\r
+\r
+"The best of them."\r
+\r
+"Why, that seems just as plain and common. If I had had time to think,\r
+I should have said, 'the most superior young men.' But with your\r
+education you must know."\r
+\r
+"What must Rosy know, mother?" said Mr. Fred, who had slid in\r
+unobserved through the half-open door while the ladies were bending\r
+over their work, and now going up to the fire stood with his back\r
+towards it, warming the soles of his slippers.\r
+\r
+"Whether it's right to say 'superior young men,'" said Mrs. Vincy,\r
+ringing the bell.\r
+\r
+"Oh, there are so many superior teas and sugars now. Superior is\r
+getting to be shopkeepers' slang."\r
+\r
+"Are you beginning to dislike slang, then?" said Rosamond, with mild\r
+gravity.\r
+\r
+"Only the wrong sort. All choice of words is slang. It marks a class."\r
+\r
+"There is correct English: that is not slang."\r
+\r
+"I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs who write\r
+history and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of\r
+poets."\r
+\r
+"You will say anything, Fred, to gain your point."\r
+\r
+"Well, tell me whether it is slang or poetry to call an ox a\r
+leg-plaiter."\r
+\r
+"Of course you can call it poetry if you like."\r
+\r
+"Aha, Miss Rosy, you don't know Homer from slang. I shall invent a new\r
+game; I shall write bits of slang and poetry on slips, and give them to\r
+you to separate."\r
+\r
+"Dear me, how amusing it is to hear young people talk!" said Mrs.\r
+Vincy, with cheerful admiration.\r
+\r
+"Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard?" said Fred, to\r
+the servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walked\r
+round the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold\r
+remnants, with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance from\r
+signs of disgust.\r
+\r
+"Should you like eggs, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone."\r
+\r
+"Really, Fred," said Rosamond, when the servant had left the room, "if\r
+you must have hot things for breakfast, I wish you would come down\r
+earlier. You can get up at six o'clock to go out hunting; I cannot\r
+understand why you find it so difficult to get up on other mornings."\r
+\r
+"That is your want of understanding, Rosy. I can get up to go hunting\r
+because I like it."\r
+\r
+"What would you think of me if I came down two hours after every one\r
+else and ordered grilled bone?"\r
+\r
+"I should think you were an uncommonly fast young lady," said Fred,\r
+eating his toast with the utmost composure.\r
+\r
+"I cannot see why brothers are to make themselves disagreeable, any\r
+more than sisters."\r
+\r
+"I don't make myself disagreeable; it is you who find me so.\r
+Disagreeable is a word that describes your feelings and not my actions."\r
+\r
+"I think it describes the smell of grilled bone."\r
+\r
+"Not at all. It describes a sensation in your little nose associated\r
+with certain finicking notions which are the classics of Mrs. Lemon's\r
+school. Look at my mother; you don't see her objecting to everything\r
+except what she does herself. She is my notion of a pleasant woman."\r
+\r
+"Bless you both, my dears, and don't quarrel," said Mrs. Vincy, with\r
+motherly cordiality. "Come, Fred, tell us all about the new doctor.\r
+How is your uncle pleased with him?"\r
+\r
+"Pretty well, I think. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and then\r
+screws up his face while he hears the answers, as if they were pinching\r
+his toes. That's his way. Ah, here comes my grilled bone."\r
+\r
+"But how came you to stay out so late, my dear? You only said you were\r
+going to your uncle's."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I dined at Plymdale's. We had whist. Lydgate was there too."\r
+\r
+"And what do you think of him? He is very gentlemanly, I suppose.\r
+They say he is of excellent family--his relations quite county people."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Fred. "There was a Lydgate at John's who spent no end of\r
+money. I find this man is a second cousin of his. But rich men may\r
+have very poor devils for second cousins."\r
+\r
+"It always makes a difference, though, to be of good family," said\r
+Rosamond, with a tone of decision which showed that she had thought on\r
+this subject. Rosamond felt that she might have been happier if she\r
+had not been the daughter of a Middlemarch manufacturer. She disliked\r
+anything which reminded her that her mother's father had been an\r
+innkeeper. Certainly any one remembering the fact might think that\r
+Mrs. Vincy had the air of a very handsome good-humored landlady,\r
+accustomed to the most capricious orders of gentlemen.\r
+\r
+"I thought it was odd his name was Tertius," said the bright-faced\r
+matron, "but of course it's a name in the family. But now, tell us\r
+exactly what sort of man he is."\r
+\r
+"Oh, tallish, dark, clever--talks well--rather a prig, I think."\r
+\r
+"I never can make out what you mean by a prig," said Rosamond.\r
+\r
+"A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions."\r
+\r
+"Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions," said Mrs. Vincy. "What are\r
+they there for else?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for. But a prig is a fellow\r
+who is always making you a present of his opinions."\r
+\r
+"I suppose Mary Garth admires Mr. Lydgate," said Rosamond, not without\r
+a touch of innuendo.\r
+\r
+"Really, I can't say." said Fred, rather glumly, as he left the table,\r
+and taking up a novel which he had brought down with him, threw himself\r
+into an arm-chair. "If you are jealous of her, go oftener to Stone\r
+Court yourself and eclipse her."\r
+\r
+"I wish you would not be so vulgar, Fred. If you have finished, pray\r
+ring the bell."\r
+\r
+"It is true, though--what your brother says, Rosamond," Mrs. Vincy\r
+began, when the servant had cleared the table. "It is a thousand\r
+pities you haven't patience to go and see your uncle more, so proud of\r
+you as he is, and wanted you to live with him. There's no knowing what\r
+he might have done for you as well as for Fred. God knows, I'm fond of\r
+having you at home with me, but I can part with my children for their\r
+good. And now it stands to reason that your uncle Featherstone will do\r
+something for Mary Garth."\r
+\r
+"Mary Garth can bear being at Stone Court, because she likes that\r
+better than being a governess," said Rosamond, folding up her work. "I\r
+would rather not have anything left to me if I must earn it by enduring\r
+much of my uncle's cough and his ugly relations."\r
+\r
+"He can't be long for this world, my dear; I wouldn't hasten his end,\r
+but what with asthma and that inward complaint, let us hope there is\r
+something better for him in another. And I have no ill-will toward's\r
+Mary Garth, but there's justice to be thought of. And Mr.\r
+Featherstone's first wife brought him no money, as my sister did. Her\r
+nieces and nephews can't have so much claim as my sister's. And I must\r
+say I think Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl--more fit for a governess."\r
+\r
+"Every one would not agree with you there, mother," said Fred, who\r
+seemed to be able to read and listen too.\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, "if she _had_\r
+some fortune left her,--a man marries his wife's relations, and the\r
+Garths are so poor, and live in such a small way. But I shall leave\r
+you to your studies, my dear; for I must go and do some shopping."\r
+\r
+"Fred's studies are not very deep," said Rosamond, rising with her\r
+mamma, "he is only reading a novel."\r
+\r
+"Well, well, by-and-by he'll go to his Latin and things," said Mrs.\r
+Vincy, soothingly, stroking her son's head. "There's a fire in the\r
+smoking-room on purpose. It's your father's wish, you know--Fred, my\r
+dear--and I always tell him you will be good, and go to college again\r
+to take your degree."\r
+\r
+Fred drew his mother's hand down to his lips, but said nothing.\r
+\r
+"I suppose you are not going out riding to-day?" said Rosamond,\r
+lingering a little after her mamma was gone.\r
+\r
+"No; why?"\r
+\r
+"Papa says I may have the chestnut to ride now."\r
+\r
+"You can go with me to-morrow, if you like. Only I am going to Stone\r
+Court, remember."\r
+\r
+"I want to ride so much, it is indifferent to me where we go." Rosamond\r
+really wished to go to Stone Court, of all other places.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I say, Rosy," said Fred, as she was passing out of the room, "if\r
+you are going to the piano, let me come and play some airs with you."\r
+\r
+"Pray do not ask me this morning."\r
+\r
+"Why not this morning?"\r
+\r
+"Really, Fred, I wish you would leave off playing the flute. A man\r
+looks very silly playing the flute. And you play so out of tune."\r
+\r
+"When next any one makes love to you, Miss Rosamond, I will tell him\r
+how obliging you are."\r
+\r
+"Why should you expect me to oblige you by hearing you play the flute,\r
+any more than I should expect you to oblige me by not playing it?"\r
+\r
+"And why should you expect me to take you out riding?"\r
+\r
+This question led to an adjustment, for Rosamond had set her mind on\r
+that particular ride.\r
+\r
+So Fred was gratified with nearly an hour's practice of "Ar hyd y nos,"\r
+"Ye banks and braes," and other favorite airs from his "Instructor on\r
+the Flute;" a wheezy performance, into which he threw much ambition and\r
+an irrepressible hopefulness.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XII.\r
+\r
+ "He had more tow on his distaffe\r
+ Than Gerveis knew."\r
+ --CHAUCER.\r
+\r
+\r
+The ride to Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond took the next morning,\r
+lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and\r
+pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to\r
+spread out coral fruit for the birds. Little details gave each field a\r
+particular physiognomy, dear to the eyes that have looked on them from\r
+childhood: the pool in the corner where the grasses were dank and trees\r
+leaned whisperingly; the great oak shadowing a bare place in\r
+mid-pasture; the high bank where the ash-trees grew; the sudden slope\r
+of the old marl-pit making a red background for the burdock; the\r
+huddled roofs and ricks of the homestead without a traceable way of\r
+approach; the gray gate and fences against the depths of the bordering\r
+wood; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and\r
+valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel\r
+far to see in later life, and see larger, but not more beautiful.\r
+These are the things that make the gamut of joy in landscape to\r
+midland-bred souls--the things they toddled among, or perhaps learned\r
+by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely.\r
+\r
+But the road, even the byroad, was excellent; for Lowick, as we have\r
+seen, was not a parish of muddy lanes and poor tenants; and it was into\r
+Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles'\r
+riding. Another mile would bring them to Stone Court, and at the end\r
+of the first half, the house was already visible, looking as if it had\r
+been arrested in its growth toward a stone mansion by an unexpected\r
+budding of farm-buildings on its left flank, which had hindered it from\r
+becoming anything more than the substantial dwelling of a gentleman\r
+farmer. It was not the less agreeable an object in the distance for\r
+the cluster of pinnacled corn-ricks which balanced the fine row of\r
+walnuts on the right.\r
+\r
+Presently it was possible to discern something that might be a gig on\r
+the circular drive before the front door.\r
+\r
+"Dear me," said Rosamond, "I hope none of my uncle's horrible relations\r
+are there."\r
+\r
+"They are, though. That is Mrs. Waule's gig--the last yellow gig left,\r
+I should think. When I see Mrs. Waule in it, I understand how yellow\r
+can have been worn for mourning. That gig seems to me more funereal\r
+than a hearse. But then Mrs. Waule always has black crape on. How\r
+does she manage it, Rosy? Her friends can't always be dying."\r
+\r
+"I don't know at all. And she is not in the least evangelical," said\r
+Rosamond, reflectively, as if that religious point of view would have\r
+fully accounted for perpetual crape. "And, not poor," she added, after\r
+a moment's pause.\r
+\r
+"No, by George! They are as rich as Jews, those Waules and\r
+Featherstones; I mean, for people like them, who don't want to spend\r
+anything. And yet they hang about my uncle like vultures, and are\r
+afraid of a farthing going away from their side of the family. But I\r
+believe he hates them all."\r
+\r
+The Mrs. Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of these\r
+distant connections, had happened to say this very morning (not at all\r
+with a defiant air, but in a low, muffled, neutral tone, as of a voice\r
+heard through cotton wool) that she did not wish "to enjoy their good\r
+opinion." She was seated, as she observed, on her own brother's hearth,\r
+and had been Jane Featherstone five-and-twenty years before she had\r
+been Jane Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's\r
+name had been made free with by those who had no right to it.\r
+\r
+"What are you driving at there?" said Mr. Featherstone, holding his\r
+stick between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a\r
+momentary sharp glance, which seemed to react on him like a draught of\r
+cold air and set him coughing.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary\r
+Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he had begun to rub the\r
+gold knob of his stick, looking bitterly at the fire. It was a bright\r
+fire, but it made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of\r
+Mrs. Waule's face, which was as neutral as her voice; having mere\r
+chinks for eyes, and lips that hardly moved in speaking.\r
+\r
+"The doctors can't master that cough, brother. It's just like what I\r
+have; for I'm your own sister, constitution and everything. But, as I\r
+was saying, it's a pity Mrs. Vincy's family can't be better conducted."\r
+\r
+"Tchah! you said nothing o' the sort. You said somebody had made free\r
+with my name."\r
+\r
+"And no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true. My\r
+brother Solomon tells me it's the talk up and down in Middlemarch how\r
+unsteady young Vincy is, and has been forever gambling at billiards\r
+since home he came."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense! What's a game at billiards? It's a good gentlemanly game;\r
+and young Vincy is not a clodhopper. If your son John took to\r
+billiards, now, he'd make a fool of himself."\r
+\r
+"Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other game, brother,\r
+and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, if what everybody\r
+says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Vincy the\r
+father's pocket. For they say he's been losing money for years, though\r
+nobody would think so, to see him go coursing and keeping open house as\r
+they do. And I've heard say Mr. Bulstrode condemns Mrs. Vincy beyond\r
+anything for her flightiness, and spoiling her children so."\r
+\r
+"What's Bulstrode to me? I don't bank with him."\r
+\r
+"Well, Mrs. Bulstrode is Mr. Vincy's own sister, and they do say that\r
+Mr. Vincy mostly trades on the Bank money; and you may see yourself,\r
+brother, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and\r
+that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. But\r
+indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their\r
+debts is another. And it's openly said that young Vincy has raised\r
+money on his expectations. I don't say what expectations. Miss Garth\r
+hears me, and is welcome to tell again. I know young people hang\r
+together."\r
+\r
+"No, thank you, Mrs. Waule," said Mary Garth. "I dislike hearing\r
+scandal too much to wish to repeat it."\r
+\r
+Mr. Featherstone rubbed the knob of his stick and made a brief\r
+convulsive show of laughter, which had much the same genuineness as an\r
+old whist-player's chuckle over a bad hand. Still looking at the fire,\r
+he said--\r
+\r
+"And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations? Such a\r
+fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have 'em."\r
+\r
+There was a slight pause before Mrs. Waule replied, and when she did\r
+so, her voice seemed to be slightly moistened with tears, though her\r
+face was still dry.\r
+\r
+"Whether or no, brother, it is naturally painful to me and my brother\r
+Solomon to hear your name made free with, and your complaint being such\r
+as may carry you off sudden, and people who are no more Featherstones\r
+than the Merry-Andrew at the fair, openly reckoning on your property\r
+coming to _them_. And me your own sister, and Solomon your own\r
+brother! And if that's to be it, what has it pleased the Almighty to\r
+make families for?" Here Mrs. Waule's tears fell, but with moderation.\r
+\r
+"Come, out with it, Jane!" said Mr. Featherstone, looking at her. "You\r
+mean to say, Fred Vincy has been getting somebody to advance him money\r
+on what he says he knows about my will, eh?"\r
+\r
+"I never said so, brother" (Mrs. Waule's voice had again become dry and\r
+unshaken). "It was told me by my brother Solomon last night when he\r
+called coming from market to give me advice about the old wheat, me\r
+being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty, though steady\r
+beyond anything. And he had it from most undeniable authority, and not\r
+one, but many."\r
+\r
+"Stuff and nonsense! I don't believe a word of it. It's all a got-up\r
+story. Go to the window, missy; I thought I heard a horse. See if the\r
+doctor's coming."\r
+\r
+"Not got up by me, brother, nor yet by Solomon, who, whatever else he\r
+may be--and I don't deny he has oddities--has made his will and parted\r
+his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for\r
+my part, I think there are times when some should be considered more\r
+than others. But Solomon makes it no secret what he means to do."\r
+\r
+"The more fool he!" said Mr. Featherstone, with some difficulty;\r
+breaking into a severe fit of coughing that required Mary Garth to\r
+stand near him, so that she did not find out whose horses they were\r
+which presently paused stamping on the gravel before the door.\r
+\r
+Before Mr. Featherstone's cough was quiet, Rosamond entered, bearing up\r
+her riding-habit with much grace. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.\r
+Waule, who said stiffly, "How do you do, miss?" smiled and nodded\r
+silently to Mary, and remained standing till the coughing should cease,\r
+and allow her uncle to notice her.\r
+\r
+"Heyday, miss!" he said at last, "you have a fine color. Where's Fred?"\r
+\r
+"Seeing about the horses. He will be in presently."\r
+\r
+"Sit down, sit down. Mrs. Waule, you'd better go."\r
+\r
+Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had\r
+never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his sister was quite\r
+used to the peculiar absence of ceremony with which he marked his sense\r
+of blood-relationship. Indeed, she herself was accustomed to think that\r
+entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in\r
+the Almighty's intentions about families. She rose slowly without any\r
+sign of resentment, and said in her usual muffled monotone, "Brother, I\r
+hope the new doctor will be able to do something for you. Solomon says\r
+there's great talk of his cleverness. I'm sure it's my wish you should\r
+be spared. And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own\r
+sister and your own nieces, if you'd only say the word. There's\r
+Rebecca, and Joanna, and Elizabeth, you know."\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay, I remember--you'll see I've remembered 'em all--all dark and\r
+ugly. They'd need have some money, eh? There never was any beauty in\r
+the women of our family; but the Featherstones have always had some\r
+money, and the Waules too. Waule had money too. A warm man was Waule.\r
+Ay, ay; money's a good egg; and if you 've got money to leave behind\r
+you, lay it in a warm nest. Good-by, Mrs. Waule." Here Mr.\r
+Featherstone pulled at both sides of his wig as if he wanted to deafen\r
+himself, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of\r
+his. Notwithstanding her jealousy of the Vincys and of Mary Garth,\r
+there remained as the nethermost sediment in her mental shallows a\r
+persuasion that her brother Peter Featherstone could never leave his\r
+chief property away from his blood-relations:--else, why had the\r
+Almighty carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained\r
+so much by manganese and things, turning up when nobody expected\r
+it?--and why was there a Lowick parish church, and the Waules and\r
+Powderells all sitting in the same pew for generations, and the\r
+Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's\r
+death, everybody was to know that the property was gone out of the\r
+family? The human mind has at no period accepted a moral chaos; and so\r
+preposterous a result was not strictly conceivable. But we are\r
+frightened at much that is not strictly conceivable.\r
+\r
+When Fred came in the old man eyed him with a peculiar twinkle, which\r
+the younger had often had reason to interpret as pride in the\r
+satisfactory details of his appearance.\r
+\r
+"You two misses go away," said Mr. Featherstone. "I want to speak to\r
+Fred."\r
+\r
+"Come into my room, Rosamond, you will not mind the cold for a little\r
+while," said Mary. The two girls had not only known each other in\r
+childhood, but had been at the same provincial school together (Mary as\r
+an articled pupil), so that they had many memories in common, and liked\r
+very well to talk in private. Indeed, this tete-a-tete was one of\r
+Rosamond's objects in coming to Stone Court.\r
+\r
+Old Featherstone would not begin the dialogue till the door had been\r
+closed. He continued to look at Fred with the same twinkle and with\r
+one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his\r
+mouth; and when he spoke, it was in a low tone, which might be taken\r
+for that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for the\r
+tone of an offended senior. He was not a man to feel any strong moral\r
+indignation even on account of trespasses against himself. It was\r
+natural that others should want to get an advantage over him, but then,\r
+he was a little too cunning for them.\r
+\r
+"So, sir, you've been paying ten per cent for money which you've\r
+promised to pay off by mortgaging my land when I'm dead and gone, eh?\r
+You put my life at a twelvemonth, say. But I can alter my will yet."\r
+\r
+Fred blushed. He had not borrowed money in that way, for excellent\r
+reasons. But he was conscious of having spoken with some confidence\r
+(perhaps with more than he exactly remembered) about his prospect of\r
+getting Featherstone's land as a future means of paying present debts.\r
+\r
+"I don't know what you refer to, sir. I have certainly never borrowed\r
+any money on such an insecurity. Please do explain."\r
+\r
+"No, sir, it's you must explain. I can alter my will yet, let me tell\r
+you. I'm of sound mind--can reckon compound interest in my head, and\r
+remember every fool's name as well as I could twenty years ago. What\r
+the deuce? I'm under eighty. I say, you must contradict this story."\r
+\r
+"I have contradicted it, sir," Fred answered, with a touch of\r
+impatience, not remembering that his uncle did not verbally\r
+discriminate contradicting from disproving, though no one was further\r
+from confounding the two ideas than old Featherstone, who often\r
+wondered that so many fools took his own assertions for proofs. "But I\r
+contradict it again. The story is a silly lie."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense! you must bring dockiments. It comes from authority."\r
+\r
+"Name the authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the\r
+money, and then I can disprove the story."\r
+\r
+"It's pretty good authority, I think--a man who knows most of what goes\r
+on in Middlemarch. It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o'\r
+yours. Come now!" Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake\r
+which signified merriment.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Bulstrode?"\r
+\r
+"Who else, eh?"\r
+\r
+"Then the story has grown into this lie out of some sermonizing words\r
+he may have let fall about me. Do they pretend that he named the man\r
+who lent me the money?"\r
+\r
+"If there is such a man, depend upon it Bulstrode knows him. But,\r
+supposing you only tried to get the money lent, and didn't get\r
+it--Bulstrode 'ud know that too. You bring me a writing from Bulstrode\r
+to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your debts out o'\r
+my land. Come now!"\r
+\r
+Mr. Featherstone's face required its whole scale of grimaces as a\r
+muscular outlet to his silent triumph in the soundness of his faculties.\r
+\r
+Fred felt himself to be in a disgusting dilemma.\r
+\r
+"You must be joking, sir. Mr. Bulstrode, like other men, believes\r
+scores of things that are not true, and he has a prejudice against me.\r
+I could easily get him to write that he knew no facts in proof of the\r
+report you speak of, though it might lead to unpleasantness. But I\r
+could hardly ask him to write down what he believes or does not believe\r
+about me." Fred paused an instant, and then added, in politic appeal to\r
+his uncle's vanity, "That is hardly a thing for a gentleman to ask."\r
+But he was disappointed in the result.\r
+\r
+"Ay, I know what you mean. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. And\r
+what's he?--he's got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of. A\r
+speckilating fellow! He may come down any day, when the devil leaves\r
+off backing him. And that's what his religion means: he wants God\r
+A'mighty to come in. That's nonsense! There's one thing I made out\r
+pretty clear when I used to go to church--and it's this: God A'mighty\r
+sticks to the land. He promises land, and He gives land, and He makes\r
+chaps rich with corn and cattle. But you take the other side. You\r
+like Bulstrode and speckilation better than Featherstone and land."\r
+\r
+"I beg your pardon, sir," said Fred, rising, standing with his back to\r
+the fire and beating his boot with his whip. "I like neither Bulstrode\r
+nor speculation." He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated.\r
+\r
+"Well, well, you can do without me, that's pretty clear," said old\r
+Featherstone, secretly disliking the possibility that Fred would show\r
+himself at all independent. "You neither want a bit of land to make a\r
+squire of you instead of a starving parson, nor a lift of a hundred\r
+pound by the way. It's all one to me. I can make five codicils if I\r
+like, and I shall keep my bank-notes for a nest-egg. It's all one to\r
+me."\r
+\r
+Fred colored again. Featherstone had rarely given him presents of\r
+money, and at this moment it seemed almost harder to part with the\r
+immediate prospect of bank-notes than with the more distant prospect of\r
+the land.\r
+\r
+"I am not ungrateful, sir. I never meant to show disregard for any\r
+kind intentions you might have towards me. On the contrary."\r
+\r
+"Very good. Then prove it. You bring me a letter from Bulstrode\r
+saying he doesn't believe you've been cracking and promising to pay\r
+your debts out o' my land, and then, if there's any scrape you've got\r
+into, we'll see if I can't back you a bit. Come now! That's a\r
+bargain. Here, give me your arm. I'll try and walk round the room."\r
+\r
+Fred, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to be a\r
+little sorry for the unloved, unvenerated old man, who with his\r
+dropsical legs looked more than usually pitiable in walking. While\r
+giving his arm, he thought that he should not himself like to be an old\r
+fellow with his constitution breaking up; and he waited\r
+good-temperedly, first before the window to hear the wonted remarks\r
+about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then before the scanty\r
+book-shelves, of which the chief glories in dark calf were Josephus,\r
+Culpepper, Klopstock's "Messiah," and several volumes of the\r
+"Gentleman's Magazine."\r
+\r
+"Read me the names o' the books. Come now! you're a college man."\r
+\r
+Fred gave him the titles.\r
+\r
+"What did missy want with more books? What must you be bringing her\r
+more books for?"\r
+\r
+"They amuse her, sir. She is very fond of reading."\r
+\r
+"A little too fond," said Mr. Featherstone, captiously. "She was for\r
+reading when she sat with me. But I put a stop to that. She's got the\r
+newspaper to read out loud. That's enough for one day, I should think.\r
+I can't abide to see her reading to herself. You mind and not bring\r
+her any more books, do you hear?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, I hear." Fred had received this order before, and had\r
+secretly disobeyed it. He intended to disobey it again.\r
+\r
+"Ring the bell," said Mr. Featherstone; "I want missy to come down."\r
+\r
+Rosamond and Mary had been talking faster than their male friends.\r
+They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near\r
+the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and\r
+applied little touches of her finger-tips to her hair--hair of\r
+infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. Mary Garth seemed all\r
+the plainer standing at an angle between the two nymphs--the one in the\r
+glass, and the one out of it, who looked at each other with eyes of\r
+heavenly blue, deep enough to hold the most exquisite meanings an\r
+ingenious beholder could put into them, and deep enough to hide the\r
+meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite.\r
+Only a few children in Middlemarch looked blond by the side of\r
+Rosamond, and the slim figure displayed by her riding-habit had\r
+delicate undulations. In fact, most men in Middlemarch, except her\r
+brothers, held that Miss Vincy was the best girl in the world, and some\r
+called her an angel. Mary Garth, on the contrary, had the aspect of an\r
+ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and\r
+stubborn; her stature was low; and it would not be true to declare, in\r
+satisfactory antithesis, that she had all the virtues. Plainness has\r
+its peculiar temptations and vices quite as much as beauty; it is apt\r
+either to feign amiability, or, not feigning it, to show all the\r
+repulsiveness of discontent: at any rate, to be called an ugly thing in\r
+contrast with that lovely creature your companion, is apt to produce\r
+some effect beyond a sense of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase.\r
+At the age of two-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that\r
+perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to\r
+the less fortunate girl, as if they were to be obtained in quantities\r
+ready mixed, with a flavor of resignation as required. Her shrewdness\r
+had a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never\r
+carried utterly out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude\r
+towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be\r
+contented, did something to make her so. Advancing womanhood had\r
+tempered her plainness, which was of a good human sort, such as the\r
+mothers of our race have very commonly worn in all latitudes under a\r
+more or less becoming headgear. Rembrandt would have painted her with\r
+pleasure, and would have made her broad features look out of the canvas\r
+with intelligent honesty. For honesty, truth-telling fairness, was\r
+Mary's reigning virtue: she neither tried to create illusions, nor\r
+indulged in them for her own behoof, and when she was in a good mood\r
+she had humor enough in her to laugh at herself. When she and Rosamond\r
+happened both to be reflected in the glass, she said, laughingly--\r
+\r
+"What a brown patch I am by the side of you, Rosy! You are the most\r
+unbecoming companion."\r
+\r
+"Oh no! No one thinks of your appearance, you are so sensible and\r
+useful, Mary. Beauty is of very little consequence in reality," said\r
+Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards\r
+the new view of her neck in the glass.\r
+\r
+"You mean my beauty," said Mary, rather sardonically.\r
+\r
+Rosamond thought, "Poor Mary, she takes the kindest things ill." Aloud\r
+she said, "What have you been doing lately?"\r
+\r
+"I? Oh, minding the house--pouring out syrup--pretending to be amiable\r
+and contented--learning to have a bad opinion of everybody."\r
+\r
+"It is a wretched life for you."\r
+\r
+"No," said Mary, curtly, with a little toss of her head. "I think my\r
+life is pleasanter than your Miss Morgan's."\r
+\r
+"Yes; but Miss Morgan is so uninteresting, and not young."\r
+\r
+"She is interesting to herself, I suppose; and I am not at all sure\r
+that everything gets easier as one gets older."\r
+\r
+"No," said Rosamond, reflectively; "one wonders what such people do,\r
+without any prospect. To be sure, there is religion as a support.\r
+But," she added, dimpling, "it is very different with you, Mary. You\r
+may have an offer."\r
+\r
+"Has any one told you he means to make me one?"\r
+\r
+"Of course not. I mean, there is a gentleman who may fall in love with\r
+you, seeing you almost every day."\r
+\r
+A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve\r
+not to show any change.\r
+\r
+"Does that always make people fall in love?" she answered, carelessly;\r
+"it seems to me quite as often a reason for detesting each other."\r
+\r
+"Not when they are interesting and agreeable. I hear that Mr. Lydgate\r
+is both."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Mr. Lydgate!" said Mary, with an unmistakable lapse into\r
+indifference. "You want to know something about him," she added, not\r
+choosing to indulge Rosamond's indirectness.\r
+\r
+"Merely, how you like him."\r
+\r
+"There is no question of liking at present. My liking always wants\r
+some little kindness to kindle it. I am not magnanimous enough to like\r
+people who speak to me without seeming to see me."\r
+\r
+"Is he so haughty?" said Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction. "You\r
+know that he is of good family?"\r
+\r
+"No; he did not give that as a reason."\r
+\r
+"Mary! you are the oddest girl. But what sort of looking man is he?\r
+Describe him to me."\r
+\r
+"How can one describe a man? I can give you an inventory: heavy\r
+eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose, thick dark hair, large solid\r
+white hands--and--let me see--oh, an exquisite cambric\r
+pocket-handkerchief. But you will see him. You know this is about the\r
+time of his visits."\r
+\r
+Rosamond blushed a little, but said, meditatively, "I rather like a\r
+haughty manner. I cannot endure a rattling young man."\r
+\r
+"I did not tell you that Mr. Lydgate was haughty; but il y en a pour\r
+tous les gouts, as little Mamselle used to say, and if any girl can\r
+choose the particular sort of conceit she would like, I should think it\r
+is you, Rosy."\r
+\r
+"Haughtiness is not conceit; I call Fred conceited."\r
+\r
+"I wish no one said any worse of him. He should be more careful. Mrs.\r
+Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady." Mary spoke\r
+from a girlish impulse which got the better of her judgment. There was\r
+a vague uneasiness associated with the word "unsteady" which she hoped\r
+Rosamond might say something to dissipate. But she purposely abstained\r
+from mentioning Mrs. Waule's more special insinuation.\r
+\r
+"Oh, Fred is horrid!" said Rosamond. She would not have allowed\r
+herself so unsuitable a word to any one but Mary.\r
+\r
+"What do you mean by horrid?"\r
+\r
+"He is so idle, and makes papa so angry, and says he will not take\r
+orders."\r
+\r
+"I think Fred is quite right."\r
+\r
+"How can you say he is quite right, Mary? I thought you had more sense\r
+of religion."\r
+\r
+"He is not fit to be a clergyman."\r
+\r
+"But he ought to be fit."--"Well, then, he is not what he ought to be.\r
+I know some other people who are in the same case."\r
+\r
+"But no one approves of them. I should not like to marry a clergyman;\r
+but there must be clergymen."\r
+\r
+"It does not follow that Fred must be one."\r
+\r
+"But when papa has been at the expense of educating him for it! And\r
+only suppose, if he should have no fortune left him?"\r
+\r
+"I can suppose that very well," said Mary, dryly.\r
+\r
+"Then I wonder you can defend Fred," said Rosamond, inclined to push\r
+this point.\r
+\r
+"I don't defend him," said Mary, laughing; "I would defend any parish\r
+from having him for a clergyman."\r
+\r
+"But of course if he were a clergyman, he must be different."\r
+\r
+"Yes, he would be a great hypocrite; and he is not that yet."\r
+\r
+"It is of no use saying anything to you, Mary. You always take Fred's\r
+part."\r
+\r
+"Why should I not take his part?" said Mary, lighting up. "He would\r
+take mine. He is the only person who takes the least trouble to oblige\r
+me."\r
+\r
+"You make me feel very uncomfortable, Mary," said Rosamond, with her\r
+gravest mildness; "I would not tell mamma for the world."\r
+\r
+"What would you not tell her?" said Mary, angrily.\r
+\r
+"Pray do not go into a rage, Mary," said Rosamond, mildly as ever.\r
+\r
+"If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that\r
+I would not marry him if he asked me. But he is not going to do so,\r
+that I am aware. He certainly never has asked me."\r
+\r
+"Mary, you are always so violent."\r
+\r
+"And you are always so exasperating."\r
+\r
+"I? What can you blame me for?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, blameless people are always the most exasperating. There is the\r
+bell--I think we must go down."\r
+\r
+"I did not mean to quarrel," said Rosamond, putting on her hat.\r
+\r
+"Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. If one is not to get into\r
+a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends?"\r
+\r
+"Am I to repeat what you have said?" "Just as you please. I never say\r
+what I am afraid of having repeated. But let us go down."\r
+\r
+Mr. Lydgate was rather late this morning, but the visitors stayed long\r
+enough to see him; for Mr. Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him,\r
+and she herself was so kind as to propose a second favorite song of\r
+his--"Flow on, thou shining river"--after she had sung "Home, sweet\r
+home" (which she detested). This hard-headed old Overreach approved of\r
+the sentimental song, as the suitable garnish for girls, and also as\r
+fundamentally fine, sentiment being the right thing for a song.\r
+\r
+Mr. Featherstone was still applauding the last performance, and\r
+assuring missy that her voice was as clear as a blackbird's, when Mr.\r
+Lydgate's horse passed the window.\r
+\r
+His dull expectation of the usual disagreeable routine with an aged\r
+patient--who can hardly believe that medicine would not "set him up" if\r
+the doctor were only clever enough--added to his general disbelief in\r
+Middlemarch charms, made a doubly effective background to this vision\r
+of Rosamond, whom old Featherstone made haste ostentatiously to\r
+introduce as his niece, though he had never thought it worth while to\r
+speak of Mary Garth in that light. Nothing escaped Lydgate in\r
+Rosamond's graceful behavior: how delicately she waived the notice\r
+which the old man's want of taste had thrust upon her by a quiet\r
+gravity, not showing her dimples on the wrong occasion, but showing\r
+them afterwards in speaking to Mary, to whom she addressed herself with\r
+so much good-natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining\r
+Mary more fully than he had done before, saw an adorable kindness in\r
+Rosamond's eyes. But Mary from some cause looked rather out of temper.\r
+\r
+"Miss Rosy has been singing me a song--you've nothing to say against\r
+that, eh, doctor?" said Mr. Featherstone. "I like it better than your\r
+physic."\r
+\r
+"That has made me forget how the time was going," said Rosamond, rising\r
+to reach her hat, which she had laid aside before singing, so that her\r
+flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her\r
+riding-habit. "Fred, we must really go."\r
+\r
+"Very good," said Fred, who had his own reasons for not being in the\r
+best spirits, and wanted to get away.\r
+\r
+"Miss Vincy is a musician?" said Lydgate, following her with his eyes.\r
+(Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness\r
+that she was being looked at. She was by nature an actress of parts\r
+that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and\r
+so well, that she did not know it to be precisely her own.)\r
+\r
+"The best in Middlemarch, I'll be bound," said Mr. Featherstone, "let\r
+the next be who she will. Eh, Fred? Speak up for your sister."\r
+\r
+"I'm afraid I'm out of court, sir. My evidence would be good for\r
+nothing."\r
+\r
+"Middlemarch has not a very high standard, uncle," said Rosamond, with\r
+a pretty lightness, going towards her whip, which lay at a distance.\r
+\r
+Lydgate was quick in anticipating her. He reached the whip before she\r
+did, and turned to present it to her. She bowed and looked at him: he\r
+of course was looking at her, and their eyes met with that peculiar\r
+meeting which is never arrived at by effort, but seems like a sudden\r
+divine clearance of haze. I think Lydgate turned a little paler than\r
+usual, but Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain astonishment.\r
+After that, she was really anxious to go, and did not know what sort of\r
+stupidity her uncle was talking of when she went to shake hands with\r
+him.\r
+\r
+Yet this result, which she took to be a mutual impression, called\r
+falling in love, was just what Rosamond had contemplated beforehand.\r
+Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a\r
+little future, of which something like this scene was the necessary\r
+beginning. Strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a raft, or duly\r
+escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus, have always had a\r
+circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native\r
+merit has urged itself in vain. And a stranger was absolutely\r
+necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had always turned on a\r
+lover and bridegroom who was not a Middlemarcher, and who had no\r
+connections at all like her own: of late, indeed, the construction\r
+seemed to demand that he should somehow be related to a baronet. Now\r
+that she and the stranger had met, reality proved much more moving than\r
+anticipation, and Rosamond could not doubt that this was the great\r
+epoch of her life. She judged of her own symptoms as those of\r
+awakening love, and she held it still more natural that Mr. Lydgate\r
+should have fallen in love at first sight of her. These things\r
+happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the\r
+complexion showed all the better for it? Rosamond, though no older\r
+than Mary, was rather used to being fallen in love with; but she, for\r
+her part, had remained indifferent and fastidiously critical towards\r
+both fresh sprig and faded bachelor. And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly\r
+corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch,\r
+carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and\r
+possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class\r
+heaven, rank; a man of talent, also, whom it would be especially\r
+delightful to enslave: in fact, a man who had touched her nature quite\r
+newly, and brought a vivid interest into her life which was better than\r
+any fancied "might-be" such as she was in the habit of opposing to the\r
+actual.\r
+\r
+Thus, in riding home, both the brother and the sister were preoccupied\r
+and inclined to be silent. Rosamond, whose basis for her structure had\r
+the usual airy slightness, was of remarkably detailed and realistic\r
+imagination when the foundation had been once presupposed; and before\r
+they had ridden a mile she was far on in the costume and introductions\r
+of her wedded life, having determined on her house in Middlemarch, and\r
+foreseen the visits she would pay to her husband's high-bred relatives\r
+at a distance, whose finished manners she could appropriate as\r
+thoroughly as she had done her school accomplishments, preparing\r
+herself thus for vaguer elevations which might ultimately come. There\r
+was nothing financial, still less sordid, in her previsions: she cared\r
+about what were considered refinements, and not about the money that\r
+was to pay for them.\r
+\r
+Fred's mind, on the other hand, was busy with an anxiety which even his\r
+ready hopefulness could not immediately quell. He saw no way of\r
+eluding Featherstone's stupid demand without incurring consequences\r
+which he liked less even than the task of fulfilling it. His father\r
+was already out of humor with him, and would be still more so if he\r
+were the occasion of any additional coolness between his own family and\r
+the Bulstrodes. Then, he himself hated having to go and speak to his\r
+uncle Bulstrode, and perhaps after drinking wine he had said many\r
+foolish things about Featherstone's property, and these had been\r
+magnified by report. Fred felt that he made a wretched figure as a\r
+fellow who bragged about expectations from a queer old miser like\r
+Featherstone, and went to beg for certificates at his bidding.\r
+But--those expectations! He really had them, and he saw no agreeable\r
+alternative if he gave them up; besides, he had lately made a debt\r
+which galled him extremely, and old Featherstone had almost bargained\r
+to pay it off. The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were\r
+small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent.\r
+Fred had known men to whom he would have been ashamed of confessing the\r
+smallness of his scrapes. Such ruminations naturally produced a streak\r
+of misanthropic bitterness. To be born the son of a Middlemarch\r
+manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular, while such\r
+men as Mainwaring and Vyan--certainly life was a poor business, when a\r
+spirited young fellow, with a good appetite for the best of everything,\r
+had so poor an outlook.\r
+\r
+It had not occurred to Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name\r
+in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's; nor could this have\r
+made any difference to his position. He saw plainly enough that the\r
+old man wanted to exercise his power by tormenting him a little, and\r
+also probably to get some satisfaction out of seeing him on unpleasant\r
+terms with Bulstrode. Fred fancied that he saw to the bottom of his\r
+uncle Featherstone's soul, though in reality half what he saw there was\r
+no more than the reflex of his own inclinations. The difficult task of\r
+knowing another soul is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is\r
+chiefly made up of their own wishes.\r
+\r
+Fred's main point of debate with himself was, whether he should tell\r
+his father, or try to get through the affair without his father's\r
+knowledge. It was probably Mrs. Waule who had been talking about him;\r
+and if Mary Garth had repeated Mrs. Waule's report to Rosamond, it\r
+would be sure to reach his father, who would as surely question him\r
+about it. He said to Rosamond, as they slackened their pace--\r
+\r
+"Rosy, did Mary tell you that Mrs. Waule had said anything about me?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed, she did."\r
+\r
+"What?"\r
+\r
+"That you were very unsteady."\r
+\r
+"Was that all?"\r
+\r
+"I should think that was enough, Fred."\r
+\r
+"You are sure she said no more?"\r
+\r
+"Mary mentioned nothing else. But really, Fred, I think you ought to\r
+be ashamed."\r
+\r
+"Oh, fudge! Don't lecture me. What did Mary say about it?"\r
+\r
+"I am not obliged to tell you. You care so very much what Mary says,\r
+and you are too rude to allow me to speak."\r
+\r
+"Of course I care what Mary says. She is the best girl I know."\r
+\r
+"I should never have thought she was a girl to fall in love with."\r
+\r
+"How do you know what men would fall in love with? Girls never know."\r
+\r
+"At least, Fred, let me advise _you_ not to fall in love with her, for\r
+she says she would not marry you if you asked her."\r
+\r
+"She might have waited till I did ask her."\r
+\r
+"I knew it would nettle you, Fred."\r
+\r
+"Not at all. She would not have said so if you had not provoked her."\r
+Before reaching home, Fred concluded that he would tell the whole\r
+affair as simply as possible to his father, who might perhaps take on\r
+himself the unpleasant business of speaking to Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK II.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+OLD AND YOUNG.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIII.\r
+\r
+ 1st Gent. How class your man?--as better than the most,\r
+ Or, seeming better, worse beneath that cloak?\r
+ As saint or knave, pilgrim or hypocrite?\r
+ 2d Gent. Nay, tell me how you class your wealth of books\r
+ The drifted relics of all time.\r
+ As well sort them at once by size and livery:\r
+ Vellum, tall copies, and the common calf\r
+ Will hardly cover more diversity\r
+ Than all your labels cunningly devised\r
+ To class your unread authors.\r
+\r
+\r
+In consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy determined to\r
+speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank at half-past\r
+one, when he was usually free from other callers. But a visitor had\r
+come in at one o'clock, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to him,\r
+that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an\r
+hour. The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he\r
+used up an appreciable amount of time in brief meditative pauses. Do\r
+not imagine his sickly aspect to have been of the yellow, black-haired\r
+sort: he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair,\r
+light-gray eyes, and a large forehead. Loud men called his subdued\r
+tone an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with\r
+openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not\r
+be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can\r
+be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs.\r
+Mr. Bulstrode had also a deferential bending attitude in listening, and\r
+an apparently fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those persons\r
+who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was seeking the\r
+utmost improvement from their discourse. Others, who expected to make\r
+no great figure, disliked this kind of moral lantern turned on them.\r
+If you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction\r
+in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look\r
+judicial. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit. Hence Mr.\r
+Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the publicans and\r
+sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some to his being a\r
+Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical. Less superficial\r
+reasoners among them wished to know who his father and grandfather\r
+were, observing that five-and-twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of\r
+a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. To his present visitor, Lydgate, the\r
+scrutinizing look was a matter of indifference: he simply formed an\r
+unfavorable opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he\r
+had an eager inward life with little enjoyment of tangible things.\r
+\r
+"I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here\r
+occasionally, Mr. Lydgate," the banker observed, after a brief pause.\r
+"If, as I dare to hope, I have the privilege of finding you a valuable\r
+coadjutor in the interesting matter of hospital management, there will\r
+be many questions which we shall need to discuss in private. As to the\r
+new hospital, which is nearly finished, I shall consider what you have\r
+said about the advantages of the special destination for fevers. The\r
+decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the\r
+land and timber for the building, he is not disposed to give his\r
+personal attention to the object."\r
+\r
+"There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like\r
+this," said Lydgate. "A fine fever hospital in addition to the old\r
+infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we\r
+get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education\r
+than the spread of such schools over the country? A born provincial\r
+man who has a grain of public spirit as well as a few ideas, should do\r
+what he can to resist the rush of everything that is a little better\r
+than common towards London. Any valid professional aims may often find\r
+a freer, if not a richer field, in the provinces."\r
+\r
+One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet\r
+capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. About his\r
+ordinary bearing there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of\r
+success, a confidence in his own powers and integrity much fortified by\r
+contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he had had no\r
+experience. But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression\r
+of unaffected good-will. Mr. Bulstrode perhaps liked him the better for\r
+the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked\r
+him the better, as Rosamond did, for being a stranger in Middlemarch.\r
+One can begin so many things with a new person!--even begin to be a\r
+better man.\r
+\r
+"I shall rejoice to furnish your zeal with fuller opportunities," Mr.\r
+Bulstrode answered; "I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of\r
+my new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am\r
+determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two\r
+physicians. Indeed, I am encouraged to consider your advent to this\r
+town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to\r
+be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much with stood.\r
+With regard to the old infirmary, we have gained the initial point--I\r
+mean your election. And now I hope you will not shrink from incurring\r
+a certain amount of jealousy and dislike from your professional\r
+brethren by presenting yourself as a reformer."\r
+\r
+"I will not profess bravery," said Lydgate, smiling, "but I acknowledge\r
+a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I should not care for my\r
+profession, if I did not believe that better methods were to be found\r
+and enforced there as well as everywhere else."\r
+\r
+"The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, my dear sir,"\r
+said the banker. "I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status,\r
+for our medical men are most of them connected with respectable\r
+townspeople here. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some\r
+attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has\r
+placed within our reach. I have consulted eminent men in the\r
+metropolis, and I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which\r
+medical treatment labors in our provincial districts."\r
+\r
+"Yes;--with our present medical rules and education, one must be\r
+satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. As to all the\r
+higher questions which determine the starting-point of a diagnosis--as\r
+to the philosophy of medical evidence--any glimmering of these can only\r
+come from a scientific culture of which country practitioners have\r
+usually no more notion than the man in the moon."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which\r
+Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his\r
+comprehension. Under such circumstances a judicious man changes the\r
+topic and enters on ground where his own gifts may be more useful.\r
+\r
+"I am aware," he said, "that the peculiar bias of medical ability is\r
+towards material means. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, I hope we shall not\r
+vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not likely to be\r
+actively concerned, but in which your sympathetic concurrence may be an\r
+aid to me. You recognize, I hope; the existence of spiritual interests\r
+in your patients?"\r
+\r
+"Certainly I do. But those words are apt to cover different meanings\r
+to different minds."\r
+\r
+"Precisely. And on such subjects wrong teaching is as fatal as no\r
+teaching. Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new\r
+regulation as to clerical attendance at the old infirmary. The\r
+building stands in Mr. Farebrother's parish. You know Mr. Farebrother?"\r
+\r
+"I have seen him. He gave me his vote. I must call to thank him. He\r
+seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. And I understand he is a\r
+naturalist."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate.\r
+I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater\r
+talents." Mr. Bulstrode paused and looked meditative.\r
+\r
+"I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in\r
+Middlemarch," said Lydgate, bluntly.\r
+\r
+"What I desire," Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious,\r
+"is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be\r
+superseded by the appointment of a chaplain--of Mr. Tyke, in fact--and\r
+that no other spiritual aid should be called in."\r
+\r
+"As a medical man I could have no opinion on such a point unless I knew\r
+Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he\r
+was applied." Lydgate smiled, but he was bent on being circumspect.\r
+\r
+"Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at\r
+present. But"--here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak with a more chiselled\r
+emphasis--"the subject is likely to be referred to the medical board of\r
+the infirmary, and what I trust I may ask of you is, that in virtue of\r
+the cooperation between us which I now look forward to, you will not,\r
+so far as you are concerned, be influenced by my opponents in this\r
+matter."\r
+\r
+"I hope I shall have nothing to do with clerical disputes," said\r
+Lydgate. "The path I have chosen is to work well in my own profession."\r
+\r
+"My responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind. With me,\r
+indeed, this question is one of sacred accountableness; whereas with my\r
+opponents, I have good reason to say that it is an occasion for\r
+gratifying a spirit of worldly opposition. But I shall not therefore\r
+drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that\r
+truth which an evil generation hates. I have devoted myself to this\r
+object of hospital-improvement, but I will boldly confess to you, Mr.\r
+Lydgate, that I should have no interest in hospitals if I believed that\r
+nothing more was concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases. I\r
+have another ground of action, and in the face of persecution I will\r
+not conceal it."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's voice had become a loud and agitated whisper as he said\r
+the last words.\r
+\r
+"There we certainly differ," said Lydgate. But he was not sorry that\r
+the door was now opened, and Mr. Vincy was announced. That florid\r
+sociable personage was become more interesting to him since he had seen\r
+Rosamond. Not that, like her, he had been weaving any future in which\r
+their lots were united; but a man naturally remembers a charming girl\r
+with pleasure, and is willing to dine where he may see her again.\r
+Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had\r
+been "in no hurry about," for Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that\r
+she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great\r
+favor.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, alone with his brother-in-law, poured himself out a\r
+glass of water, and opened a sandwich-box.\r
+\r
+"I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?"\r
+\r
+"No, no; I've no opinion of that system. Life wants padding," said Mr.\r
+Vincy, unable to omit his portable theory. "However," he went on,\r
+accenting the word, as if to dismiss all irrelevance, "what I came here\r
+to talk about was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's."\r
+\r
+"That is a subject on which you and I are likely to take quite as\r
+different views as on diet, Vincy."\r
+\r
+"I hope not this time." (Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored.)\r
+"The fact is, it's about a whim of old Featherstone's. Somebody has\r
+been cooking up a story out of spite, and telling it to the old man, to\r
+try to set him against Fred. He's very fond of Fred, and is likely to\r
+do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that\r
+he means to leave him his land, and that makes other people jealous."\r
+\r
+"Vincy, I must repeat, that you will not get any concurrence from me as\r
+to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. It was entirely\r
+from worldly vanity that you destined him for the Church: with a family\r
+of three sons and four daughters, you were not warranted in devoting\r
+money to an expensive education which has succeeded in nothing but in\r
+giving him extravagant idle habits. You are now reaping the\r
+consequences."\r
+\r
+To point out other people's errors was a duty that Mr. Bulstrode rarely\r
+shrank from, but Mr. Vincy was not equally prepared to be patient.\r
+When a man has the immediate prospect of being mayor, and is ready, in\r
+the interests of commerce, to take up a firm attitude on politics\r
+generally, he has naturally a sense of his importance to the framework\r
+of things which seems to throw questions of private conduct into the\r
+background. And this particular reproof irritated him more than any\r
+other. It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that he was\r
+reaping the consequences. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke;\r
+and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was anxious to refrain from\r
+that relief.\r
+\r
+"As to that, Bulstrode, it's no use going back. I'm not one of your\r
+pattern men, and I don't pretend to be. I couldn't foresee everything\r
+in the trade; there wasn't a finer business in Middlemarch than ours,\r
+and the lad was clever. My poor brother was in the Church, and would\r
+have done well--had got preferment already, but that stomach fever took\r
+him off: else he might have been a dean by this time. I think I was\r
+justified in what I tried to do for Fred. If you come to religion, it\r
+seems to me a man shouldn't want to carve out his meat to an ounce\r
+beforehand:--one must trust a little to Providence and be generous.\r
+It's a good British feeling to try and raise your family a little: in\r
+my opinion, it's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance."\r
+\r
+"I don't wish to act otherwise than as your best friend, Vincy, when I\r
+say that what you have been uttering just now is one mass of\r
+worldliness and inconsistent folly."\r
+\r
+"Very well," said Mr. Vincy, kicking in spite of resolutions, "I never\r
+professed to be anything but worldly; and, what's more, I don't see\r
+anybody else who is not worldly. I suppose you don't conduct business\r
+on what you call unworldly principles. The only difference I see is\r
+that one worldliness is a little bit honester than another."\r
+\r
+"This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy," said Mr. Bulstrode,\r
+who, finishing his sandwich, had thrown himself back in his chair, and\r
+shaded his eyes as if weary. "You had some more particular business."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes. The long and short of it is, somebody has told old\r
+Featherstone, giving you as the authority, that Fred has been borrowing\r
+or trying to borrow money on the prospect of his land. Of course you\r
+never said any such nonsense. But the old fellow will insist on it\r
+that Fred should bring him a denial in your handwriting; that is, just\r
+a bit of a note saying you don't believe a word of such stuff, either\r
+of his having borrowed or tried to borrow in such a fool's way. I\r
+suppose you can have no objection to do that."\r
+\r
+"Pardon me. I have an objection. I am by no means sure that your son,\r
+in his recklessness and ignorance--I will use no severer word--has not\r
+tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that\r
+some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a\r
+presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other\r
+folly in the world."\r
+\r
+"But Fred gives me his honor that he has never borrowed money on the\r
+pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land. He is not a\r
+liar. I don't want to make him better than he is. I have blown him up\r
+well--nobody can say I wink at what he does. But he is not a liar.\r
+And I should have thought--but I may be wrong--that there was no\r
+religion to hinder a man from believing the best of a young fellow,\r
+when you don't know worse. It seems to me it would be a poor sort of\r
+religion to put a spoke in his wheel by refusing to say you don't\r
+believe such harm of him as you've got no good reason to believe."\r
+\r
+"I am not at all sure that I should be befriending your son by\r
+smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property.\r
+I cannot regard wealth as a blessing to those who use it simply as a\r
+harvest for this world. You do not like to hear these things, Vincy,\r
+but on this occasion I feel called upon to tell you that I have no\r
+motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you\r
+refer to. I do not shrink from saying that it will not tend to your\r
+son's eternal welfare or to the glory of God. Why then should you\r
+expect me to pen this kind of affidavit, which has no object but to\r
+keep up a foolish partiality and secure a foolish bequest?"\r
+\r
+"If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and\r
+evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all\r
+I can say," Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. "It may be for the glory\r
+of God, but it is not for the glory of the Middlemarch trade, that\r
+Plymdale's house uses those blue and green dyes it gets from the\r
+Brassing manufactory; they rot the silk, that's all I know about it.\r
+Perhaps if other people knew so much of the profit went to the glory of\r
+God, they might like it better. But I don't mind so much about that--I\r
+could get up a pretty row, if I chose."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode paused a little before he answered. "You pain me very\r
+much by speaking in this way, Vincy. I do not expect you to understand\r
+my grounds of action--it is not an easy thing even to thread a path for\r
+principles in the intricacies of the world--still less to make the\r
+thread clear for the careless and the scoffing. You must remember, if\r
+you please, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's\r
+brother, and that it little becomes you to complain of me as\r
+withholding material help towards the worldly position of your family.\r
+I must remind you that it is not your own prudence or judgment that has\r
+enabled you to keep your place in the trade."\r
+\r
+"Very likely not; but you have been no loser by my trade yet," said Mr.\r
+Vincy, thoroughly nettled (a result which was seldom much retarded by\r
+previous resolutions). "And when you married Harriet, I don't see how\r
+you could expect that our families should not hang by the same nail.\r
+If you've changed your mind, and want my family to come down in the\r
+world, you'd better say so. I've never changed; I'm a plain Churchman\r
+now, just as I used to be before doctrines came up. I take the world\r
+as I find it, in trade and everything else. I'm contented to be no\r
+worse than my neighbors. But if you want us to come down in the world,\r
+say so. I shall know better what to do then."\r
+\r
+"You talk unreasonably. Shall you come down in the world for want of\r
+this letter about your son?"\r
+\r
+"Well, whether or not, I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse\r
+it. Such doings may be lined with religion, but outside they have a\r
+nasty, dog-in-the-manger look. You might as well slander Fred: it\r
+comes pretty near to it when you refuse to say you didn't set a slander\r
+going. It's this sort of thing--this tyrannical spirit, wanting to\r
+play bishop and banker everywhere--it's this sort of thing makes a\r
+man's name stink."\r
+\r
+"Vincy, if you insist on quarrelling with me, it will be exceedingly\r
+painful to Harriet as well as myself," said Mr. Bulstrode, with a\r
+trifle more eagerness and paleness than usual.\r
+\r
+"I don't want to quarrel. It's for my interest--and perhaps for yours\r
+too--that we should be friends. I bear you no grudge; I think no worse\r
+of you than I do of other people. A man who half starves himself, and\r
+goes the length in family prayers, and so on, that you do, believes in\r
+his religion whatever it may be: you could turn over your capital just\r
+as fast with cursing and swearing:--plenty of fellows do. You like to\r
+be master, there's no denying that; you must be first chop in heaven,\r
+else you won't like it much. But you're my sister's husband, and we\r
+ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your\r
+fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way, and\r
+refuse to do Fred a good turn. And I don't mean to say I shall bear it\r
+well. I consider it unhandsome."\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and looked steadily at\r
+his brother-in-law, meaning to imply a demand for a decisive answer.\r
+\r
+This was not the first time that Mr. Bulstrode had begun by admonishing\r
+Mr. Vincy, and had ended by seeing a very unsatisfactory reflection of\r
+himself in the coarse unflattering mirror which that manufacturer's\r
+mind presented to the subtler lights and shadows of his fellow-men; and\r
+perhaps his experience ought to have warned him how the scene would\r
+end. But a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters even in\r
+the rain, when they are worse than useless; and a fine fount of\r
+admonition is apt to be equally irrepressible.\r
+\r
+It was not in Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence\r
+of uncomfortable suggestions. Before changing his course, he always\r
+needed to shape his motives and bring them into accordance with his\r
+habitual standard. He said, at last--\r
+\r
+"I will reflect a little, Vincy. I will mention the subject to\r
+Harriet. I shall probably send you a letter."\r
+\r
+"Very well. As soon as you can, please. I hope it will all be settled\r
+before I see you to-morrow."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIV.\r
+\r
+ "Follows here the strict receipt\r
+ For that sauce to dainty meat,\r
+ Named Idleness, which many eat\r
+ By preference, and call it sweet:\r
+ First watch for morsels, like a hound\r
+ Mix well with buffets, stir them round\r
+ With good thick oil of flatteries,\r
+ And froth with mean self-lauding lies.\r
+ Serve warm: the vessels you must choose\r
+ To keep it in are dead men's shoes."\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's consultation of Harriet seemed to have had the effect\r
+desired by Mr. Vincy, for early the next morning a letter came which\r
+Fred could carry to Mr. Featherstone as the required testimony.\r
+\r
+The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of the cold weather,\r
+and as Mary Garth was not to be seen in the sitting-room, Fred went\r
+up-stairs immediately and presented the letter to his uncle, who,\r
+propped up comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than usual to\r
+enjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting and frustrating\r
+mankind. He put on his spectacles to read the letter, pursing up his\r
+lips and drawing down their corners.\r
+\r
+"Under the circumstances I will not decline to state my\r
+conviction--tchah! what fine words the fellow puts! He's as fine as an\r
+auctioneer--that your son Frederic has not obtained any advance of\r
+money on bequests promised by Mr. Featherstone--promised? who said I\r
+had ever promised? I promise nothing--I shall make codicils as long as\r
+I like--and that considering the nature of such a proceeding, it is\r
+unreasonable to presume that a young man of sense and character would\r
+attempt it--ah, but the gentleman doesn't say you are a young man of\r
+sense and character, mark you that, sir!--As to my own concern with any\r
+report of such a nature, I distinctly affirm that I never made any\r
+statement to the effect that your son had borrowed money on any\r
+property that might accrue to him on Mr. Featherstone's demise--bless\r
+my heart! 'property'--accrue--demise! Lawyer Standish is nothing to\r
+him. He couldn't speak finer if he wanted to borrow. Well," Mr.\r
+Featherstone here looked over his spectacles at Fred, while he handed\r
+back the letter to him with a contemptuous gesture, "you don't suppose\r
+I believe a thing because Bulstrode writes it out fine, eh?"\r
+\r
+Fred colored. "You wished to have the letter, sir. I should think it\r
+very likely that Mr. Bulstrode's denial is as good as the authority\r
+which told you what he denies."\r
+\r
+"Every bit. I never said I believed either one or the other. And now\r
+what d' you expect?" said Mr. Featherstone, curtly, keeping on his\r
+spectacles, but withdrawing his hands under his wraps.\r
+\r
+"I expect nothing, sir." Fred with difficulty restrained himself from\r
+venting his irritation. "I came to bring you the letter. If you like\r
+I will bid you good morning."\r
+\r
+"Not yet, not yet. Ring the bell; I want missy to come."\r
+\r
+It was a servant who came in answer to the bell.\r
+\r
+"Tell missy to come!" said Mr. Featherstone, impatiently. "What\r
+business had she to go away?" He spoke in the same tone when Mary came.\r
+\r
+"Why couldn't you sit still here till I told you to go? I want my\r
+waistcoat now. I told you always to put it on the bed."\r
+\r
+Mary's eyes looked rather red, as if she had been crying. It was clear\r
+that Mr. Featherstone was in one of his most snappish humors this\r
+morning, and though Fred had now the prospect of receiving the\r
+much-needed present of money, he would have preferred being free to\r
+turn round on the old tyrant and tell him that Mary Garth was too good\r
+to be at his beck. Though Fred had risen as she entered the room, she\r
+had barely noticed him, and looked as if her nerves were quivering with\r
+the expectation that something would be thrown at her. But she never\r
+had anything worse than words to dread. When she went to reach the\r
+waistcoat from a peg, Fred went up to her and said, "Allow me."\r
+\r
+"Let it alone! You bring it, missy, and lay it down here," said Mr.\r
+Featherstone. "Now you go away again till I call you," he added, when\r
+the waistcoat was laid down by him. It was usual with him to season\r
+his pleasure in showing favor to one person by being especially\r
+disagreeable to another, and Mary was always at hand to furnish the\r
+condiment. When his own relatives came she was treated better. Slowly\r
+he took out a bunch of keys from the waistcoat pocket, and slowly he\r
+drew forth a tin box which was under the bed-clothes.\r
+\r
+"You expect I am going to give you a little fortune, eh?" he said,\r
+looking above his spectacles and pausing in the act of opening the lid.\r
+\r
+"Not at all, sir. You were good enough to speak of making me a present\r
+the other day, else, of course, I should not have thought of the\r
+matter." But Fred was of a hopeful disposition, and a vision had\r
+presented itself of a sum just large enough to deliver him from a\r
+certain anxiety. When Fred got into debt, it always seemed to him\r
+highly probable that something or other--he did not necessarily\r
+conceive what--would come to pass enabling him to pay in due time. And\r
+now that the providential occurrence was apparently close at hand, it\r
+would have been sheer absurdity to think that the supply would be short\r
+of the need: as absurd as a faith that believed in half a miracle for\r
+want of strength to believe in a whole one.\r
+\r
+The deep-veined hands fingered many bank-notes-one after the other,\r
+laying them down flat again, while Fred leaned back in his chair,\r
+scorning to look eager. He held himself to be a gentleman at heart,\r
+and did not like courting an old fellow for his money. At last, Mr.\r
+Featherstone eyed him again over his spectacles and presented him with\r
+a little sheaf of notes: Fred could see distinctly that there were but\r
+five, as the less significant edges gaped towards him. But then, each\r
+might mean fifty pounds. He took them, saying--\r
+\r
+"I am very much obliged to you, sir," and was going to roll them up\r
+without seeming to think of their value. But this did not suit Mr.\r
+Featherstone, who was eying him intently.\r
+\r
+"Come, don't you think it worth your while to count 'em? You take\r
+money like a lord; I suppose you lose it like one."\r
+\r
+"I thought I was not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, sir. But I\r
+shall be very happy to count them."\r
+\r
+Fred was not so happy, however, after he had counted them. For they\r
+actually presented the absurdity of being less than his hopefulness had\r
+decided that they must be. What can the fitness of things mean, if not\r
+their fitness to a man's expectations? Failing this, absurdity and\r
+atheism gape behind him. The collapse for Fred was severe when he\r
+found that he held no more than five twenties, and his share in the\r
+higher education of this country did not seem to help him.\r
+Nevertheless he said, with rapid changes in his fair complexion--\r
+\r
+"It is very handsome of you, sir."\r
+\r
+"I should think it is," said Mr. Featherstone, locking his box and\r
+replacing it, then taking off his spectacles deliberately, and at\r
+length, as if his inward meditation had more deeply convinced him,\r
+repeating, "I should think it handsome."\r
+\r
+"I assure you, sir, I am very grateful," said Fred, who had had time to\r
+recover his cheerful air.\r
+\r
+"So you ought to be. You want to cut a figure in the world, and I\r
+reckon Peter Featherstone is the only one you've got to trust to." Here\r
+the old man's eyes gleamed with a curiously mingled satisfaction in the\r
+consciousness that this smart young fellow relied upon him, and that\r
+the smart young fellow was rather a fool for doing so.\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed: I was not born to very splendid chances. Few men have\r
+been more cramped than I have been," said Fred, with some sense of\r
+surprise at his own virtue, considering how hardly he was dealt with.\r
+"It really seems a little too bad to have to ride a broken-winded\r
+hunter, and see men, who, are not half such good judges as yourself,\r
+able to throw away any amount of money on buying bad bargains."\r
+\r
+"Well, you can buy yourself a fine hunter now. Eighty pound is enough\r
+for that, I reckon--and you'll have twenty pound over to get yourself\r
+out of any little scrape," said Mr. Featherstone, chuckling slightly.\r
+\r
+"You are very good, sir," said Fred, with a fine sense of contrast\r
+between the words and his feeling.\r
+\r
+"Ay, rather a better uncle than your fine uncle Bulstrode. You won't\r
+get much out of his spekilations, I think. He's got a pretty strong\r
+string round your father's leg, by what I hear, eh?"\r
+\r
+"My father never tells me anything about his affairs, sir."\r
+\r
+"Well, he shows some sense there. But other people find 'em out\r
+without his telling. _He'll_ never have much to leave you: he'll\r
+most-like die without a will--he's the sort of man to do it--let 'em\r
+make him mayor of Middlemarch as much as they like. But you won't get\r
+much by his dying without a will, though you _are_ the eldest son."\r
+\r
+Fred thought that Mr. Featherstone had never been so disagreeable\r
+before. True, he had never before given him quite so much money at\r
+once.\r
+\r
+"Shall I destroy this letter of Mr. Bulstrode's, sir?" said Fred,\r
+rising with the letter as if he would put it in the fire.\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay, I don't want it. It's worth no money to me."\r
+\r
+Fred carried the letter to the fire, and thrust the poker through it\r
+with much zest. He longed to get out of the room, but he was a little\r
+ashamed before his inner self, as well as before his uncle, to run away\r
+immediately after pocketing the money. Presently, the farm-bailiff\r
+came up to give his master a report, and Fred, to his unspeakable\r
+relief, was dismissed with the injunction to come again soon.\r
+\r
+He had longed not only to be set free from his uncle, but also to find\r
+Mary Garth. She was now in her usual place by the fire, with sewing in\r
+her hands and a book open on the little table by her side. Her eyelids\r
+had lost some of their redness now, and she had her usual air of\r
+self-command.\r
+\r
+"Am I wanted up-stairs?" she said, half rising as Fred entered.\r
+\r
+"No; I am only dismissed, because Simmons is gone up."\r
+\r
+Mary sat down again, and resumed her work. She was certainly treating\r
+him with more indifference than usual: she did not know how\r
+affectionately indignant he had felt on her behalf up-stairs.\r
+\r
+"May I stay here a little, Mary, or shall I bore you?"\r
+\r
+"Pray sit down," said Mary; "you will not be so heavy a bore as Mr.\r
+John Waule, who was here yesterday, and he sat down without asking my\r
+leave."\r
+\r
+"Poor fellow! I think he is in love with you."\r
+\r
+"I am not aware of it. And to me it is one of the most odious things\r
+in a girl's life, that there must always be some supposition of falling\r
+in love coming between her and any man who is kind to her, and to whom\r
+she is grateful. I should have thought that I, at least, might have\r
+been safe from all that. I have no ground for the nonsensical vanity\r
+of fancying everybody who comes near me is in love with me."\r
+\r
+Mary did not mean to betray any feeling, but in spite of herself she\r
+ended in a tremulous tone of vexation.\r
+\r
+"Confound John Waule! I did not mean to make you angry. I didn't know\r
+you had any reason for being grateful to me. I forgot what a great\r
+service you think it if any one snuffs a candle for you." Fred also had\r
+his pride, and was not going to show that he knew what had called forth\r
+this outburst of Mary's.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I am not angry, except with the ways of the world. I do like to\r
+be spoken to as if I had common-sense. I really often feel as if I\r
+could understand a little more than I ever hear even from young\r
+gentlemen who have been to college." Mary had recovered, and she spoke\r
+with a suppressed rippling under-current of laughter pleasant to hear.\r
+\r
+"I don't care how merry you are at my expense this morning," said Fred,\r
+"I thought you looked so sad when you came up-stairs. It is a shame you\r
+should stay here to be bullied in that way."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I have an easy life--by comparison. I have tried being a teacher,\r
+and I am not fit for that: my mind is too fond of wandering on its own\r
+way. I think any hardship is better than pretending to do what one is\r
+paid for, and never really doing it. Everything here I can do as well\r
+as any one else could; perhaps better than some--Rosy, for example.\r
+Though she is just the sort of beautiful creature that is imprisoned\r
+with ogres in fairy tales."\r
+\r
+"_Rosy!_" cried Fred, in a tone of profound brotherly scepticism.\r
+\r
+"Come, Fred!" said Mary, emphatically; "you have no right to be so\r
+critical."\r
+\r
+"Do you mean anything particular--just now?"\r
+\r
+"No, I mean something general--always."\r
+\r
+"Oh, that I am idle and extravagant. Well, I am not fit to be a poor\r
+man. I should not have made a bad fellow if I had been rich."\r
+\r
+"You would have done your duty in that state of life to which it has\r
+not pleased God to call you," said Mary, laughing.\r
+\r
+"Well, I couldn't do my duty as a clergyman, any more than you could do\r
+yours as a governess. You ought to have a little fellow-feeling there,\r
+Mary."\r
+\r
+"I never said you ought to be a clergyman. There are other sorts of\r
+work. It seems to me very miserable not to resolve on some course and\r
+act accordingly."\r
+\r
+"So I could, if--" Fred broke off, and stood up, leaning against the\r
+mantel-piece.\r
+\r
+"If you were sure you should not have a fortune?"\r
+\r
+"I did not say that. You want to quarrel with me. It is too bad of\r
+you to be guided by what other people say about me."\r
+\r
+"How can I want to quarrel with you? I should be quarrelling with all\r
+my new books," said Mary, lifting the volume on the table. "However\r
+naughty you may be to other people, you are good to me."\r
+\r
+"Because I like you better than any one else. But I know you despise\r
+me."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I do--a little," said Mary, nodding, with a smile.\r
+\r
+"You would admire a stupendous fellow, who would have wise opinions\r
+about everything."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I should." Mary was sewing swiftly, and seemed provokingly\r
+mistress of the situation. When a conversation has taken a wrong turn\r
+for us, we only get farther and farther into the swamp of awkwardness.\r
+This was what Fred Vincy felt.\r
+\r
+"I suppose a woman is never in love with any one she has always\r
+known--ever since she can remember; as a man often is. It is always\r
+some new fellow who strikes a girl."\r
+\r
+"Let me see," said Mary, the corners of her mouth curling archly; "I\r
+must go back on my experience. There is Juliet--she seems an example\r
+of what you say. But then Ophelia had probably known Hamlet a long\r
+while; and Brenda Troil--she had known Mordaunt Merton ever since they\r
+were children; but then he seems to have been an estimable young man;\r
+and Minna was still more deeply in love with Cleveland, who was a\r
+stranger. Waverley was new to Flora MacIvor; but then she did not fall\r
+in love with him. And there are Olivia and Sophia Primrose, and\r
+Corinne--they may be said to have fallen in love with new men.\r
+Altogether, my experience is rather mixed."\r
+\r
+Mary looked up with some roguishness at Fred, and that look of hers was\r
+very dear to him, though the eyes were nothing more than clear windows\r
+where observation sat laughingly. He was certainly an affectionate\r
+fellow, and as he had grown from boy to man, he had grown in love with\r
+his old playmate, notwithstanding that share in the higher education of\r
+the country which had exalted his views of rank and income.\r
+\r
+"When a man is not loved, it is no use for him to say that he could be\r
+a better fellow--could do anything--I mean, if he were sure of being\r
+loved in return."\r
+\r
+"Not of the least use in the world for him to say he _could_ be better.\r
+Might, could, would--they are contemptible auxiliaries."\r
+\r
+"I don't see how a man is to be good for much unless he has some one\r
+woman to love him dearly."\r
+\r
+"I think the goodness should come before he expects that."\r
+\r
+"You know better, Mary. Women don't love men for their goodness."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps not. But if they love them, they never think them bad."\r
+\r
+"It is hardly fair to say I am bad."\r
+\r
+"I said nothing at all about you."\r
+\r
+"I never shall be good for anything, Mary, if you will not say that you\r
+love me--if you will not promise to marry me--I mean, when I am able to\r
+marry."\r
+\r
+"If I did love you, I would not marry you: I would certainly not\r
+promise ever to marry you."\r
+\r
+"I think that is quite wicked, Mary. If you love me, you ought to\r
+promise to marry me."\r
+\r
+"On the contrary, I think it would be wicked in me to marry you even if\r
+I did love you."\r
+\r
+"You mean, just as I am, without any means of maintaining a wife. Of\r
+course: I am but three-and-twenty."\r
+\r
+"In that last point you will alter. But I am not so sure of any other\r
+alteration. My father says an idle man ought not to exist, much less,\r
+be married."\r
+\r
+"Then I am to blow my brains out?"\r
+\r
+"No; on the whole I should think you would do better to pass your\r
+examination. I have heard Mr. Farebrother say it is disgracefully\r
+easy."\r
+\r
+"That is all very fine. Anything is easy to him. Not that cleverness\r
+has anything to do with it. I am ten times cleverer than many men who\r
+pass."\r
+\r
+"Dear me!" said Mary, unable to repress her sarcasm; "that accounts for\r
+the curates like Mr. Crowse. Divide your cleverness by ten, and the\r
+quotient--dear me!--is able to take a degree. But that only shows you\r
+are ten times more idle than the others."\r
+\r
+"Well, if I did pass, you would not want me to go into the Church?"\r
+\r
+"That is not the question--what I want you to do. You have a\r
+conscience of your own, I suppose. There! there is Mr. Lydgate. I\r
+must go and tell my uncle."\r
+\r
+"Mary," said Fred, seizing her hand as she rose; "if you will not give\r
+me some encouragement, I shall get worse instead of better."\r
+\r
+"I will not give you any encouragement," said Mary, reddening. "Your\r
+friends would dislike it, and so would mine. My father would think it\r
+a disgrace to me if I accepted a man who got into debt, and would not\r
+work!"\r
+\r
+Fred was stung, and released her hand. She walked to the door, but\r
+there she turned and said: "Fred, you have always been so good, so\r
+generous to me. I am not ungrateful. But never speak to me in that\r
+way again."\r
+\r
+"Very well," said Fred, sulkily, taking up his hat and whip. His\r
+complexion showed patches of pale pink and dead white. Like many a\r
+plucked idle young gentleman, he was thoroughly in love, and with a\r
+plain girl, who had no money! But having Mr. Featherstone's land in\r
+the background, and a persuasion that, let Mary say what she would, she\r
+really did care for him, Fred was not utterly in despair.\r
+\r
+When he got home, he gave four of the twenties to his mother, asking\r
+her to keep them for him. "I don't want to spend that money, mother.\r
+I want it to pay a debt with. So keep it safe away from my fingers."\r
+\r
+"Bless you, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy. She doted on her eldest son and\r
+her youngest girl (a child of six), whom others thought her two\r
+naughtiest children. The mother's eyes are not always deceived in\r
+their partiality: she at least can best judge who is the tender,\r
+filial-hearted child. And Fred was certainly very fond of his mother.\r
+Perhaps it was his fondness for another person also that made him\r
+particularly anxious to take some security against his own liability to\r
+spend the hundred pounds. For the creditor to whom he owed a hundred\r
+and sixty held a firmer security in the shape of a bill signed by\r
+Mary's father.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XV.\r
+\r
+ "Black eyes you have left, you say,\r
+ Blue eyes fail to draw you;\r
+ Yet you seem more rapt to-day,\r
+ Than of old we saw you.\r
+\r
+ "Oh, I track the fairest fair\r
+ Through new haunts of pleasure;\r
+ Footprints here and echoes there\r
+ Guide me to my treasure:\r
+\r
+ "Lo! she turns--immortal youth\r
+ Wrought to mortal stature,\r
+ Fresh as starlight's aged truth--\r
+ Many-named Nature!"\r
+\r
+\r
+A great historian, as he insisted on calling himself, who had the\r
+happiness to be dead a hundred and twenty years ago, and so to take his\r
+place among the colossi whose huge legs our living pettiness is\r
+observed to walk under, glories in his copious remarks and digressions\r
+as the least imitable part of his work, and especially in those initial\r
+chapters to the successive books of his history, where he seems to\r
+bring his armchair to the proscenium and chat with us in all the lusty\r
+ease of his fine English. But Fielding lived when the days were longer\r
+(for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer\r
+afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in the winter\r
+evenings. We belated historians must not linger after his example; and\r
+if we did so, it is probable that our chat would be thin and eager, as\r
+if delivered from a campstool in a parrot-house. I at least have so\r
+much to do in unraveling certain human lots, and seeing how they were\r
+woven and interwoven, that all the light I can command must be\r
+concentrated on this particular web, and not dispersed over that\r
+tempting range of relevancies called the universe.\r
+\r
+At present I have to make the new settler Lydgate better known to any\r
+one interested in him than he could possibly be even to those who had\r
+seen the most of him since his arrival in Middlemarch. For surely all\r
+must admit that a man may be puffed and belauded, envied, ridiculed,\r
+counted upon as a tool and fallen in love with, or at least selected as\r
+a future husband, and yet remain virtually unknown--known merely as a\r
+cluster of signs for his neighbors' false suppositions. There was a\r
+general impression, however, that Lydgate was not altogether a common\r
+country doctor, and in Middlemarch at that time such an impression was\r
+significant of great things being expected from him. For everybody's\r
+family doctor was remarkably clever, and was understood to have\r
+immeasurable skill in the management and training of the most skittish\r
+or vicious diseases. The evidence of his cleverness was of the higher\r
+intuitive order, lying in his lady-patients' immovable conviction, and\r
+was unassailable by any objection except that their intuitions were\r
+opposed by others equally strong; each lady who saw medical truth in\r
+Wrench and "the strengthening treatment" regarding Toller and "the\r
+lowering system" as medical perdition. For the heroic times of copious\r
+bleeding and blistering had not yet departed, still less the times of\r
+thorough-going theory, when disease in general was called by some bad\r
+name, and treated accordingly without shilly-shally--as if, for\r
+example, it were to be called insurrection, which must not be fired on\r
+with blank-cartridge, but have its blood drawn at once. The\r
+strengtheners and the lowerers were all "clever" men in somebody's\r
+opinion, which is really as much as can be said for any living talents.\r
+Nobody's imagination had gone so far as to conjecture that Mr. Lydgate\r
+could know as much as Dr. Sprague and Dr. Minchin, the two physicians,\r
+who alone could offer any hope when danger was extreme, and when the\r
+smallest hope was worth a guinea. Still, I repeat, there was a general\r
+impression that Lydgate was something rather more uncommon than any\r
+general practitioner in Middlemarch. And this was true. He was but\r
+seven-and-twenty, an age at which many men are not quite common--at\r
+which they are hopeful of achievement, resolute in avoidance, thinking\r
+that Mammon shall never put a bit in their mouths and get astride their\r
+backs, but rather that Mammon, if they have anything to do with him,\r
+shall draw their chariot.\r
+\r
+He had been left an orphan when he was fresh from a public school. His\r
+father, a military man, had made but little provision for three\r
+children, and when the boy Tertius asked to have a medical education,\r
+it seemed easier to his guardians to grant his request by apprenticing\r
+him to a country practitioner than to make any objections on the score\r
+of family dignity. He was one of the rarer lads who early get a\r
+decided bent and make up their minds that there is something particular\r
+in life which they would like to do for its own sake, and not because\r
+their fathers did it. Most of us who turn to any subject with love\r
+remember some morning or evening hour when we got on a high stool to\r
+reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted lips listening to a\r
+new talker, or for very lack of books began to listen to the voices\r
+within, as the first traceable beginning of our love. Something of\r
+that sort happened to Lydgate. He was a quick fellow, and when hot\r
+from play, would toss himself in a corner, and in five minutes be deep\r
+in any sort of book that he could lay his hands on: if it were Rasselas\r
+or Gulliver, so much the better, but Bailey's Dictionary would do, or\r
+the Bible with the Apocrypha in it. Something he must read, when he\r
+was not riding the pony, or running and hunting, or listening to the\r
+talk of men. All this was true of him at ten years of age; he had then\r
+read through "Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea," which was\r
+neither milk for babes, nor any chalky mixture meant to pass for milk,\r
+and it had already occurred to him that books were stuff, and that life\r
+was stupid. His school studies had not much modified that opinion, for\r
+though he "did" his classics and mathematics, he was not pre-eminent in\r
+them. It was said of him, that Lydgate could do anything he liked, but\r
+he had certainly not yet liked to do anything remarkable. He was a\r
+vigorous animal with a ready understanding, but no spark had yet\r
+kindled in him an intellectual passion; knowledge seemed to him a very\r
+superficial affair, easily mastered: judging from the conversation of\r
+his elders, he had apparently got already more than was necessary for\r
+mature life. Probably this was not an exceptional result of expensive\r
+teaching at that period of short-waisted coats, and other fashions\r
+which have not yet recurred. But, one vacation, a wet day sent him to\r
+the small home library to hunt once more for a book which might have\r
+some freshness for him: in vain! unless, indeed, he took down a dusty\r
+row of volumes with gray-paper backs and dingy labels--the volumes of\r
+an old Cyclopaedia which he had never disturbed. It would at least be\r
+a novelty to disturb them. They were on the highest shelf, and he\r
+stood on a chair to get them down. But he opened the volume which he\r
+first took from the shelf: somehow, one is apt to read in a makeshift\r
+attitude, just where it might seem inconvenient to do so. The page he\r
+opened on was under the head of Anatomy, and the first passage that\r
+drew his eyes was on the valves of the heart. He was not much\r
+acquainted with valves of any sort, but he knew that valvae were\r
+folding-doors, and through this crevice came a sudden light startling\r
+him with his first vivid notion of finely adjusted mechanism in the\r
+human frame. A liberal education had of course left him free to read\r
+the indecent passages in the school classics, but beyond a general\r
+sense of secrecy and obscenity in connection with his internal\r
+structure, had left his imagination quite unbiassed, so that for\r
+anything he knew his brains lay in small bags at his temples, and he\r
+had no more thought of representing to himself how his blood circulated\r
+than how paper served instead of gold. But the moment of vocation had\r
+come, and before he got down from his chair, the world was made new to\r
+him by a presentiment of endless processes filling the vast spaces\r
+planked out of his sight by that wordy ignorance which he had supposed\r
+to be knowledge. From that hour Lydgate felt the growth of an\r
+intellectual passion.\r
+\r
+We are not afraid of telling over and over again how a man comes to\r
+fall in love with a woman and be wedded to her, or else be fatally\r
+parted from her. Is it due to excess of poetry or of stupidity that we\r
+are never weary of describing what King James called a woman's "makdom\r
+and her fairnesse," never weary of listening to the twanging of the old\r
+Troubadour strings, and are comparatively uninterested in that other\r
+kind of "makdom and fairnesse" which must be wooed with industrious\r
+thought and patient renunciation of small desires? In the story of\r
+this passion, too, the development varies: sometimes it is the glorious\r
+marriage, sometimes frustration and final parting. And not seldom the\r
+catastrophe is bound up with the other passion, sung by the\r
+Troubadours. For in the multitude of middle-aged men who go about\r
+their vocations in a daily course determined for them much in the same\r
+way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once\r
+meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little. The story\r
+of their coming to be shapen after the average and fit to be packed by\r
+the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps\r
+their ardor in generous unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the\r
+ardor of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked\r
+like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly.\r
+Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual\r
+change! In the beginning they inhaled it unknowingly: you and I may\r
+have sent some of our breath towards infecting them, when we uttered\r
+our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions: or perhaps it\r
+came with the vibrations from a woman's glance.\r
+\r
+Lydgate did not mean to be one of those failures, and there was the\r
+better hope of him because his scientific interest soon took the form\r
+of a professional enthusiasm: he had a youthful belief in his\r
+bread-winning work, not to be stifled by that initiation in makeshift\r
+called his 'prentice days; and he carried to his studies in London,\r
+Edinburgh, and Paris, the conviction that the medical profession as it\r
+might be was the finest in the world; presenting the most perfect\r
+interchange between science and art; offering the most direct alliance\r
+between intellectual conquest and the social good. Lydgate's nature\r
+demanded this combination: he was an emotional creature, with a\r
+flesh-and-blood sense of fellowship which withstood all the\r
+abstractions of special study. He cared not only for "cases," but for\r
+John and Elizabeth, especially Elizabeth.\r
+\r
+There was another attraction in his profession: it wanted reform, and\r
+gave a man an opportunity for some indignant resolve to reject its\r
+venal decorations and other humbug, and to be the possessor of genuine\r
+though undemanded qualifications. He went to study in Paris with the\r
+determination that when he came home again he would settle in some\r
+provincial town as a general practitioner, and resist the\r
+irrational severance between medical and surgical knowledge in the\r
+interest of his own scientific pursuits, as well as of the general\r
+advance: he would keep away from the range of London intrigues,\r
+jealousies, and social truckling, and win celebrity, however slowly, as\r
+Jenner had done, by the independent value of his work. For it must be\r
+remembered that this was a dark period; and in spite of venerable\r
+colleges which used great efforts to secure purity of knowledge by\r
+making it scarce, and to exclude error by a rigid exclusiveness in\r
+relation to fees and appointments, it happened that very ignorant young\r
+gentlemen were promoted in town, and many more got a legal right to\r
+practise over large areas in the country. Also, the high standard held\r
+up to the public mind by the College of Physicians, which gave its peculiar\r
+sanction to the expensive and highly rarefied medical instruction\r
+obtained by graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, did not hinder quackery\r
+from having an excellent time of it; for since professional practice\r
+chiefly consisted in giving a great many drugs, the public inferred\r
+that it might be better off with more drugs still, if they could only\r
+be got cheaply, and hence swallowed large cubic measures of physic\r
+prescribed by unscrupulous ignorance which had taken no degrees.\r
+Considering that statistics had not yet embraced a calculation as to\r
+the number of ignorant or canting doctors which absolutely must exist\r
+in the teeth of all changes, it seemed to Lydgate that a change in the\r
+units was the most direct mode of changing the numbers. He meant to be\r
+a unit who would make a certain amount of difference towards that\r
+spreading change which would one day tell appreciably upon the\r
+averages, and in the mean time have the pleasure of making an\r
+advantageous difference to the viscera of his own patients. But he did\r
+not simply aim at a more genuine kind of practice than was common. He\r
+was ambitious of a wider effect: he was fired with the possibility that\r
+he might work out the proof of an anatomical conception and make a link\r
+in the chain of discovery.\r
+\r
+Does it seem incongruous to you that a Middlemarch surgeon should dream\r
+of himself as a discoverer? Most of us, indeed, know little of the\r
+great originators until they have been lifted up among the\r
+constellations and already rule our fates. But that Herschel, for\r
+example, who "broke the barriers of the heavens"--did he not once play\r
+a provincial church-organ, and give music-lessons to stumbling\r
+pianists? Each of those Shining Ones had to walk on the earth among\r
+neighbors who perhaps thought much more of his gait and his garments\r
+than of anything which was to give him a title to everlasting fame:\r
+each of them had his little local personal history sprinkled with small\r
+temptations and sordid cares, which made the retarding friction of his\r
+course towards final companionship with the immortals. Lydgate was not\r
+blind to the dangers of such friction, but he had plenty of confidence\r
+in his resolution to avoid it as far as possible: being\r
+seven-and-twenty, he felt himself experienced. And he was not going to\r
+have his vanities provoked by contact with the showy worldly successes\r
+of the capital, but to live among people who could hold no rivalry with\r
+that pursuit of a great idea which was to be a twin object with the\r
+assiduous practice of his profession. There was fascination in the\r
+hope that the two purposes would illuminate each other: the careful\r
+observation and inference which was his daily work, the use of the lens\r
+to further his judgment in special cases, would further his thought as\r
+an instrument of larger inquiry. Was not this the typical pre-eminence\r
+of his profession? He would be a good Middlemarch doctor, and by that\r
+very means keep himself in the track of far-reaching investigation. On\r
+one point he may fairly claim approval at this particular stage of his\r
+career: he did not mean to imitate those philanthropic models who make\r
+a profit out of poisonous pickles to support themselves while they are\r
+exposing adulteration, or hold shares in a gambling-hell that they may\r
+have leisure to represent the cause of public morality. He intended to\r
+begin in his own case some particular reforms which were quite\r
+certainly within his reach, and much less of a problem than the\r
+demonstrating of an anatomical conception. One of these reforms was to\r
+act stoutly on the strength of a recent legal decision, and simply\r
+prescribe, without dispensing drugs or taking percentage from\r
+druggists. This was an innovation for one who had chosen to adopt the\r
+style of general practitioner in a country town, and would be felt as\r
+offensive criticism by his professional brethren. But Lydgate meant to\r
+innovate in his treatment also, and he was wise enough to see that the\r
+best security for his practising honestly according to his belief was\r
+to get rid of systematic temptations to the contrary.\r
+\r
+Perhaps that was a more cheerful time for observers and theorizers than\r
+the present; we are apt to think it the finest era of the world when\r
+America was beginning to be discovered, when a bold sailor, even if he\r
+were wrecked, might alight on a new kingdom; and about 1829 the dark\r
+territories of Pathology were a fine America for a spirited young\r
+adventurer. Lydgate was ambitious above all to contribute towards\r
+enlarging the scientific, rational basis of his profession. The more\r
+he became interested in special questions of disease, such as the\r
+nature of fever or fevers, the more keenly he felt the need for that\r
+fundamental knowledge of structure which just at the beginning of the\r
+century had been illuminated by the brief and glorious career of\r
+Bichat, who died when he was only one-and-thirty, but, like another\r
+Alexander, left a realm large enough for many heirs. That great\r
+Frenchman first carried out the conception that living bodies,\r
+fundamentally considered, are not associations of organs which can be\r
+understood by studying them first apart, and then as it were federally;\r
+but must be regarded as consisting of certain primary webs or tissues,\r
+out of which the various organs--brain, heart, lungs, and so on--are\r
+compacted, as the various accommodations of a house are built up in\r
+various proportions of wood, iron, stone, brick, zinc, and the rest,\r
+each material having its peculiar composition and proportions. No man,\r
+one sees, can understand and estimate the entire structure or its\r
+parts--what are its frailties and what its repairs, without knowing the\r
+nature of the materials. And the conception wrought out by Bichat,\r
+with his detailed study of the different tissues, acted necessarily on\r
+medical questions as the turning of gas-light would act on a dim,\r
+oil-lit street, showing new connections and hitherto hidden facts of\r
+structure which must be taken into account in considering the symptoms\r
+of maladies and the action of medicaments. But results which depend on\r
+human conscience and intelligence work slowly, and now at the end of\r
+1829, most medical practice was still strutting or shambling along the\r
+old paths, and there was still scientific work to be done which might\r
+have seemed to be a direct sequence of Bichat's. This great seer did\r
+not go beyond the consideration of the tissues as ultimate facts in the\r
+living organism, marking the limit of anatomical analysis; but it was\r
+open to another mind to say, have not these structures some common\r
+basis from which they have all started, as your sarsnet, gauze, net,\r
+satin, and velvet from the raw cocoon? Here would be another light, as\r
+of oxy-hydrogen, showing the very grain of things, and revising all\r
+former explanations. Of this sequence to Bichat's work, already\r
+vibrating along many currents of the European mind, Lydgate was\r
+enamoured; he longed to demonstrate the more intimate relations of\r
+living structure, and help to define men's thought more accurately\r
+after the true order. The work had not yet been done, but only\r
+prepared for those who knew how to use the preparation. What was the\r
+primitive tissue? In that way Lydgate put the question--not quite in\r
+the way required by the awaiting answer; but such missing of the right\r
+word befalls many seekers. And he counted on quiet intervals to be\r
+watchfully seized, for taking up the threads of investigation--on many\r
+hints to be won from diligent application, not only of the scalpel, but\r
+of the microscope, which research had begun to use again with new\r
+enthusiasm of reliance. Such was Lydgate's plan of his future: to do\r
+good small work for Middlemarch, and great work for the world.\r
+\r
+He was certainly a happy fellow at this time: to be seven-and-twenty,\r
+without any fixed vices, with a generous resolution that his action\r
+should be beneficent, and with ideas in his brain that made life\r
+interesting quite apart from the cultus of horseflesh and other mystic\r
+rites of costly observance, which the eight hundred pounds left him\r
+after buying his practice would certainly not have gone far in paying\r
+for. He was at a starting-point which makes many a man's career a fine\r
+subject for betting, if there were any gentlemen given to that\r
+amusement who could appreciate the complicated probabilities of an\r
+arduous purpose, with all the possible thwartings and furtherings of\r
+circumstance, all the niceties of inward balance, by which a man swims\r
+and makes his point or else is carried headlong. The risk would remain\r
+even with close knowledge of Lydgate's character; for character too is\r
+a process and an unfolding. The man was still in the making, as much\r
+as the Middlemarch doctor and immortal discoverer, and there were both\r
+virtues and faults capable of shrinking or expanding. The faults will\r
+not, I hope, be a reason for the withdrawal of your interest in him.\r
+Among our valued friends is there not some one or other who is a little\r
+too self-confident and disdainful; whose distinguished mind is a little\r
+spotted with commonness; who is a little pinched here and protuberant\r
+there with native prejudices; or whose better energies are liable to\r
+lapse down the wrong channel under the influence of transient\r
+solicitations? All these things might be alleged against Lydgate, but\r
+then, they are the periphrases of a polite preacher, who talks of Adam,\r
+and would not like to mention anything painful to the pew-renters. The\r
+particular faults from which these delicate generalities are distilled\r
+have distinguishable physiognomies, diction, accent, and grimaces;\r
+filling up parts in very various dramas. Our vanities differ as our\r
+noses do: all conceit is not the same conceit, but varies in\r
+correspondence with the minutiae of mental make in which one of us\r
+differs from another. Lydgate's conceit was of the arrogant sort,\r
+never simpering, never impertinent, but massive in its claims and\r
+benevolently contemptuous. He would do a great deal for noodles, being\r
+sorry for them, and feeling quite sure that they could have no power\r
+over him: he had thought of joining the Saint Simonians when he was in\r
+Paris, in order to turn them against some of their own doctrines. All\r
+his faults were marked by kindred traits, and were those of a man who\r
+had a fine baritone, whose clothes hung well upon him, and who even in\r
+his ordinary gestures had an air of inbred distinction. Where then lay\r
+the spots of commonness? says a young lady enamoured of that careless\r
+grace. How could there be any commonness in a man so well-bred, so\r
+ambitious of social distinction, so generous and unusual in his views\r
+of social duty? As easily as there may be stupidity in a man of genius\r
+if you take him unawares on the wrong subject, or as many a man who has\r
+the best will to advance the social millennium might be ill-inspired in\r
+imagining its lighter pleasures; unable to go beyond Offenbach's music,\r
+or the brilliant punning in the last burlesque. Lydgate's spots of\r
+commonness lay in the complexion of his prejudices, which, in spite of\r
+noble intention and sympathy, were half of them such as are found in\r
+ordinary men of the world: that distinction of mind which belonged to\r
+his intellectual ardor, did not penetrate his feeling and judgment\r
+about furniture, or women, or the desirability of its being known\r
+(without his telling) that he was better born than other country\r
+surgeons. He did not mean to think of furniture at present; but\r
+whenever he did so it was to be feared that neither biology nor schemes\r
+of reform would lift him above the vulgarity of feeling that there\r
+would be an incompatibility in his furniture not being of the best.\r
+\r
+As to women, he had once already been drawn headlong by impetuous\r
+folly, which he meant to be final, since marriage at some distant\r
+period would of course not be impetuous. For those who want to be\r
+acquainted with Lydgate it will be good to know what was that case of\r
+impetuous folly, for it may stand as an example of the fitful swerving\r
+of passion to which he was prone, together with the chivalrous kindness\r
+which helped to make him morally lovable. The story can be told\r
+without many words. It happened when he was studying in Paris, and\r
+just at the time when, over and above his other work, he was occupied\r
+with some galvanic experiments. One evening, tired with his\r
+experimenting, and not being able to elicit the facts he needed, he\r
+left his frogs and rabbits to some repose under their trying and\r
+mysterious dispensation of unexplained shocks, and went to finish his\r
+evening at the theatre of the Porte Saint Martin, where there was a\r
+melodrama which he had already seen several times; attracted, not by\r
+the ingenious work of the collaborating authors, but by an actress\r
+whose part it was to stab her lover, mistaking him for the\r
+evil-designing duke of the piece. Lydgate was in love with this\r
+actress, as a man is in love with a woman whom he never expects to\r
+speak to. She was a Provencale, with dark eyes, a Greek profile, and\r
+rounded majestic form, having that sort of beauty which carries a sweet\r
+matronliness even in youth, and her voice was a soft cooing. She had\r
+but lately come to Paris, and bore a virtuous reputation, her husband\r
+acting with her as the unfortunate lover. It was her acting which was\r
+"no better than it should be," but the public was satisfied. Lydgate's\r
+only relaxation now was to go and look at this woman, just as he might\r
+have thrown himself under the breath of the sweet south on a bank of\r
+violets for a while, without prejudice to his galvanism, to which he\r
+would presently return. But this evening the old drama had a new\r
+catastrophe. At the moment when the heroine was to act the stabbing of\r
+her lover, and he was to fall gracefully, the wife veritably stabbed\r
+her husband, who fell as death willed. A wild shriek pierced the\r
+house, and the Provencale fell swooning: a shriek and a swoon were\r
+demanded by the play, but the swooning too was real this time. Lydgate\r
+leaped and climbed, he hardly knew how, on to the stage, and was active\r
+in help, making the acquaintance of his heroine by finding a contusion\r
+on her head and lifting her gently in his arms. Paris rang with the\r
+story of this death:--was it a murder? Some of the actress's warmest\r
+admirers were inclined to believe in her guilt, and liked her the\r
+better for it (such was the taste of those times); but Lydgate was not\r
+one of these. He vehemently contended for her innocence, and the\r
+remote impersonal passion for her beauty which he had felt before, had\r
+passed now into personal devotion, and tender thought of her lot. The\r
+notion of murder was absurd: no motive was discoverable, the young\r
+couple being understood to dote on each other; and it was not\r
+unprecedented that an accidental slip of the foot should have brought\r
+these grave consequences. The legal investigation ended in Madame\r
+Laure's release. Lydgate by this time had had many interviews with\r
+her, and found her more and more adorable. She talked little; but that\r
+was an additional charm. She was melancholy, and seemed grateful; her\r
+presence was enough, like that of the evening light. Lydgate was madly\r
+anxious about her affection, and jealous lest any other man than\r
+himself should win it and ask her to marry him. But instead of\r
+reopening her engagement at the Porte Saint Martin, where she would\r
+have been all the more popular for the fatal episode, she left Paris\r
+without warning, forsaking her little court of admirers. Perhaps no\r
+one carried inquiry far except Lydgate, who felt that all science had\r
+come to a stand-still while he imagined the unhappy Laure, stricken by\r
+ever-wandering sorrow, herself wandering, and finding no faithful\r
+comforter. Hidden actresses, however, are not so difficult to find as\r
+some other hidden facts, and it was not long before Lydgate gathered\r
+indications that Laure had taken the route to Lyons. He found her at\r
+last acting with great success at Avignon under the same name, looking\r
+more majestic than ever as a forsaken wife carrying her child in her\r
+arms. He spoke to her after the play, was received with the usual\r
+quietude which seemed to him beautiful as clear depths of water, and\r
+obtained leave to visit her the next day; when he was bent on telling\r
+her that he adored her, and on asking her to marry him. He knew that\r
+this was like the sudden impulse of a madman--incongruous even with his\r
+habitual foibles. No matter! It was the one thing which he was\r
+resolved to do. He had two selves within him apparently, and they must\r
+learn to accommodate each other and bear reciprocal impediments.\r
+Strange, that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our\r
+infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide\r
+plain where our persistent self pauses and awaits us.\r
+\r
+To have approached Laure with any suit that was not reverentially\r
+tender would have been simply a contradiction of his whole feeling\r
+towards her.\r
+\r
+"You have come all the way from Paris to find me?" she said to him the\r
+next day, sitting before him with folded arms, and looking at him with\r
+eyes that seemed to wonder as an untamed ruminating animal wonders.\r
+"Are all Englishmen like that?"\r
+\r
+"I came because I could not live without trying to see you. You are\r
+lonely; I love you; I want you to consent to be my wife; I will wait,\r
+but I want you to promise that you will marry me--no one else."\r
+\r
+Laure looked at him in silence with a melancholy radiance from under\r
+her grand eyelids, until he was full of rapturous certainty, and knelt\r
+close to her knees.\r
+\r
+"I will tell you something," she said, in her cooing way, keeping her\r
+arms folded. "My foot really slipped."\r
+\r
+"I know, I know," said Lydgate, deprecatingly. "It was a fatal\r
+accident--a dreadful stroke of calamity that bound me to you the more."\r
+\r
+Again Laure paused a little and then said, slowly, "_I meant to do it._"\r
+\r
+Lydgate, strong man as he was, turned pale and trembled: moments seemed\r
+to pass before he rose and stood at a distance from her.\r
+\r
+"There was a secret, then," he said at last, even vehemently. "He was\r
+brutal to you: you hated him."\r
+\r
+"No! he wearied me; he was too fond: he would live in Paris, and not in\r
+my country; that was not agreeable to me."\r
+\r
+"Great God!" said Lydgate, in a groan of horror. "And you planned to\r
+murder him?"\r
+\r
+"I did not plan: it came to me in the play--_I meant to do it._"\r
+\r
+Lydgate stood mute, and unconsciously pressed his hat on while he\r
+looked at her. He saw this woman--the first to whom he had given his\r
+young adoration--amid the throng of stupid criminals.\r
+\r
+"You are a good young man," she said. "But I do not like husbands. I\r
+will never have another."\r
+\r
+Three days afterwards Lydgate was at his galvanism again in his Paris\r
+chambers, believing that illusions were at an end for him. He was\r
+saved from hardening effects by the abundant kindness of his heart and\r
+his belief that human life might be made better. But he had more\r
+reason than ever for trusting his judgment, now that it was so\r
+experienced; and henceforth he would take a strictly scientific view of\r
+woman, entertaining no expectations but such as were justified\r
+beforehand.\r
+\r
+No one in Middlemarch was likely to have such a notion of Lydgate's\r
+past as has here been faintly shadowed, and indeed the respectable\r
+townsfolk there were not more given than mortals generally to any eager\r
+attempt at exactness in the representation to themselves of what did\r
+not come under their own senses. Not only young virgins of that town,\r
+but gray-bearded men also, were often in haste to conjecture how a new\r
+acquaintance might be wrought into their purposes, contented with very\r
+vague knowledge as to the way in which life had been shaping him for\r
+that instrumentality. Middlemarch, in fact, counted on swallowing\r
+Lydgate and assimilating him very comfortably.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XVI.\r
+\r
+ "All that in woman is adored\r
+ In thy fair self I find--\r
+ For the whole sex can but afford\r
+ The handsome and the kind."\r
+ --SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.\r
+\r
+\r
+The question whether Mr. Tyke should be appointed as salaried chaplain\r
+to the hospital was an exciting topic to the Middlemarchers; and\r
+Lydgate heard it discussed in a way that threw much light on the power\r
+exercised in the town by Mr. Bulstrode. The banker was evidently a\r
+ruler, but there was an opposition party, and even among his supporters\r
+there were some who allowed it to be seen that their support was a\r
+compromise, and who frankly stated their impression that the general\r
+scheme of things, and especially the casualties of trade, required you\r
+to hold a candle to the devil.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's power was not due simply to his being a country banker,\r
+who knew the financial secrets of most traders in the town and could\r
+touch the springs of their credit; it was fortified by a beneficence\r
+that was at once ready and severe--ready to confer obligations, and\r
+severe in watching the result. He had gathered, as an industrious man\r
+always at his post, a chief share in administering the town charities,\r
+and his private charities were both minute and abundant. He would take\r
+a great deal of pains about apprenticing Tegg the shoemaker's son, and\r
+he would watch over Tegg's church-going; he would defend Mrs. Strype\r
+the washerwoman against Stubbs's unjust exaction on the score of her\r
+drying-ground, and he would himself scrutinize a calumny against Mrs.\r
+Strype. His private minor loans were numerous, but he would inquire\r
+strictly into the circumstances both before and after. In this way a\r
+man gathers a domain in his neighbors' hope and fear as well as\r
+gratitude; and power, when once it has got into that subtle region,\r
+propagates itself, spreading out of all proportion to its external\r
+means. It was a principle with Mr. Bulstrode to gain as much power as\r
+possible, that he might use it for the glory of God. He went through a\r
+great deal of spiritual conflict and inward argument in order to adjust\r
+his motives, and make clear to himself what God's glory required. But,\r
+as we have seen, his motives were not always rightly appreciated.\r
+There were many crass minds in Middlemarch whose reflective scales\r
+could only weigh things in the lump; and they had a strong suspicion\r
+that since Mr. Bulstrode could not enjoy life in their fashion, eating\r
+and drinking so little as he did, and worreting himself about\r
+everything, he must have a sort of vampire's feast in the sense of\r
+mastery.\r
+\r
+The subject of the chaplaincy came up at Mr. Vincy's table when Lydgate\r
+was dining there, and the family connection with Mr. Bulstrode did not,\r
+he observed, prevent some freedom of remark even on the part of the\r
+host himself, though his reasons against the proposed arrangement\r
+turned entirely on his objection to Mr. Tyke's sermons, which were all\r
+doctrine, and his preference for Mr. Farebrother, whose sermons were\r
+free from that taint. Mr. Vincy liked well enough the notion of the\r
+chaplain's having a salary, supposing it were given to Farebrother, who\r
+was as good a little fellow as ever breathed, and the best preacher\r
+anywhere, and companionable too.\r
+\r
+"What line shall you take, then?" said Mr. Chichely, the coroner, a\r
+great coursing comrade of Mr. Vincy's.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I'm precious glad I'm not one of the Directors now. I shall vote\r
+for referring the matter to the Directors and the Medical Board\r
+together. I shall roll some of my responsibility on your shoulders,\r
+Doctor," said Mr. Vincy, glancing first at Dr. Sprague, the senior\r
+physician of the town, and then at Lydgate who sat opposite. "You\r
+medical gentlemen must consult which sort of black draught you will\r
+prescribe, eh, Mr. Lydgate?"\r
+\r
+"I know little of either," said Lydgate; "but in general, appointments\r
+are apt to be made too much a question of personal liking. The fittest\r
+man for a particular post is not always the best fellow or the most\r
+agreeable. Sometimes, if you wanted to get a reform, your only way\r
+would be to pension off the good fellows whom everybody is fond of, and\r
+put them out of the question."\r
+\r
+Dr. Sprague, who was considered the physician of most "weight," though\r
+Dr. Minchin was usually said to have more "penetration," divested his\r
+large heavy face of all expression, and looked at his wine-glass while\r
+Lydgate was speaking. Whatever was not problematical and suspected\r
+about this young man--for example, a certain showiness as to foreign\r
+ideas, and a disposition to unsettle what had been settled and\r
+forgotten by his elders--was positively unwelcome to a physician whose\r
+standing had been fixed thirty years before by a treatise on\r
+Meningitis, of which at least one copy marked "own" was bound in calf.\r
+For my part I have some fellow-feeling with Dr. Sprague: one's\r
+self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very\r
+unpleasant to find deprecated.\r
+\r
+Lydgate's remark, however, did not meet the sense of the company. Mr.\r
+Vincy said, that if he could have _his_ way, he would not put\r
+disagreeable fellows anywhere.\r
+\r
+"Hang your reforms!" said Mr. Chichely. "There's no greater humbug in\r
+the world. You never hear of a reform, but it means some trick to put\r
+in new men. I hope you are not one of the 'Lancet's' men, Mr.\r
+Lydgate--wanting to take the coronership out of the hands of the legal\r
+profession: your words appear to point that way."\r
+\r
+"I disapprove of Wakley," interposed Dr. Sprague, "no man more: he is\r
+an ill-intentioned fellow, who would sacrifice the respectability of\r
+the profession, which everybody knows depends on the London Colleges,\r
+for the sake of getting some notoriety for himself. There are men who\r
+don't mind about being kicked blue if they can only get talked about.\r
+But Wakley is right sometimes," the Doctor added, judicially. "I could\r
+mention one or two points in which Wakley is in the right."\r
+\r
+"Oh, well," said Mr. Chichely, "I blame no man for standing up in favor\r
+of his own cloth; but, coming to argument, I should like to know how a\r
+coroner is to judge of evidence if he has not had a legal training?"\r
+\r
+"In my opinion," said Lydgate, "legal training only makes a man more\r
+incompetent in questions that require knowledge a of another kind.\r
+People talk about evidence as if it could really be weighed in scales\r
+by a blind Justice. No man can judge what is good evidence on any\r
+particular subject, unless he knows that subject well. A lawyer is no\r
+better than an old woman at a post-mortem examination. How is he to\r
+know the action of a poison? You might as well say that scanning verse\r
+will teach you to scan the potato crops."\r
+\r
+"You are aware, I suppose, that it is not the coroner's business to\r
+conduct the post-mortem, but only to take the evidence of the medical\r
+witness?" said Mr. Chichely, with some scorn.\r
+\r
+"Who is often almost as ignorant as the coroner himself," said Lydgate.\r
+"Questions of medical jurisprudence ought not to be left to the chance\r
+of decent knowledge in a medical witness, and the coroner ought not to\r
+be a man who will believe that strychnine will destroy the coats of the\r
+stomach if an ignorant practitioner happens to tell him so."\r
+\r
+Lydgate had really lost sight of the fact that Mr. Chichely was his\r
+Majesty's coroner, and ended innocently with the question, "Don't you\r
+agree with me, Dr. Sprague?"\r
+\r
+"To a certain extent--with regard to populous districts, and in the\r
+metropolis," said the Doctor. "But I hope it will be long before this\r
+part of the country loses the services of my friend Chichely, even\r
+though it might get the best man in our profession to succeed him. I\r
+am sure Vincy will agree with me."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes, give me a coroner who is a good coursing man," said Mr.\r
+Vincy, jovially. "And in my opinion, you're safest with a lawyer.\r
+Nobody can know everything. Most things are 'visitation of God.' And as\r
+to poisoning, why, what you want to know is the law. Come, shall we\r
+join the ladies?"\r
+\r
+Lydgate's private opinion was that Mr. Chichely might be the very\r
+coroner without bias as to the coats of the stomach, but he had not\r
+meant to be personal. This was one of the difficulties of moving in\r
+good Middlemarch society: it was dangerous to insist on knowledge as a\r
+qualification for any salaried office. Fred Vincy had called Lydgate a\r
+prig, and now Mr. Chichely was inclined to call him prick-eared;\r
+especially when, in the drawing-room, he seemed to be making himself\r
+eminently agreeable to Rosamond, whom he had easily monopolized in a\r
+tete-a-tete, since Mrs. Vincy herself sat at the tea-table. She\r
+resigned no domestic function to her daughter; and the matron's\r
+blooming good-natured face, with the two volatile pink strings floating\r
+from her fine throat, and her cheery manners to husband and children,\r
+was certainly among the great attractions of the Vincy\r
+house--attractions which made it all the easier to fall in love with\r
+the daughter. The tinge of unpretentious, inoffensive vulgarity in\r
+Mrs. Vincy gave more effect to Rosamond's refinement, which was beyond\r
+what Lydgate had expected.\r
+\r
+Certainly, small feet and perfectly turned shoulders aid the impression\r
+of refined manners, and the right thing said seems quite astonishingly\r
+right when it is accompanied with exquisite curves of lip and eyelid.\r
+And Rosamond could say the right thing; for she was clever with that\r
+sort of cleverness which catches every tone except the humorous.\r
+Happily she never attempted to joke, and this perhaps was the most\r
+decisive mark of her cleverness.\r
+\r
+She and Lydgate readily got into conversation. He regretted that he\r
+had not heard her sing the other day at Stone Court. The only pleasure\r
+he allowed himself during the latter part of his stay in Paris was to\r
+go and hear music.\r
+\r
+"You have studied music, probably?" said Rosamond.\r
+\r
+"No, I know the notes of many birds, and I know many melodies by ear;\r
+but the music that I don't know at all, and have no notion about,\r
+delights me--affects me. How stupid the world is that it does not make\r
+more use of such a pleasure within its reach!"\r
+\r
+"Yes, and you will find Middlemarch very tuneless. There are hardly\r
+any good musicians. I only know two gentlemen who sing at all well."\r
+\r
+"I suppose it is the fashion to sing comic songs in a rhythmic way,\r
+leaving you to fancy the tune--very much as if it were tapped on a\r
+drum?"\r
+\r
+"Ah, you have heard Mr. Bowyer," said Rosamond, with one of her rare\r
+smiles. "But we are speaking very ill of our neighbors."\r
+\r
+Lydgate was almost forgetting that he must carry on the conversation,\r
+in thinking how lovely this creature was, her garment seeming to be\r
+made out of the faintest blue sky, herself so immaculately blond, as if\r
+the petals of some gigantic flower had just opened and disclosed her;\r
+and yet with this infantine blondness showing so much ready,\r
+self-possessed grace. Since he had had the memory of Laure, Lydgate\r
+had lost all taste for large-eyed silence: the divine cow no longer\r
+attracted him, and Rosamond was her very opposite. But he recalled\r
+himself.\r
+\r
+"You will let me hear some music to-night, I hope."\r
+\r
+"I will let you hear my attempts, if you like," said Rosamond. "Papa\r
+is sure to insist on my singing. But I shall tremble before you, who\r
+have heard the best singers in Paris. I have heard very little: I have\r
+only once been to London. But our organist at St. Peter's is a good\r
+musician, and I go on studying with him."\r
+\r
+"Tell me what you saw in London."\r
+\r
+"Very little." (A more naive girl would have said, "Oh, everything!"\r
+But Rosamond knew better.) "A few of the ordinary sights, such as raw\r
+country girls are always taken to."\r
+\r
+"Do you call yourself a raw country girl?" said Lydgate, looking at her\r
+with an involuntary emphasis of admiration, which made Rosamond blush\r
+with pleasure. But she remained simply serious, turned her long neck a\r
+little, and put up her hand to touch her wondrous hair-plaits--an\r
+habitual gesture with her as pretty as any movements of a kitten's paw.\r
+Not that Rosamond was in the least like a kitten: she was a sylph\r
+caught young and educated at Mrs. Lemon's.\r
+\r
+"I assure you my mind is raw," she said immediately; "I pass at\r
+Middlemarch. I am not afraid of talking to our old neighbors. But I\r
+am really afraid of you."\r
+\r
+"An accomplished woman almost always knows more than we men, though her\r
+knowledge is of a different sort. I am sure you could teach me a\r
+thousand things--as an exquisite bird could teach a bear if there were\r
+any common language between them. Happily, there is a common language\r
+between women and men, and so the bears can get taught."\r
+\r
+"Ah, there is Fred beginning to strum! I must go and hinder him from\r
+jarring all your nerves," said Rosamond, moving to the other side of\r
+the room, where Fred having opened the piano, at his father's desire,\r
+that Rosamond might give them some music, was parenthetically\r
+performing "Cherry Ripe!" with one hand. Able men who have passed\r
+their examinations will do these things sometimes, not less than the\r
+plucked Fred.\r
+\r
+"Fred, pray defer your practising till to-morrow; you will make Mr.\r
+Lydgate ill," said Rosamond. "He has an ear."\r
+\r
+Fred laughed, and went on with his tune to the end.\r
+\r
+Rosamond turned to Lydgate, smiling gently, and said, "You perceive,\r
+the bears will not always be taught."\r
+\r
+"Now then, Rosy!" said Fred, springing from the stool and twisting it\r
+upward for her, with a hearty expectation of enjoyment. "Some good\r
+rousing tunes first."\r
+\r
+Rosamond played admirably. Her master at Mrs. Lemon's school (close to\r
+a county town with a memorable history that had its relics in church\r
+and castle) was one of those excellent musicians here and there to be\r
+found in our provinces, worthy to compare with many a noted\r
+Kapellmeister in a country which offers more plentiful conditions of\r
+musical celebrity. Rosamond, with the executant's instinct, had seized\r
+his manner of playing, and gave forth his large rendering of noble\r
+music with the precision of an echo. It was almost startling, heard\r
+for the first time. A hidden soul seemed to be flowing forth from\r
+Rosamond's fingers; and so indeed it was, since souls live on in\r
+perpetual echoes, and to all fine expression there goes somewhere an\r
+originating activity, if it be only that of an interpreter. Lydgate\r
+was taken possession of, and began to believe in her as something\r
+exceptional. After all, he thought, one need not be surprised to find\r
+the rare conjunctions of nature under circumstances apparently\r
+unfavorable: come where they may, they always depend on conditions that\r
+are not obvious. He sat looking at her, and did not rise to pay her\r
+any compliments, leaving that to others, now that his admiration was\r
+deepened.\r
+\r
+Her singing was less remarkable, but also well trained, and sweet to\r
+hear as a chime perfectly in tune. It is true she sang "Meet me by\r
+moonlight," and "I've been roaming"; for mortals must share the\r
+fashions of their time, and none but the ancients can be always\r
+classical. But Rosamond could also sing "Black-eyed Susan" with\r
+effect, or Haydn's canzonets, or "Voi, che sapete," or "Batti,\r
+batti"--she only wanted to know what her audience liked.\r
+\r
+Her father looked round at the company, delighting in their admiration.\r
+Her mother sat, like a Niobe before her troubles, with her youngest\r
+little girl on her lap, softly beating the child's hand up and down in\r
+time to the music. And Fred, notwithstanding his general scepticism\r
+about Rosy, listened to her music with perfect allegiance, wishing he\r
+could do the same thing on his flute. It was the pleasantest family\r
+party that Lydgate had seen since he came to Middlemarch. The Vincys\r
+had the readiness to enjoy, the rejection of all anxiety, and the\r
+belief in life as a merry lot, which made a house exceptional in most\r
+county towns at that time, when Evangelicalism had cast a certain\r
+suspicion as of plague-infection over the few amusements which survived\r
+in the provinces. At the Vincys' there was always whist, and the\r
+card-tables stood ready now, making some of the company secretly\r
+impatient of the music. Before it ceased Mr. Farebrother came in--a\r
+handsome, broad-chested but otherwise small man, about forty, whose\r
+black was very threadbare: the brilliancy was all in his quick gray\r
+eyes. He came like a pleasant change in the light, arresting little\r
+Louisa with fatherly nonsense as she was being led out of the room by\r
+Miss Morgan, greeting everybody with some special word, and seeming to\r
+condense more talk into ten minutes than had been held all through the\r
+evening. He claimed from Lydgate the fulfilment of a promise to come\r
+and see him. "I can't let you off, you know, because I have some\r
+beetles to show you. We collectors feel an interest in every new man\r
+till he has seen all we have to show him."\r
+\r
+But soon he swerved to the whist-table, rubbing his hands and saying,\r
+"Come now, let us be serious! Mr. Lydgate? not play? Ah! you are too\r
+young and light for this kind of thing."\r
+\r
+Lydgate said to himself that the clergyman whose abilities were so\r
+painful to Mr. Bulstrode, appeared to have found an agreeable resort in\r
+this certainly not erudite household. He could half understand it: the\r
+good-humor, the good looks of elder and younger, and the provision for\r
+passing the time without any labor of intelligence, might make the\r
+house beguiling to people who had no particular use for their odd hours.\r
+\r
+Everything looked blooming and joyous except Miss Morgan, who was\r
+brown, dull, and resigned, and altogether, as Mrs. Vincy often said,\r
+just the sort of person for a governess. Lydgate did not mean to pay\r
+many such visits himself. They were a wretched waste of the evenings;\r
+and now, when he had talked a little more to Rosamond, he meant to\r
+excuse himself and go.\r
+\r
+"You will not like us at Middlemarch, I feel sure," she said, when the\r
+whist-players were settled. "We are very stupid, and you have been\r
+used to something quite different."\r
+\r
+"I suppose all country towns are pretty much alike," said Lydgate.\r
+"But I have noticed that one always believes one's own town to be more\r
+stupid than any other. I have made up my mind to take Middlemarch as\r
+it comes, and shall be much obliged if the town will take me in the\r
+same way. I have certainly found some charms in it which are much\r
+greater than I had expected."\r
+\r
+"You mean the rides towards Tipton and Lowick; every one is pleased\r
+with those," said Rosamond, with simplicity.\r
+\r
+"No, I mean something much nearer to me."\r
+\r
+Rosamond rose and reached her netting, and then said, "Do you care\r
+about dancing at all? I am not quite sure whether clever men ever\r
+dance."\r
+\r
+"I would dance with you if you would allow me."\r
+\r
+"Oh!" said Rosamond, with a slight deprecatory laugh. "I was only\r
+going to say that we sometimes have dancing, and I wanted to know\r
+whether you would feel insulted if you were asked to come."\r
+\r
+"Not on the condition I mentioned."\r
+\r
+After this chat Lydgate thought that he was going, but on moving\r
+towards the whist-tables, he got interested in watching Mr.\r
+Farebrother's play, which was masterly, and also his face, which was a\r
+striking mixture of the shrewd and the mild. At ten o'clock supper was\r
+brought in (such were the customs of Middlemarch) and there was\r
+punch-drinking; but Mr. Farebrother had only a glass of water. He was\r
+winning, but there seemed to be no reason why the renewal of rubbers\r
+should end, and Lydgate at last took his leave.\r
+\r
+But as it was not eleven o'clock, he chose to walk in the brisk air\r
+towards the tower of St. Botolph's, Mr. Farebrother's church, which\r
+stood out dark, square, and massive against the starlight. It was the\r
+oldest church in Middlemarch; the living, however, was but a vicarage\r
+worth barely four hundred a-year. Lydgate had heard that, and he\r
+wondered now whether Mr. Farebrother cared about the money he won at\r
+cards; thinking, "He seems a very pleasant fellow, but Bulstrode may\r
+have his good reasons." Many things would be easier to Lydgate if it\r
+should turn out that Mr. Bulstrode was generally justifiable. "What is\r
+his religious doctrine to me, if he carries some good notions along\r
+with it? One must use such brains as are to be found."\r
+\r
+These were actually Lydgate's first meditations as he walked away from\r
+Mr. Vincy's, and on this ground I fear that many ladies will consider\r
+him hardly worthy of their attention. He thought of Rosamond and her\r
+music only in the second place; and though, when her turn came, he\r
+dwelt on the image of her for the rest of his walk, he felt no\r
+agitation, and had no sense that any new current had set into his life.\r
+He could not marry yet; he wished not to marry for several years; and\r
+therefore he was not ready to entertain the notion of being in love\r
+with a girl whom he happened to admire. He did admire Rosamond\r
+exceedingly; but that madness which had once beset him about Laure was\r
+not, he thought, likely to recur in relation to any other woman.\r
+Certainly, if falling in love had been at all in question, it would\r
+have been quite safe with a creature like this Miss Vincy, who had just\r
+the kind of intelligence one would desire in a woman--polished,\r
+refined, docile, lending itself to finish in all the delicacies of\r
+life, and enshrined in a body which expressed this with a force of\r
+demonstration that excluded the need for other evidence. Lydgate felt\r
+sure that if ever he married, his wife would have that feminine\r
+radiance, that distinctive womanhood which must be classed with flowers\r
+and music, that sort of beauty which by its very nature was virtuous,\r
+being moulded only for pure and delicate joys.\r
+\r
+But since he did not mean to marry for the next five years--his more\r
+pressing business was to look into Louis' new book on Fever, which he\r
+was specially interested in, because he had known Louis in Paris, and\r
+had followed many anatomical demonstrations in order to ascertain the\r
+specific differences of typhus and typhoid. He went home and read far\r
+into the smallest hour, bringing a much more testing vision of details\r
+and relations into this pathological study than he had ever thought it\r
+necessary to apply to the complexities of love and marriage, these\r
+being subjects on which he felt himself amply informed by literature,\r
+and that traditional wisdom which is handed down in the genial\r
+conversation of men. Whereas Fever had obscure conditions, and gave\r
+him that delightful labor of the imagination which is not mere\r
+arbitrariness, but the exercise of disciplined power--combining and\r
+constructing with the clearest eye for probabilities and the fullest\r
+obedience to knowledge; and then, in yet more energetic alliance with\r
+impartial Nature, standing aloof to invent tests by which to try its\r
+own work.\r
+\r
+Many men have been praised as vividly imaginative on the strength of\r
+their profuseness in indifferent drawing or cheap narration:--reports\r
+of very poor talk going on in distant orbs; or portraits of Lucifer\r
+coming down on his bad errands as a large ugly man with bat's wings and\r
+spurts of phosphorescence; or exaggerations of wantonness that seem to\r
+reflect life in a diseased dream. But these kinds of inspiration\r
+Lydgate regarded as rather vulgar and vinous compared with the\r
+imagination that reveals subtle actions inaccessible by any sort of\r
+lens, but tracked in that outer darkness through long pathways of\r
+necessary sequence by the inward light which is the last refinement of\r
+Energy, capable of bathing even the ethereal atoms in its ideally\r
+illuminated space. He for his part had tossed away all cheap\r
+inventions where ignorance finds itself able and at ease: he was\r
+enamoured of that arduous invention which is the very eye of research,\r
+provisionally framing its object and correcting it to more and more\r
+exactness of relation; he wanted to pierce the obscurity of those\r
+minute processes which prepare human misery and joy, those invisible\r
+thoroughfares which are the first lurking-places of anguish, mania, and\r
+crime, that delicate poise and transition which determine the growth of\r
+happy or unhappy consciousness.\r
+\r
+As he threw down his book, stretched his legs towards the embers in the\r
+grate, and clasped his hands at the back of his head, in that agreeable\r
+afterglow of excitement when thought lapses from examination of a\r
+specific object into a suffusive sense of its connections with all the\r
+rest of our existence--seems, as it were, to throw itself on its back\r
+after vigorous swimming and float with the repose of unexhausted\r
+strength--Lydgate felt a triumphant delight in his studies, and\r
+something like pity for those less lucky men who were not of his\r
+profession.\r
+\r
+"If I had not taken that turn when I was a lad," he thought, "I might\r
+have got into some stupid draught-horse work or other, and lived always\r
+in blinkers. I should never have been happy in any profession that did\r
+not call forth the highest intellectual strain, and yet keep me in good\r
+warm contact with my neighbors. There is nothing like the medical\r
+profession for that: one can have the exclusive scientific life that\r
+touches the distance and befriend the old fogies in the parish too. It\r
+is rather harder for a clergyman: Farebrother seems to be an anomaly."\r
+\r
+This last thought brought back the Vincys and all the pictures of the\r
+evening. They floated in his mind agreeably enough, and as he took up\r
+his bed-candle his lips were curled with that incipient smile which is\r
+apt to accompany agreeable recollections. He was an ardent fellow, but\r
+at present his ardor was absorbed in love of his work and in the\r
+ambition of making his life recognized as a factor in the better life\r
+of mankind--like other heroes of science who had nothing but an obscure\r
+country practice to begin with.\r
+\r
+Poor Lydgate! or shall I say, Poor Rosamond! Each lived in a world of\r
+which the other knew nothing. It had not occurred to Lydgate that he\r
+had been a subject of eager meditation to Rosamond, who had neither any\r
+reason for throwing her marriage into distant perspective, nor any\r
+pathological studies to divert her mind from that ruminating habit,\r
+that inward repetition of looks, words, and phrases, which makes a\r
+large part in the lives of most girls. He had not meant to look at her\r
+or speak to her with more than the inevitable amount of admiration and\r
+compliment which a man must give to a beautiful girl; indeed, it seemed\r
+to him that his enjoyment of her music had remained almost silent, for\r
+he feared falling into the rudeness of telling her his great surprise\r
+at her possession of such accomplishment. But Rosamond had registered\r
+every look and word, and estimated them as the opening incidents of a\r
+preconceived romance--incidents which gather value from the foreseen\r
+development and climax. In Rosamond's romance it was not necessary to\r
+imagine much about the inward life of the hero, or of his serious\r
+business in the world: of course, he had a profession and was clever,\r
+as well as sufficiently handsome; but the piquant fact about Lydgate\r
+was his good birth, which distinguished him from all Middlemarch\r
+admirers, and presented marriage as a prospect of rising in rank and\r
+getting a little nearer to that celestial condition on earth in which\r
+she would have nothing to do with vulgar people, and perhaps at last\r
+associate with relatives quite equal to the county people who looked\r
+down on the Middlemarchers. It was part of Rosamond's cleverness to\r
+discern very subtly the faintest aroma of rank, and once when she had\r
+seen the Miss Brookes accompanying their uncle at the county assizes,\r
+and seated among the aristocracy, she had envied them, notwithstanding\r
+their plain dress.\r
+\r
+If you think it incredible that to imagine Lydgate as a man of family\r
+could cause thrills of satisfaction which had anything to do with the\r
+sense that she was in love with him, I will ask you to use your power\r
+of comparison a little more effectively, and consider whether red cloth\r
+and epaulets have never had an influence of that sort. Our passions do\r
+not live apart in locked chambers, but, dressed in their small wardrobe\r
+of notions, bring their provisions to a common table and mess together,\r
+feeding out of the common store according to their appetite.\r
+\r
+Rosamond, in fact, was entirely occupied not exactly with Tertius\r
+Lydgate as he was in himself, but with his relation to her; and it was\r
+excusable in a girl who was accustomed to hear that all young men\r
+might, could, would be, or actually were in love with her, to believe\r
+at once that Lydgate could be no exception. His looks and words meant\r
+more to her than other men's, because she cared more for them: she\r
+thought of them diligently, and diligently attended to that perfection\r
+of appearance, behavior, sentiments, and all other elegancies, which\r
+would find in Lydgate a more adequate admirer than she had yet been\r
+conscious of.\r
+\r
+For Rosamond, though she would never do anything that was disagreeable\r
+to her, was industrious; and now more than ever she was active in\r
+sketching her landscapes and market-carts and portraits of friends, in\r
+practising her music, and in being from morning till night her own\r
+standard of a perfect lady, having always an audience in her own\r
+consciousness, with sometimes the not unwelcome addition of a more\r
+variable external audience in the numerous visitors of the house. She\r
+found time also to read the best novels, and even the second best, and\r
+she knew much poetry by heart. Her favorite poem was "Lalla Rookh."\r
+\r
+"The best girl in the world! He will be a happy fellow who gets her!"\r
+was the sentiment of the elderly gentlemen who visited the Vincys; and\r
+the rejected young men thought of trying again, as is the fashion in\r
+country towns where the horizon is not thick with coming rivals. But\r
+Mrs. Plymdale thought that Rosamond had been educated to a ridiculous\r
+pitch, for what was the use of accomplishments which would be all laid\r
+aside as soon as she was married? While her aunt Bulstrode, who had a\r
+sisterly faithfulness towards her brother's family, had two sincere\r
+wishes for Rosamond--that she might show a more serious turn of mind,\r
+and that she might meet with a husband whose wealth corresponded to her\r
+habits.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XVII.\r
+\r
+ "The clerkly person smiled and said\r
+ Promise was a pretty maid,\r
+ But being poor she died unwed."\r
+\r
+\r
+The Rev. Camden Farebrother, whom Lydgate went to see the next evening,\r
+lived in an old parsonage, built of stone, venerable enough to match\r
+the church which it looked out upon. All the furniture too in the\r
+house was old, but with another grade of age--that of Mr. Farebrother's\r
+father and grandfather. There were painted white chairs, with gilding\r
+and wreaths on them, and some lingering red silk damask with slits in\r
+it. There were engraved portraits of Lord Chancellors and other\r
+celebrated lawyers of the last century; and there were old pier-glasses\r
+to reflect them, as well as the little satin-wood tables and the sofas\r
+resembling a prolongation of uneasy chairs, all standing in relief\r
+against the dark wainscot. This was the physiognomy of the drawing-room\r
+into which Lydgate was shown; and there were three ladies to receive\r
+him, who were also old-fashioned, and of a faded but genuine\r
+respectability: Mrs. Farebrother, the Vicar's white-haired mother,\r
+befrilled and kerchiefed with dainty cleanliness, upright, quick-eyed,\r
+and still under seventy; Miss Noble, her sister, a tiny old lady of\r
+meeker aspect, with frills and kerchief decidedly more worn and mended;\r
+and Miss Winifred Farebrother, the Vicar's elder sister, well-looking\r
+like himself, but nipped and subdued as single women are apt to be who\r
+spend their lives in uninterrupted subjection to their elders. Lydgate\r
+had not expected to see so quaint a group: knowing simply that Mr.\r
+Farebrother was a bachelor, he had thought of being ushered into a\r
+snuggery where the chief furniture would probably be books and\r
+collections of natural objects. The Vicar himself seemed to wear\r
+rather a changed aspect, as most men do when acquaintances made\r
+elsewhere see them for the first time in their own homes; some indeed\r
+showing like an actor of genial parts disadvantageously cast for the\r
+curmudgeon in a new piece. This was not the case with Mr. Farebrother:\r
+he seemed a trifle milder and more silent, the chief talker being his\r
+mother, while he only put in a good-humored moderating remark here and\r
+there. The old lady was evidently accustomed to tell her company what\r
+they ought to think, and to regard no subject as quite safe without her\r
+steering. She was afforded leisure for this function by having all her\r
+little wants attended to by Miss Winifred. Meanwhile tiny Miss Noble\r
+carried on her arm a small basket, into which she diverted a bit of\r
+sugar, which she had first dropped in her saucer as if by mistake;\r
+looking round furtively afterwards, and reverting to her teacup with a\r
+small innocent noise as of a tiny timid quadruped. Pray think no ill\r
+of Miss Noble. That basket held small savings from her more portable\r
+food, destined for the children of her poor friends among whom she\r
+trotted on fine mornings; fostering and petting all needy creatures\r
+being so spontaneous a delight to her, that she regarded it much as if\r
+it had been a pleasant vice that she was addicted to. Perhaps she was\r
+conscious of being tempted to steal from those who had much that she\r
+might give to those who had nothing, and carried in her conscience the\r
+guilt of that repressed desire. One must be poor to know the luxury of\r
+giving!\r
+\r
+Mrs. Farebrother welcomed the guest with a lively formality and\r
+precision. She presently informed him that they were not often in want\r
+of medical aid in that house. She had brought up her children to wear\r
+flannel and not to over-eat themselves, which last habit she considered\r
+the chief reason why people needed doctors. Lydgate pleaded for those\r
+whose fathers and mothers had over-eaten themselves, but Mrs.\r
+Farebrother held that view of things dangerous: Nature was more just\r
+than that; it would be easy for any felon to say that his ancestors\r
+ought to have been hanged instead of him. If those who had bad fathers\r
+and mothers were bad themselves, they were hanged for that. There was\r
+no need to go back on what you couldn't see.\r
+\r
+"My mother is like old George the Third," said the Vicar, "she objects\r
+to metaphysics."\r
+\r
+"I object to what is wrong, Camden. I say, keep hold of a few plain\r
+truths, and make everything square with them. When I was young, Mr.\r
+Lydgate, there never was any question about right and wrong. We knew\r
+our catechism, and that was enough; we learned our creed and our duty.\r
+Every respectable Church person had the same opinions. But now, if you\r
+speak out of the Prayer-book itself, you are liable to be contradicted."\r
+\r
+"That makes rather a pleasant time of it for those who like to maintain\r
+their own point," said Lydgate.\r
+\r
+"But my mother always gives way," said the Vicar, slyly.\r
+\r
+"No, no, Camden, you must not lead Mr. Lydgate into a mistake about\r
+_me_. I shall never show that disrespect to my parents, to give up what\r
+they taught me. Any one may see what comes of turning. If you change\r
+once, why not twenty times?"\r
+\r
+"A man might see good arguments for changing once, and not see them for\r
+changing again," said Lydgate, amused with the decisive old lady.\r
+\r
+"Excuse me there. If you go upon arguments, they are never wanting,\r
+when a man has no constancy of mind. My father never changed, and he\r
+preached plain moral sermons without arguments, and was a good man--few\r
+better. When you get me a good man made out of arguments, I will get\r
+you a good dinner with reading you the cookery-book. That's my opinion,\r
+and I think anybody's stomach will bear me out."\r
+\r
+"About the dinner certainly, mother," said Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"It is the same thing, the dinner or the man. I am nearly seventy, Mr.\r
+Lydgate, and I go upon experience. I am not likely to follow new\r
+lights, though there are plenty of them here as elsewhere. I say, they\r
+came in with the mixed stuffs that will neither wash nor wear. It was\r
+not so in my youth: a Churchman was a Churchman, and a clergyman, you\r
+might be pretty sure, was a gentleman, if nothing else. But now he may\r
+be no better than a Dissenter, and want to push aside my son on\r
+pretence of doctrine. But whoever may wish to push him aside, I am\r
+proud to say, Mr. Lydgate, that he will compare with any preacher in\r
+this kingdom, not to speak of this town, which is but a low standard to\r
+go by; at least, to my thinking, for I was born and bred at Exeter."\r
+\r
+"A mother is never partial," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling. "What do\r
+you think Tyke's mother says about him?"\r
+\r
+"Ah, poor creature! what indeed?" said Mrs. Farebrother, her sharpness\r
+blunted for the moment by her confidence in maternal judgments. "She\r
+says the truth to herself, depend upon it."\r
+\r
+"And what is the truth?" said Lydgate. "I am curious to know."\r
+\r
+"Oh, nothing bad at all," said Mr. Farebrother. "He is a zealous\r
+fellow: not very learned, and not very wise, I think--because I don't\r
+agree with him."\r
+\r
+"Why, Camden!" said Miss Winifred, "Griffin and his wife told me only\r
+to-day, that Mr. Tyke said they should have no more coals if they came\r
+to hear you preach."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Farebrother laid down her knitting, which she had resumed after\r
+her small allowance of tea and toast, and looked at her son as if to\r
+say "You hear that?" Miss Noble said, "Oh poor things! poor things!"\r
+in reference, probably, to the double loss of preaching and coal. But\r
+the Vicar answered quietly--\r
+\r
+"That is because they are not my parishioners. And I don't think my\r
+sermons are worth a load of coals to them."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate," said Mrs. Farebrother, who could not let this pass, "you\r
+don't know my son: he always undervalues himself. I tell him he is\r
+undervaluing the God who made him, and made him a most excellent\r
+preacher."\r
+\r
+"That must be a hint for me to take Mr. Lydgate away to my study,\r
+mother," said the Vicar, laughing. "I promised to show you my\r
+collection," he added, turning to Lydgate; "shall we go?"\r
+\r
+All three ladies remonstrated. Mr. Lydgate ought not to be hurried\r
+away without being allowed to accept another cup of tea: Miss Winifred\r
+had abundance of good tea in the pot. Why was Camden in such haste to\r
+take a visitor to his den? There was nothing but pickled vermin, and\r
+drawers full of blue-bottles and moths, with no carpet on the floor.\r
+Mr. Lydgate must excuse it. A game at cribbage would be far better.\r
+In short, it was plain that a vicar might be adored by his womankind as\r
+the king of men and preachers, and yet be held by them to stand in much\r
+need of their direction. Lydgate, with the usual shallowness of a\r
+young bachelor, wondered that Mr. Farebrother had not taught them\r
+better.\r
+\r
+"My mother is not used to my having visitors who can take any interest\r
+in my hobbies," said the Vicar, as he opened the door of his study,\r
+which was indeed as bare of luxuries for the body as the ladies had\r
+implied, unless a short porcelain pipe and a tobacco-box were to be\r
+excepted.\r
+\r
+"Men of your profession don't generally smoke," he said. Lydgate\r
+smiled and shook his head. "Nor of mine either, properly, I suppose.\r
+You will hear that pipe alleged against me by Bulstrode and Company.\r
+They don't know how pleased the devil would be if I gave it up."\r
+\r
+"I understand. You are of an excitable temper and want a sedative. I\r
+am heavier, and should get idle with it. I should rush into idleness,\r
+and stagnate there with all my might."\r
+\r
+"And you mean to give it all to your work. I am some ten or twelve\r
+years older than you, and have come to a compromise. I feed a weakness\r
+or two lest they should get clamorous. See," continued the Vicar,\r
+opening several small drawers, "I fancy I have made an exhaustive study\r
+of the entomology of this district. I am going on both with the fauna\r
+and flora; but I have at least done my insects well. We are singularly\r
+rich in orthoptera: I don't know whether--Ah! you have got hold of that\r
+glass jar--you are looking into that instead of my drawers. You don't\r
+really care about these things?"\r
+\r
+"Not by the side of this lovely anencephalous monster. I have never\r
+had time to give myself much to natural history. I was early bitten\r
+with an interest in structure, and it is what lies most directly in my\r
+profession. I have no hobby besides. I have the sea to swim in there."\r
+\r
+"Ah! you are a happy fellow," said Mr. Farebrother, turning on his heel\r
+and beginning to fill his pipe. "You don't know what it is to want\r
+spiritual tobacco--bad emendations of old texts, or small items about a\r
+variety of Aphis Brassicae, with the well-known signature of\r
+Philomicron, for the 'Twaddler's Magazine;' or a learned treatise on\r
+the entomology of the Pentateuch, including all the insects not\r
+mentioned, but probably met with by the Israelites in their passage\r
+through the desert; with a monograph on the Ant, as treated by Solomon,\r
+showing the harmony of the Book of Proverbs with the results of modern\r
+research. You don't mind my fumigating you?"\r
+\r
+Lydgate was more surprised at the openness of this talk than at its\r
+implied meaning--that the Vicar felt himself not altogether in the\r
+right vocation. The neat fitting-up of drawers and shelves, and the\r
+bookcase filled with expensive illustrated books on Natural History,\r
+made him think again of the winnings at cards and their destination.\r
+But he was beginning to wish that the very best construction of\r
+everything that Mr. Farebrother did should be the true one. The\r
+Vicar's frankness seemed not of the repulsive sort that comes from an\r
+uneasy consciousness seeking to forestall the judgment of others, but\r
+simply the relief of a desire to do with as little pretence as\r
+possible. Apparently he was not without a sense that his freedom of\r
+speech might seem premature, for he presently said--\r
+\r
+"I have not yet told you that I have the advantage of you, Mr. Lydgate,\r
+and know you better than you know me. You remember Trawley who shared\r
+your apartment at Paris for some time? I was a correspondent of his,\r
+and he told me a good deal about you. I was not quite sure when you\r
+first came that you were the same man. I was very glad when I found\r
+that you were. Only I don't forget that you have not had the like\r
+prologue about me."\r
+\r
+Lydgate divined some delicacy of feeling here, but did not half\r
+understand it. "By the way," he said, "what has become of Trawley? I\r
+have quite lost sight of him. He was hot on the French social systems,\r
+and talked of going to the Backwoods to found a sort of Pythagorean\r
+community. Is he gone?"\r
+\r
+"Not at all. He is practising at a German bath, and has married a rich\r
+patient."\r
+\r
+"Then my notions wear the best, so far," said Lydgate, with a short\r
+scornful laugh. "He would have it, the medical profession was an\r
+inevitable system of humbug. I said, the fault was in the men--men who\r
+truckle to lies and folly. Instead of preaching against humbug outside\r
+the walls, it might be better to set up a disinfecting apparatus\r
+within. In short--I am reporting my own conversation--you may be sure\r
+I had all the good sense on my side."\r
+\r
+"Your scheme is a good deal more difficult to carry out than the\r
+Pythagorean community, though. You have not only got the old Adam in\r
+yourself against you, but you have got all those descendants of the\r
+original Adam who form the society around you. You see, I have paid\r
+twelve or thirteen years more than you for my knowledge of\r
+difficulties. But"--Mr. Farebrother broke off a moment, and then\r
+added, "you are eying that glass vase again. Do you want to make an\r
+exchange? You shall not have it without a fair barter."\r
+\r
+"I have some sea-mice--fine specimens--in spirits. And I will throw in\r
+Robert Brown's new thing--'Microscopic Observations on the Pollen of\r
+Plants'--if you don't happen to have it already."\r
+\r
+"Why, seeing how you long for the monster, I might ask a higher price.\r
+Suppose I ask you to look through my drawers and agree with me about\r
+all my new species?" The Vicar, while he talked in this way,\r
+alternately moved about with his pipe in his mouth, and returned to\r
+hang rather fondly over his drawers. "That would be good discipline,\r
+you know, for a young doctor who has to please his patients in\r
+Middlemarch. You must learn to be bored, remember. However, you shall\r
+have the monster on your own terms."\r
+\r
+"Don't you think men overrate the necessity for humoring everybody's\r
+nonsense, till they get despised by the very fools they humor?" said\r
+Lydgate, moving to Mr. Farebrother's side, and looking rather absently\r
+at the insects ranged in fine gradation, with names subscribed in\r
+exquisite writing. "The shortest way is to make your value felt, so\r
+that people must put up with you whether you flatter them or not."\r
+\r
+"With all my heart. But then you must be sure of having the value, and\r
+you must keep yourself independent. Very few men can do that. Either\r
+you slip out of service altogether, and become good for nothing, or you\r
+wear the harness and draw a good deal where your yoke-fellows pull you.\r
+But do look at these delicate orthoptera!"\r
+\r
+Lydgate had after all to give some scrutiny to each drawer, the Vicar\r
+laughing at himself, and yet persisting in the exhibition.\r
+\r
+"Apropos of what you said about wearing harness," Lydgate began, after\r
+they had sat down, "I made up my mind some time ago to do with as\r
+little of it as possible. That was why I determined not to try anything\r
+in London, for a good many years at least. I didn't like what I saw\r
+when I was studying there--so much empty bigwiggism, and obstructive\r
+trickery. In the country, people have less pretension to knowledge,\r
+and are less of companions, but for that reason they affect one's\r
+amour-propre less: one makes less bad blood, and can follow one's own\r
+course more quietly."\r
+\r
+"Yes--well--you have got a good start; you are in the right profession,\r
+the work you feel yourself most fit for. Some people miss that, and\r
+repent too late. But you must not be too sure of keeping your\r
+independence."\r
+\r
+"You mean of family ties?" said Lydgate, conceiving that these might\r
+press rather tightly on Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"Not altogether. Of course they make many things more difficult. But\r
+a good wife--a good unworldly woman--may really help a man, and keep\r
+him more independent. There's a parishioner of mine--a fine fellow,\r
+but who would hardly have pulled through as he has done without his\r
+wife. Do you know the Garths? I think they were not Peacock's\r
+patients."\r
+\r
+"No; but there is a Miss Garth at old Featherstone's, at Lowick."\r
+\r
+"Their daughter: an excellent girl."\r
+\r
+"She is very quiet--I have hardly noticed her."\r
+\r
+"She has taken notice of you, though, depend upon it."\r
+\r
+"I don't understand," said Lydgate; he could hardly say "Of course."\r
+\r
+"Oh, she gauges everybody. I prepared her for confirmation--she is a\r
+favorite of mine."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother puffed a few moments in silence, Lydgate not caring to\r
+know more about the Garths. At last the Vicar laid down his pipe,\r
+stretched out his legs, and turned his bright eyes with a smile towards\r
+Lydgate, saying--\r
+\r
+"But we Middlemarchers are not so tame as you take us to be. We have\r
+our intrigues and our parties. I am a party man, for example, and\r
+Bulstrode is another. If you vote for me you will offend Bulstrode."\r
+\r
+"What is there against Bulstrode?" said Lydgate, emphatically.\r
+\r
+"I did not say there was anything against him except that. If you vote\r
+against him you will make him your enemy."\r
+\r
+"I don't know that I need mind about that," said Lydgate, rather\r
+proudly; "but he seems to have good ideas about hospitals, and he\r
+spends large sums on useful public objects. He might help me a good\r
+deal in carrying out my ideas. As to his religious notions--why, as\r
+Voltaire said, incantations will destroy a flock of sheep if\r
+administered with a certain quantity of arsenic. I look for the man\r
+who will bring the arsenic, and don't mind about his incantations."\r
+\r
+"Very good. But then you must not offend your arsenic-man. You will\r
+not offend me, you know," said Mr. Farebrother, quite unaffectedly. "I\r
+don't translate my own convenience into other people's duties. I am\r
+opposed to Bulstrode in many ways. I don't like the set he belongs to:\r
+they are a narrow ignorant set, and do more to make their neighbors\r
+uncomfortable than to make them better. Their system is a sort of\r
+worldly-spiritual cliqueism: they really look on the rest of mankind as\r
+a doomed carcass which is to nourish them for heaven. But," he added,\r
+smilingly, "I don't say that Bulstrode's new hospital is a bad thing;\r
+and as to his wanting to oust me from the old one--why, if he thinks me\r
+a mischievous fellow, he is only returning a compliment. And I am not\r
+a model clergyman--only a decent makeshift."\r
+\r
+Lydgate was not at all sure that the Vicar maligned himself. A model\r
+clergyman, like a model doctor, ought to think his own profession the\r
+finest in the world, and take all knowledge as mere nourishment to his\r
+moral pathology and therapeutics. He only said, "What reason does\r
+Bulstrode give for superseding you?"\r
+\r
+"That I don't teach his opinions--which he calls spiritual religion;\r
+and that I have no time to spare. Both statements are true. But then\r
+I could make time, and I should be glad of the forty pounds. That is\r
+the plain fact of the case. But let us dismiss it. I only wanted to\r
+tell you that if you vote for your arsenic-man, you are not to cut me\r
+in consequence. I can't spare you. You are a sort of circumnavigator\r
+come to settle among us, and will keep up my belief in the antipodes.\r
+Now tell me all about them in Paris."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XVIII.\r
+\r
+ "Oh, sir, the loftiest hopes on earth\r
+ Draw lots with meaner hopes: heroic breasts,\r
+ Breathing bad air, ran risk of pestilence;\r
+ Or, lacking lime-juice when they cross the Line,\r
+ May languish with the scurvy."\r
+\r
+\r
+Some weeks passed after this conversation before the question of the\r
+chaplaincy gathered any practical import for Lydgate, and without\r
+telling himself the reason, he deferred the predetermination on which\r
+side he should give his vote. It would really have been a matter of\r
+total indifference to him--that is to say, he would have taken the more\r
+convenient side, and given his vote for the appointment of Tyke without\r
+any hesitation--if he had not cared personally for Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+But his liking for the Vicar of St. Botolph's grew with growing\r
+acquaintanceship. That, entering into Lydgate's position as a\r
+new-comer who had his own professional objects to secure, Mr.\r
+Farebrother should have taken pains rather to warn off than to obtain\r
+his interest, showed an unusual delicacy and generosity, which\r
+Lydgate's nature was keenly alive to. It went along with other points\r
+of conduct in Mr. Farebrother which were exceptionally fine, and made\r
+his character resemble those southern landscapes which seem divided\r
+between natural grandeur and social slovenliness. Very few men could\r
+have been as filial and chivalrous as he was to the mother, aunt, and\r
+sister, whose dependence on him had in many ways shaped his life rather\r
+uneasily for himself; few men who feel the pressure of small needs are\r
+so nobly resolute not to dress up their inevitably self-interested\r
+desires in a pretext of better motives. In these matters he was\r
+conscious that his life would bear the closest scrutiny; and perhaps\r
+the consciousness encouraged a little defiance towards the critical\r
+strictness of persons whose celestial intimacies seemed not to improve\r
+their domestic manners, and whose lofty aims were not needed to account\r
+for their actions. Then, his preaching was ingenious and pithy, like\r
+the preaching of the English Church in its robust age, and his sermons\r
+were delivered without book. People outside his parish went to hear\r
+him; and, since to fill the church was always the most difficult part\r
+of a clergyman's function, here was another ground for a careless sense\r
+of superiority. Besides, he was a likable man: sweet-tempered,\r
+ready-witted, frank, without grins of suppressed bitterness or other\r
+conversational flavors which make half of us an affliction to our\r
+friends. Lydgate liked him heartily, and wished for his friendship.\r
+\r
+With this feeling uppermost, he continued to waive the question of the\r
+chaplaincy, and to persuade himself that it was not only no proper\r
+business of his, but likely enough never to vex him with a demand for\r
+his vote. Lydgate, at Mr. Bulstrode's request, was laying down plans\r
+for the internal arrangements of the new hospital, and the two were\r
+often in consultation. The banker was always presupposing that he\r
+could count in general on Lydgate as a coadjutor, but made no special\r
+recurrence to the coming decision between Tyke and Farebrother. When\r
+the General Board of the Infirmary had met, however, and Lydgate had\r
+notice that the question of the chaplaincy was thrown on a council of\r
+the directors and medical men, to meet on the following Friday, he had\r
+a vexed sense that he must make up his mind on this trivial Middlemarch\r
+business. He could not help hearing within him the distinct\r
+declaration that Bulstrode was prime minister, and that the Tyke affair\r
+was a question of office or no office; and he could not help an equally\r
+pronounced dislike to giving up the prospect of office. For his\r
+observation was constantly confirming Mr. Farebrother's assurance that\r
+the banker would not overlook opposition. "Confound their petty\r
+politics!" was one of his thoughts for three mornings in the meditative\r
+process of shaving, when he had begun to feel that he must really hold\r
+a court of conscience on this matter. Certainly there were valid\r
+things to be said against the election of Mr. Farebrother: he had too\r
+much on his hands already, especially considering how much time he\r
+spent on non-clerical occupations. Then again it was a continually\r
+repeated shock, disturbing Lydgate's esteem, that the Vicar should\r
+obviously play for the sake of money, liking the play indeed, but\r
+evidently liking some end which it served. Mr. Farebrother contended\r
+on theory for the desirability of all games, and said that Englishmen's\r
+wit was stagnant for want of them; but Lydgate felt certain that he\r
+would have played very much less but for the money. There was a\r
+billiard-room at the Green Dragon, which some anxious mothers and wives\r
+regarded as the chief temptation in Middlemarch. The Vicar was a\r
+first-rate billiard-player, and though he did not frequent the Green\r
+Dragon, there were reports that he had sometimes been there in the\r
+daytime and had won money. And as to the chaplaincy, he did not\r
+pretend that he cared for it, except for the sake of the forty pounds.\r
+Lydgate was no Puritan, but he did not care for play, and winning money\r
+at it had always seemed a meanness to him; besides, he had an ideal of\r
+life which made this subservience of conduct to the gaining of small\r
+sums thoroughly hateful to him. Hitherto in his own life his wants had\r
+been supplied without any trouble to himself, and his first impulse was\r
+always to be liberal with half-crowns as matters of no importance to a\r
+gentleman; it had never occurred to him to devise a plan for getting\r
+half-crowns. He had always known in a general way that he was not\r
+rich, but he had never felt poor, and he had no power of imagining the\r
+part which the want of money plays in determining the actions of men.\r
+Money had never been a motive to him. Hence he was not ready to frame\r
+excuses for this deliberate pursuit of small gains. It was altogether\r
+repulsive to him, and he never entered into any calculation of the\r
+ratio between the Vicar's income and his more or less necessary\r
+expenditure. It was possible that he would not have made such a\r
+calculation in his own case.\r
+\r
+And now, when the question of voting had come, this repulsive fact told\r
+more strongly against Mr. Farebrother than it had done before. One\r
+would know much better what to do if men's characters were more\r
+consistent, and especially if one's friends were invariably fit for any\r
+function they desired to undertake! Lydgate was convinced that if\r
+there had been no valid objection to Mr. Farebrother, he would have\r
+voted for him, whatever Bulstrode might have felt on the subject: he\r
+did not intend to be a vassal of Bulstrode's. On the other hand, there\r
+was Tyke, a man entirely given to his clerical office, who was simply\r
+curate at a chapel of ease in St. Peter's parish, and had time for\r
+extra duty. Nobody had anything to say against Mr. Tyke, except that\r
+they could not bear him, and suspected him of cant. Really, from his\r
+point of view, Bulstrode was thoroughly justified.\r
+\r
+But whichever way Lydgate began to incline, there was something to make\r
+him wince; and being a proud man, he was a little exasperated at being\r
+obliged to wince. He did not like frustrating his own best purposes by\r
+getting on bad terms with Bulstrode; he did not like voting against\r
+Farebrother, and helping to deprive him of function and salary; and the\r
+question occurred whether the additional forty pounds might not leave\r
+the Vicar free from that ignoble care about winning at cards.\r
+Moreover, Lydgate did not like the consciousness that in voting for\r
+Tyke he should be voting on the side obviously convenient for himself.\r
+But would the end really be his own convenience? Other people would\r
+say so, and would allege that he was currying favor with Bulstrode for\r
+the sake of making himself important and getting on in the world. What\r
+then? He for his own part knew that if his personal prospects simply\r
+had been concerned, he would not have cared a rotten nut for the\r
+banker's friendship or enmity. What he really cared for was a medium\r
+for his work, a vehicle for his ideas; and after all, was he not bound\r
+to prefer the object of getting a good hospital, where he could\r
+demonstrate the specific distinctions of fever and test therapeutic\r
+results, before anything else connected with this chaplaincy? For the\r
+first time Lydgate was feeling the hampering threadlike pressure of\r
+small social conditions, and their frustrating complexity. At the end\r
+of his inward debate, when he set out for the hospital, his hope was\r
+really in the chance that discussion might somehow give a new aspect to\r
+the question, and make the scale dip so as to exclude the necessity for\r
+voting. I think he trusted a little also to the energy which is\r
+begotten by circumstances--some feeling rushing warmly and making\r
+resolve easy, while debate in cool blood had only made it more\r
+difficult. However it was, he did not distinctly say to himself on\r
+which side he would vote; and all the while he was inwardly resenting\r
+the subjection which had been forced upon him. It would have seemed\r
+beforehand like a ridiculous piece of bad logic that he, with his\r
+unmixed resolutions of independence and his select purposes, would find\r
+himself at the very outset in the grasp of petty alternatives, each of\r
+which was repugnant to him. In his student's chambers, he had\r
+prearranged his social action quite differently.\r
+\r
+Lydgate was late in setting out, but Dr. Sprague, the two other\r
+surgeons, and several of the directors had arrived early; Mr.\r
+Bulstrode, treasurer and chairman, being among those who were still\r
+absent. The conversation seemed to imply that the issue was\r
+problematical, and that a majority for Tyke was not so certain as had\r
+been generally supposed. The two physicians, for a wonder, turned out\r
+to be unanimous, or rather, though of different minds, they concurred\r
+in action. Dr. Sprague, the rugged and weighty, was, as every one had\r
+foreseen, an adherent of Mr. Farebrother. The Doctor was more than\r
+suspected of having no religion, but somehow Middlemarch tolerated this\r
+deficiency in him as if he had been a Lord Chancellor; indeed it is\r
+probable that his professional weight was the more believed in, the\r
+world-old association of cleverness with the evil principle being still\r
+potent in the minds even of lady-patients who had the strictest ideas\r
+of frilling and sentiment. It was perhaps this negation in the Doctor\r
+which made his neighbors call him hard-headed and dry-witted;\r
+conditions of texture which were also held favorable to the storing of\r
+judgments connected with drugs. At all events, it is certain that if\r
+any medical man had come to Middlemarch with the reputation of having\r
+very definite religious views, of being given to prayer, and of\r
+otherwise showing an active piety, there would have been a general\r
+presumption against his medical skill.\r
+\r
+On this ground it was (professionally speaking) fortunate for Dr.\r
+Minchin that his religious sympathies were of a general kind, and such\r
+as gave a distant medical sanction to all serious sentiment, whether of\r
+Church or Dissent, rather than any adhesion to particular tenets. If\r
+Mr. Bulstrode insisted, as he was apt to do, on the Lutheran doctrine\r
+of justification, as that by which a Church must stand or fall, Dr.\r
+Minchin in return was quite sure that man was not a mere machine or a\r
+fortuitous conjunction of atoms; if Mrs. Wimple insisted on a\r
+particular providence in relation to her stomach complaint, Dr. Minchin\r
+for his part liked to keep the mental windows open and objected to\r
+fixed limits; if the Unitarian brewer jested about the Athanasian\r
+Creed, Dr. Minchin quoted Pope's "Essay on Man." He objected to the\r
+rather free style of anecdote in which Dr. Sprague indulged, preferring\r
+well-sanctioned quotations, and liking refinement of all kinds: it was\r
+generally known that he had some kinship to a bishop, and sometimes\r
+spent his holidays at "the palace."\r
+\r
+Dr. Minchin was soft-handed, pale-complexioned, and of rounded outline,\r
+not to be distinguished from a mild clergyman in appearance: whereas\r
+Dr. Sprague was superfluously tall; his trousers got creased at the\r
+knees, and showed an excess of boot at a time when straps seemed\r
+necessary to any dignity of bearing; you heard him go in and out, and\r
+up and down, as if he had come to see after the roofing. In short, he\r
+had weight, and might be expected to grapple with a disease and throw\r
+it; while Dr. Minchin might be better able to detect it lurking and to\r
+circumvent it. They enjoyed about equally the mysterious privilege of\r
+medical reputation, and concealed with much etiquette their contempt\r
+for each other's skill. Regarding themselves as Middlemarch\r
+institutions, they were ready to combine against all innovators, and\r
+against non-professionals given to interference. On this ground they\r
+were both in their hearts equally averse to Mr. Bulstrode, though Dr.\r
+Minchin had never been in open hostility with him, and never differed\r
+from him without elaborate explanation to Mrs. Bulstrode, who had found\r
+that Dr. Minchin alone understood her constitution. A layman who pried\r
+into the professional conduct of medical men, and was always obtruding\r
+his reforms,--though he was less directly embarrassing to the two\r
+physicians than to the surgeon-apothecaries who attended paupers by\r
+contract, was nevertheless offensive to the professional nostril as\r
+such; and Dr. Minchin shared fully in the new pique against Bulstrode,\r
+excited by his apparent determination to patronize Lydgate. The\r
+long-established practitioners, Mr. Wrench and Mr. Toller; were just\r
+now standing apart and having a friendly colloquy, in which they agreed\r
+that Lydgate was a jackanapes, just made to serve Bulstrode's purpose.\r
+To non-medical friends they had already concurred in praising the other\r
+young practitioner, who had come into the town on Mr. Peacock's\r
+retirement without further recommendation than his own merits and such\r
+argument for solid professional acquirement as might be gathered from\r
+his having apparently wasted no time on other branches of knowledge.\r
+It was clear that Lydgate, by not dispensing drugs, intended to cast\r
+imputations on his equals, and also to obscure the limit between his\r
+own rank as a general practitioner and that of the physicians, who, in\r
+the interest of the profession, felt bound to maintain its various\r
+grades,--especially against a man who had not been to either of the\r
+English universities and enjoyed the absence of anatomical and bedside\r
+study there, but came with a libellous pretension to experience in\r
+Edinburgh and Paris, where observation might be abundant indeed, but\r
+hardly sound.\r
+\r
+Thus it happened that on this occasion Bulstrode became identified with\r
+Lydgate, and Lydgate with Tyke; and owing to this variety of\r
+interchangeable names for the chaplaincy question, diverse minds were\r
+enabled to form the same judgment concerning it.\r
+\r
+Dr. Sprague said at once bluntly to the group assembled when he\r
+entered, "I go for Farebrother. A salary, with all my heart. But why\r
+take it from the Vicar? He has none too much--has to insure his life,\r
+besides keeping house, and doing a vicar's charities. Put forty pounds\r
+in his pocket and you'll do no harm. He's a good fellow, is\r
+Farebrother, with as little of the parson about him as will serve to\r
+carry orders."\r
+\r
+"Ho, ho! Doctor," said old Mr. Powderell, a retired iron-monger of\r
+some standing--his interjection being something between a laugh and a\r
+Parliamentary disapproval; "we must let you have your say. But what we\r
+have to consider is not anybody's income--it's the souls of the poor\r
+sick people"--here Mr. Powderell's voice and face had a sincere pathos\r
+in them. "He is a real Gospel preacher, is Mr. Tyke. I should vote\r
+against my conscience if I voted against Mr. Tyke--I should indeed."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Tyke's opponents have not asked any one to vote against his\r
+conscience, I believe," said Mr. Hackbutt, a rich tanner of fluent\r
+speech, whose glittering spectacles and erect hair were turned with\r
+some severity towards innocent Mr. Powderell. "But in my judgment it\r
+behoves us, as Directors, to consider whether we will regard it as our\r
+whole business to carry out propositions emanating from a single\r
+quarter. Will any member of the committee aver that he would have\r
+entertained the idea of displacing the gentleman who has always\r
+discharged the function of chaplain here, if it had not been suggested\r
+to him by parties whose disposition it is to regard every institution\r
+of this town as a machinery for carrying out their own views? I tax no\r
+man's motives: let them lie between himself and a higher Power; but I\r
+do say, that there are influences at work here which are incompatible\r
+with genuine independence, and that a crawling servility is usually\r
+dictated by circumstances which gentlemen so conducting themselves\r
+could not afford either morally or financially to avow. I myself am a\r
+layman, but I have given no inconsiderable attention to the divisions\r
+in the Church and--"\r
+\r
+"Oh, damn the divisions!" burst in Mr. Frank Hawley, lawyer and\r
+town-clerk, who rarely presented himself at the board, but now looked\r
+in hurriedly, whip in hand. "We have nothing to do with them here.\r
+Farebrother has been doing the work--what there was--without pay, and\r
+if pay is to be given, it should be given to him. I call it a\r
+confounded job to take the thing away from Farebrother."\r
+\r
+"I think it would be as well for gentlemen not to give their remarks a\r
+personal bearing," said Mr. Plymdale. "I shall vote for the\r
+appointment of Mr. Tyke, but I should not have known, if Mr. Hackbutt\r
+hadn't hinted it, that I was a Servile Crawler."\r
+\r
+"I disclaim any personalities. I expressly said, if I may be allowed\r
+to repeat, or even to conclude what I was about to say--"\r
+\r
+"Ah, here's Minchin!" said Mr. Frank Hawley; at which everybody turned\r
+away from Mr. Hackbutt, leaving him to feel the uselessness of superior\r
+gifts in Middlemarch. "Come, Doctor, I must have you on the right\r
+side, eh?"\r
+\r
+"I hope so," said Dr. Minchin, nodding and shaking hands here and\r
+there; "at whatever cost to my feelings."\r
+\r
+"If there's any feeling here, it should be feeling for the man who is\r
+turned out, I think," said Mr. Frank Hawley.\r
+\r
+"I confess I have feelings on the other side also. I have a divided\r
+esteem," said Dr. Minchin, rubbing his hands. "I consider Mr. Tyke an\r
+exemplary man--none more so--and I believe him to be proposed from\r
+unimpeachable motives. I, for my part, wish that I could give him my\r
+vote. But I am constrained to take a view of the case which gives the\r
+preponderance to Mr. Farebrother's claims. He is an amiable man, an\r
+able preacher, and has been longer among us."\r
+\r
+Old Mr. Powderell looked on, sad and silent. Mr. Plymdale settled his\r
+cravat, uneasily.\r
+\r
+"You don't set up Farebrother as a pattern of what a clergyman ought to\r
+be, I hope," said Mr. Larcher, the eminent carrier, who had just come\r
+in. "I have no ill-will towards him, but I think we owe something to\r
+the public, not to speak of anything higher, in these appointments. In\r
+my opinion Farebrother is too lax for a clergyman. I don't wish to\r
+bring up particulars against him; but he will make a little attendance\r
+here go as far as he can."\r
+\r
+"And a devilish deal better than too much," said Mr. Hawley, whose bad\r
+language was notorious in that part of the county. "Sick people can't\r
+bear so much praying and preaching. And that methodistical sort of\r
+religion is bad for the spirits--bad for the inside, eh?" he added,\r
+turning quickly round to the four medical men who were assembled.\r
+\r
+But any answer was dispensed with by the entrance of three gentlemen,\r
+with whom there were greetings more or less cordial. These were the\r
+Reverend Edward Thesiger, Rector of St. Peter's, Mr. Bulstrode, and our\r
+friend Mr. Brooke of Tipton, who had lately allowed himself to be put\r
+on the board of directors in his turn, but had never before attended,\r
+his attendance now being due to Mr. Bulstrode's exertions. Lydgate was\r
+the only person still expected.\r
+\r
+Every one now sat down, Mr. Bulstrode presiding, pale and\r
+self-restrained as usual. Mr. Thesiger, a moderate evangelical, wished\r
+for the appointment of his friend Mr. Tyke, a zealous able man, who,\r
+officiating at a chapel of ease, had not a cure of souls too extensive\r
+to leave him ample time for the new duty. It was desirable that\r
+chaplaincies of this kind should be entered on with a fervent\r
+intention: they were peculiar opportunities for spiritual influence;\r
+and while it was good that a salary should be allotted, there was the\r
+more need for scrupulous watching lest the office should be perverted\r
+into a mere question of salary. Mr. Thesiger's manner had so much\r
+quiet propriety that objectors could only simmer in silence.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke believed that everybody meant well in the matter. He had\r
+not himself attended to the affairs of the Infirmary, though he had a\r
+strong interest in whatever was for the benefit of Middlemarch, and was\r
+most happy to meet the gentlemen present on any public question--"any\r
+public question, you know," Mr. Brooke repeated, with his nod of\r
+perfect understanding. "I am a good deal occupied as a magistrate, and\r
+in the collection of documentary evidence, but I regard my time as\r
+being at the disposal of the public--and, in short, my friends have\r
+convinced me that a chaplain with a salary--a salary, you know--is a\r
+very good thing, and I am happy to be able to come here and vote for\r
+the appointment of Mr. Tyke, who, I understand, is an unexceptionable\r
+man, apostolic and eloquent and everything of that kind--and I am the\r
+last man to withhold my vote--under the circumstances, you know."\r
+\r
+"It seems to me that you have been crammed with one side of the\r
+question, Mr. Brooke," said Mr. Frank Hawley, who was afraid of nobody,\r
+and was a Tory suspicious of electioneering intentions. "You don't\r
+seem to know that one of the worthiest men we have has been doing duty\r
+as chaplain here for years without pay, and that Mr. Tyke is proposed\r
+to supersede him."\r
+\r
+"Excuse me, Mr. Hawley," said Mr. Bulstrode. "Mr. Brooke has been\r
+fully informed of Mr. Farebrother's character and position."\r
+\r
+"By his enemies," flashed out Mr. Hawley.\r
+\r
+"I trust there is no personal hostility concerned here," said Mr.\r
+Thesiger.\r
+\r
+"I'll swear there is, though," retorted Mr. Hawley.\r
+\r
+"Gentlemen," said Mr. Bulstrode, in a subdued tone, "the merits of the\r
+question may be very briefly stated, and if any one present doubts that\r
+every gentleman who is about to give his vote has not been fully\r
+informed, I can now recapitulate the considerations that should weigh\r
+on either side."\r
+\r
+"I don't see the good of that," said Mr. Hawley. "I suppose we all\r
+know whom we mean to vote for. Any man who wants to do justice does\r
+not wait till the last minute to hear both sides of the question. I\r
+have no time to lose, and I propose that the matter be put to the vote\r
+at once."\r
+\r
+A brief but still hot discussion followed before each person wrote\r
+"Tyke" or "Farebrother" on a piece of paper and slipped it into a glass\r
+tumbler; and in the mean time Mr. Bulstrode saw Lydgate enter.\r
+\r
+"I perceive that the votes are equally divided at present," said Mr.\r
+Bulstrode, in a clear biting voice. Then, looking up at Lydgate--\r
+\r
+"There is a casting-vote still to be given. It is yours, Mr. Lydgate:\r
+will you be good enough to write?"\r
+\r
+"The thing is settled now," said Mr. Wrench, rising. "We all know how\r
+Mr. Lydgate will vote."\r
+\r
+"You seem to speak with some peculiar meaning, sir," said Lydgate,\r
+rather defiantly, and keeping his pencil suspended.\r
+\r
+"I merely mean that you are expected to vote with Mr. Bulstrode. Do\r
+you regard that meaning as offensive?"\r
+\r
+"It may be offensive to others. But I shall not desist from voting\r
+with him on that account." Lydgate immediately wrote down "Tyke."\r
+\r
+So the Rev. Walter Tyke became chaplain to the Infirmary, and Lydgate\r
+continued to work with Mr. Bulstrode. He was really uncertain whether\r
+Tyke were not the more suitable candidate, and yet his consciousness\r
+told him that if he had been quite free from indirect bias he should\r
+have voted for Mr. Farebrother. The affair of the chaplaincy remained\r
+a sore point in his memory as a case in which this petty medium of\r
+Middlemarch had been too strong for him. How could a man be satisfied\r
+with a decision between such alternatives and under such circumstances?\r
+No more than he can be satisfied with his hat, which he has chosen from\r
+among such shapes as the resources of the age offer him, wearing it at\r
+best with a resignation which is chiefly supported by comparison.\r
+\r
+But Mr. Farebrother met him with the same friendliness as before. The\r
+character of the publican and sinner is not always practically\r
+incompatible with that of the modern Pharisee, for the majority of us\r
+scarcely see more distinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the\r
+faultiness of our own arguments, or the dulness of our own jokes. But\r
+the Vicar of St. Botolph's had certainly escaped the slightest tincture\r
+of the Pharisee, and by dint of admitting to himself that he was too\r
+much as other men were, he had become remarkably unlike them in\r
+this--that he could excuse others for thinking slightly of him, and\r
+could judge impartially of their conduct even when it told against him.\r
+\r
+"The world has been too strong for _me_, I know," he said one day to\r
+Lydgate. "But then I am not a mighty man--I shall never be a man of\r
+renown. The choice of Hercules is a pretty fable; but Prodicus makes\r
+it easy work for the hero, as if the first resolves were enough.\r
+Another story says that he came to hold the distaff, and at last wore\r
+the Nessus shirt. I suppose one good resolve might keep a man right if\r
+everybody else's resolve helped him."\r
+\r
+The Vicar's talk was not always inspiriting: he had escaped being a\r
+Pharisee, but he had not escaped that low estimate of possibilities\r
+which we rather hastily arrive at as an inference from our own failure.\r
+Lydgate thought that there was a pitiable infirmity of will in Mr.\r
+Farebrother.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIX.\r
+\r
+ "L' altra vedete ch'ha fatto alla guancia\r
+ Della sua palma, sospirando, letto."\r
+ --Purgatorio, vii.\r
+\r
+\r
+When George the Fourth was still reigning over the privacies of\r
+Windsor, when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister, and Mr. Vincy\r
+was mayor of the old corporation in Middlemarch, Mrs. Casaubon, born\r
+Dorothea Brooke, had taken her wedding journey to Rome. In those days\r
+the world in general was more ignorant of good and evil by forty years\r
+than it is at present. Travellers did not often carry full information\r
+on Christian art either in their heads or their pockets; and even the\r
+most brilliant English critic of the day mistook the flower-flushed\r
+tomb of the ascended Virgin for an ornamental vase due to the painter's\r
+fancy. Romanticism, which has helped to fill some dull blanks with\r
+love and knowledge, had not yet penetrated the times with its leaven\r
+and entered into everybody's food; it was fermenting still as a\r
+distinguishable vigorous enthusiasm in certain long-haired German\r
+artists at Rome, and the youth of other nations who worked or idled\r
+near them were sometimes caught in the spreading movement.\r
+\r
+One fine morning a young man whose hair was not immoderately long, but\r
+abundant and curly, and who was otherwise English in his equipment, had\r
+just turned his back on the Belvedere Torso in the Vatican and was\r
+looking out on the magnificent view of the mountains from the adjoining\r
+round vestibule. He was sufficiently absorbed not to notice the\r
+approach of a dark-eyed, animated German who came up to him and placing\r
+a hand on his shoulder, said with a strong accent, "Come here, quick!\r
+else she will have changed her pose."\r
+\r
+Quickness was ready at the call, and the two figures passed lightly\r
+along by the Meleager, towards the hall where the reclining Ariadne,\r
+then called the Cleopatra, lies in the marble voluptuousness of her\r
+beauty, the drapery folding around her with a petal-like ease and\r
+tenderness. They were just in time to see another figure standing\r
+against a pedestal near the reclining marble: a breathing blooming\r
+girl, whose form, not shamed by the Ariadne, was clad in Quakerish gray\r
+drapery; her long cloak, fastened at the neck, was thrown backward from\r
+her arms, and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her cheek, pushing\r
+somewhat backward the white beaver bonnet which made a sort of halo to\r
+her face around the simply braided dark-brown hair. She was not\r
+looking at the sculpture, probably not thinking of it: her large eyes\r
+were fixed dreamily on a streak of sunlight which fell across the\r
+floor. But she became conscious of the two strangers who suddenly\r
+paused as if to contemplate the Cleopatra, and, without looking at\r
+them, immediately turned away to join a maid-servant and courier who\r
+were loitering along the hall at a little distance off.\r
+\r
+"What do you think of that for a fine bit of antithesis?" said the\r
+German, searching in his friend's face for responding admiration, but\r
+going on volubly without waiting for any other answer. "There lies\r
+antique beauty, not corpse-like even in death, but arrested in the\r
+complete contentment of its sensuous perfection: and here stands beauty\r
+in its breathing life, with the consciousness of Christian centuries in\r
+its bosom. But she should be dressed as a nun; I think she looks\r
+almost what you call a Quaker; I would dress her as a nun in my\r
+picture. However, she is married; I saw her wedding-ring on that\r
+wonderful left hand, otherwise I should have thought the sallow\r
+Geistlicher was her father. I saw him parting from her a good while\r
+ago, and just now I found her in that magnificent pose. Only think! he\r
+is perhaps rich, and would like to have her portrait taken. Ah! it is\r
+no use looking after her--there she goes! Let us follow her home!"\r
+\r
+"No, no," said his companion, with a little frown.\r
+\r
+"You are singular, Ladislaw. You look struck together. Do you know\r
+her?"\r
+\r
+"I know that she is married to my cousin," said Will Ladislaw,\r
+sauntering down the hall with a preoccupied air, while his German\r
+friend kept at his side and watched him eagerly.\r
+\r
+"What! the Geistlicher? He looks more like an uncle--a more useful sort\r
+of relation."\r
+\r
+"He is not my uncle. I tell you he is my second cousin," said\r
+Ladislaw, with some irritation.\r
+\r
+"Schon, schon. Don't be snappish. You are not angry with me for\r
+thinking Mrs. Second-Cousin the most perfect young Madonna I ever saw?"\r
+\r
+"Angry? nonsense. I have only seen her once before, for a couple of\r
+minutes, when my cousin introduced her to me, just before I left\r
+England. They were not married then. I didn't know they were coming\r
+to Rome."\r
+\r
+"But you will go to see them now--you will find out what they have for\r
+an address--since you know the name. Shall we go to the post? And you\r
+could speak about the portrait."\r
+\r
+"Confound you, Naumann! I don't know what I shall do. I am not so\r
+brazen as you."\r
+\r
+"Bah! that is because you are dilettantish and amateurish. If you were\r
+an artist, you would think of Mistress Second-Cousin as antique form\r
+animated by Christian sentiment--a sort of Christian Antigone--sensuous\r
+force controlled by spiritual passion."\r
+\r
+"Yes, and that your painting her was the chief outcome of her\r
+existence--the divinity passing into higher completeness and all but\r
+exhausted in the act of covering your bit of canvas. I am amateurish\r
+if you like: I do _not_ think that all the universe is straining\r
+towards the obscure significance of your pictures."\r
+\r
+"But it is, my dear!--so far as it is straining through me, Adolf\r
+Naumann: that stands firm," said the good-natured painter, putting a\r
+hand on Ladislaw's shoulder, and not in the least disturbed by the\r
+unaccountable touch of ill-humor in his tone. "See now! My existence\r
+presupposes the existence of the whole universe--does it _not?_ and my\r
+function is to paint--and as a painter I have a conception which is\r
+altogether genialisch, of your great-aunt or second grandmother as a\r
+subject for a picture; therefore, the universe is straining towards\r
+that picture through that particular hook or claw which it puts forth\r
+in the shape of me--not true?"\r
+\r
+"But how if another claw in the shape of me is straining to thwart\r
+it?--the case is a little less simple then."\r
+\r
+"Not at all: the result of the struggle is the same thing--picture or\r
+no picture--logically."\r
+\r
+Will could not resist this imperturbable temper, and the cloud in his\r
+face broke into sunshiny laughter.\r
+\r
+"Come now, my friend--you will help?" said Naumann, in a hopeful tone.\r
+\r
+"No; nonsense, Naumann! English ladies are not at everybody's service\r
+as models. And you want to express too much with your painting. You\r
+would only have made a better or worse portrait with a background which\r
+every connoisseur would give a different reason for or against. And\r
+what is a portrait of a woman? Your painting and Plastik are poor\r
+stuff after all. They perturb and dull conceptions instead of raising\r
+them. Language is a finer medium."\r
+\r
+"Yes, for those who can't paint," said Naumann. "There you have\r
+perfect right. I did not recommend you to paint, my friend."\r
+\r
+The amiable artist carried his sting, but Ladislaw did not choose to\r
+appear stung. He went on as if he had not heard.\r
+\r
+"Language gives a fuller image, which is all the better for beings\r
+vague. After all, the true seeing is within; and painting stares at\r
+you with an insistent imperfection. I feel that especially about\r
+representations of women. As if a woman were a mere colored\r
+superficies! You must wait for movement and tone. There is a\r
+difference in their very breathing: they change from moment to\r
+moment.--This woman whom you have just seen, for example: how would you\r
+paint her voice, pray? But her voice is much diviner than anything you\r
+have seen of her."\r
+\r
+"I see, I see. You are jealous. No man must presume to think that he\r
+can paint your ideal. This is serious, my friend! Your great-aunt!\r
+'Der Neffe als Onkel' in a tragic sense--ungeheuer!"\r
+\r
+"You and I shall quarrel, Naumann, if you call that lady my aunt again."\r
+\r
+"How is she to be called then?"\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Casaubon."\r
+\r
+"Good. Suppose I get acquainted with her in spite of you, and find\r
+that she very much wishes to be painted?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, suppose!" said Will Ladislaw, in a contemptuous undertone,\r
+intended to dismiss the subject. He was conscious of being irritated\r
+by ridiculously small causes, which were half of his own creation. Why\r
+was he making any fuss about Mrs. Casaubon? And yet he felt as if\r
+something had happened to him with regard to her. There are characters\r
+which are continually creating collisions and nodes for themselves in\r
+dramas which nobody is prepared to act with them. Their\r
+susceptibilities will clash against objects that remain innocently\r
+quiet.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XX.\r
+\r
+ "A child forsaken, waking suddenly,\r
+ Whose gaze afeard on all things round doth rove,\r
+ And seeth only that it cannot see\r
+ The meeting eyes of love."\r
+\r
+\r
+Two hours later, Dorothea was seated in an inner room or boudoir of a\r
+handsome apartment in the Via Sistina.\r
+\r
+I am sorry to add that she was sobbing bitterly, with such abandonment\r
+to this relief of an oppressed heart as a woman habitually controlled\r
+by pride on her own account and thoughtfulness for others will\r
+sometimes allow herself when she feels securely alone. And Mr.\r
+Casaubon was certain to remain away for some time at the Vatican.\r
+\r
+Yet Dorothea had no distinctly shapen grievance that she could state\r
+even to herself; and in the midst of her confused thought and passion,\r
+the mental act that was struggling forth into clearness was a\r
+self-accusing cry that her feeling of desolation was the fault of her\r
+own spiritual poverty. She had married the man of her choice, and with\r
+the advantage over most girls that she had contemplated her marriage\r
+chiefly as the beginning of new duties: from the very first she had\r
+thought of Mr. Casaubon as having a mind so much above her own, that he\r
+must often be claimed by studies which she could not entirely share;\r
+moreover, after the brief narrow experience of her girlhood she was\r
+beholding Rome, the city of visible history, where the past of a whole\r
+hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral\r
+images and trophies gathered from afar.\r
+\r
+But this stupendous fragmentariness heightened the dreamlike\r
+strangeness of her bridal life. Dorothea had now been five weeks in\r
+Rome, and in the kindly mornings when autumn and winter seemed to go\r
+hand in hand like a happy aged couple one of whom would presently\r
+survive in chiller loneliness, she had driven about at first with Mr.\r
+Casaubon, but of late chiefly with Tantripp and their experienced\r
+courier. She had been led through the best galleries, had been taken\r
+to the chief points of view, had been shown the grandest ruins and the\r
+most glorious churches, and she had ended by oftenest choosing to drive\r
+out to the Campagna where she could feel alone with the earth and sky,\r
+away-from the oppressive masquerade of ages, in which her own life too\r
+seemed to become a masque with enigmatical costumes.\r
+\r
+To those who have looked at Rome with the quickening power of a\r
+knowledge which breathes a growing soul into all historic shapes, and\r
+traces out the suppressed transitions which unite all contrasts, Rome\r
+may still be the spiritual centre and interpreter of the world. But\r
+let them conceive one more historical contrast: the gigantic broken\r
+revelations of that Imperial and Papal city thrust abruptly on the\r
+notions of a girl who had been brought up in English and Swiss\r
+Puritanism, fed on meagre Protestant histories and on art chiefly of\r
+the hand-screen sort; a girl whose ardent nature turned all her small\r
+allowance of knowledge into principles, fusing her actions into their\r
+mould, and whose quick emotions gave the most abstract things the\r
+quality of a pleasure or a pain; a girl who had lately become a wife,\r
+and from the enthusiastic acceptance of untried duty found herself\r
+plunged in tumultuous preoccupation with her personal lot. The weight\r
+of unintelligible Rome might lie easily on bright nymphs to whom it\r
+formed a background for the brilliant picnic of Anglo-foreign society;\r
+but Dorothea had no such defence against deep impressions. Ruins and\r
+basilicas, palaces and colossi, set in the midst of a sordid present,\r
+where all that was living and warm-blooded seemed sunk in the deep\r
+degeneracy of a superstition divorced from reverence; the dimmer but\r
+yet eager Titanic life gazing and struggling on walls and ceilings; the\r
+long vistas of white forms whose marble eyes seemed to hold the\r
+monotonous light of an alien world: all this vast wreck of ambitious\r
+ideals, sensuous and spiritual, mixed confusedly with the signs of\r
+breathing forgetfulness and degradation, at first jarred her as with an\r
+electric shock, and then urged themselves on her with that ache\r
+belonging to a glut of confused ideas which check the flow of emotion.\r
+Forms both pale and glowing took possession of her young sense, and\r
+fixed themselves in her memory even when she was not thinking of them,\r
+preparing strange associations which remained through her after-years.\r
+Our moods are apt to bring with them images which succeed each other\r
+like the magic-lantern pictures of a doze; and in certain states of\r
+dull forlornness Dorothea all her life continued to see the vastness of\r
+St. Peter's, the huge bronze canopy, the excited intention in the\r
+attitudes and garments of the prophets and evangelists in the mosaics\r
+above, and the red drapery which was being hung for Christmas spreading\r
+itself everywhere like a disease of the retina.\r
+\r
+Not that this inward amazement of Dorothea's was anything very\r
+exceptional: many souls in their young nudity are tumbled out among\r
+incongruities and left to "find their feet" among them, while their\r
+elders go about their business. Nor can I suppose that when Mrs.\r
+Casaubon is discovered in a fit of weeping six weeks after her wedding,\r
+the situation will be regarded as tragic. Some discouragement, some\r
+faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary,\r
+is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what\r
+is not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of\r
+frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of\r
+mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we\r
+had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be\r
+like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we\r
+should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it\r
+is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.\r
+\r
+However, Dorothea was crying, and if she had been required to state the\r
+cause, she could only have done so in some such general words as I have\r
+already used: to have been driven to be more particular would have been\r
+like trying to give a history of the lights and shadows, for that new\r
+real future which was replacing the imaginary drew its material from\r
+the endless minutiae by which her view of Mr. Casaubon and her wifely\r
+relation, now that she was married to him, was gradually changing with\r
+the secret motion of a watch-hand from what it had been in her maiden\r
+dream. It was too early yet for her fully to recognize or at least\r
+admit the change, still more for her to have readjusted that\r
+devotedness which was so necessary a part of her mental life that she\r
+was almost sure sooner or later to recover it. Permanent rebellion,\r
+the disorder of a life without some loving reverent resolve, was not\r
+possible to her; but she was now in an interval when the very force of\r
+her nature heightened its confusion. In this way, the early months of\r
+marriage often are times of critical tumult--whether that of a\r
+shrimp-pool or of deeper waters--which afterwards subsides into\r
+cheerful peace.\r
+\r
+But was not Mr. Casaubon just as learned as before? Had his forms of\r
+expression changed, or his sentiments become less laudable? Oh\r
+waywardness of womanhood! did his chronology fail him, or his ability\r
+to state not only a theory but the names of those who held it; or his\r
+provision for giving the heads of any subject on demand? And was not\r
+Rome the place in all the world to give free play to such\r
+accomplishments? Besides, had not Dorothea's enthusiasm especially\r
+dwelt on the prospect of relieving the weight and perhaps the sadness\r
+with which great tasks lie on him who has to achieve them?-- And that\r
+such weight pressed on Mr. Casaubon was only plainer than before.\r
+\r
+All these are crushing questions; but whatever else remained the same,\r
+the light had changed, and you cannot find the pearly dawn at noonday.\r
+The fact is unalterable, that a fellow-mortal with whose nature you are\r
+acquainted solely through the brief entrances and exits of a few\r
+imaginative weeks called courtship, may, when seen in the continuity of\r
+married companionship, be disclosed as something better or worse than\r
+what you have preconceived, but will certainly not appear altogether\r
+the same. And it would be astonishing to find how soon the change is\r
+felt if we had no kindred changes to compare with it. To share\r
+lodgings with a brilliant dinner-companion, or to see your favorite\r
+politician in the Ministry, may bring about changes quite as rapid: in\r
+these cases too we begin by knowing little and believing much, and we\r
+sometimes end by inverting the quantities.\r
+\r
+Still, such comparisons might mislead, for no man was more incapable of\r
+flashy make-believe than Mr. Casaubon: he was as genuine a character as\r
+any ruminant animal, and he had not actively assisted in creating any\r
+illusions about himself. How was it that in the weeks since her\r
+marriage, Dorothea had not distinctly observed but felt with a stifling\r
+depression, that the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had\r
+dreamed of finding in her husband's mind were replaced by anterooms and\r
+winding passages which seemed to lead nowhither? I suppose it was that\r
+in courtship everything is regarded as provisional and preliminary, and\r
+the smallest sample of virtue or accomplishment is taken to guarantee\r
+delightful stores which the broad leisure of marriage will reveal. But\r
+the door-sill of marriage once crossed, expectation is concentrated on\r
+the present. Having once embarked on your marital voyage, it is\r
+impossible not to be aware that you make no way and that the sea is not\r
+within sight--that, in fact, you are exploring an enclosed basin.\r
+\r
+In their conversation before marriage, Mr. Casaubon had often dwelt on\r
+some explanation or questionable detail of which Dorothea did not see\r
+the bearing; but such imperfect coherence seemed due to the brokenness\r
+of their intercourse, and, supported by her faith in their future, she\r
+had listened with fervid patience to a recitation of possible arguments\r
+to be brought against Mr. Casaubon's entirely new view of the\r
+Philistine god Dagon and other fish-deities, thinking that hereafter\r
+she should see this subject which touched him so nearly from the same\r
+high ground whence doubtless it had become so important to him. Again,\r
+the matter-of-course statement and tone of dismissal with which he\r
+treated what to her were the most stirring thoughts, was easily\r
+accounted for as belonging to the sense of haste and preoccupation in\r
+which she herself shared during their engagement. But now, since they\r
+had been in Rome, with all the depths of her emotion roused to\r
+tumultuous activity, and with life made a new problem by new elements,\r
+she had been becoming more and more aware, with a certain terror, that\r
+her mind was continually sliding into inward fits of anger and\r
+repulsion, or else into forlorn weariness. How far the judicious\r
+Hooker or any other hero of erudition would have been the same at Mr.\r
+Casaubon's time of life, she had no means of knowing, so that he could\r
+not have the advantage of comparison; but her husband's way of\r
+commenting on the strangely impressive objects around them had begun to\r
+affect her with a sort of mental shiver: he had perhaps the best\r
+intention of acquitting himself worthily, but only of acquitting\r
+himself. What was fresh to her mind was worn out to his; and such\r
+capacity of thought and feeling as had ever been stimulated in him by\r
+the general life of mankind had long shrunk to a sort of dried\r
+preparation, a lifeless embalmment of knowledge.\r
+\r
+When he said, "Does this interest you, Dorothea? Shall we stay a\r
+little longer? I am ready to stay if you wish it,"--it seemed to her\r
+as if going or staying were alike dreary. Or, "Should you like to go\r
+to the Farnesina, Dorothea? It contains celebrated frescos designed or\r
+painted by Raphael, which most persons think it worth while to visit."\r
+\r
+"But do you care about them?" was always Dorothea's question.\r
+\r
+"They are, I believe, highly esteemed. Some of them represent the\r
+fable of Cupid and Psyche, which is probably the romantic invention of\r
+a literary period, and cannot, I think, be reckoned as a genuine\r
+mythical product. But if you like these wall-paintings we can easily\r
+drive thither; and you will then, I think, have seen the chief works of\r
+Raphael, any of which it were a pity to omit in a visit to Rome. He is\r
+the painter who has been held to combine the most complete grace of\r
+form with sublimity of expression. Such at least I have gathered to be\r
+the opinion of cognoscenti."\r
+\r
+This kind of answer given in a measured official tone, as of a\r
+clergyman reading according to the rubric, did not help to justify the\r
+glories of the Eternal City, or to give her the hope that if she knew\r
+more about them the world would be joyously illuminated for her. There\r
+is hardly any contact more depressing to a young ardent creature than\r
+that of a mind in which years full of knowledge seem to have issued in\r
+a blank absence of interest or sympathy.\r
+\r
+On other subjects indeed Mr. Casaubon showed a tenacity of occupation\r
+and an eagerness which are usually regarded as the effect of\r
+enthusiasm, and Dorothea was anxious to follow this spontaneous\r
+direction of his thoughts, instead of being made to feel that she\r
+dragged him away from it. But she was gradually ceasing to expect with\r
+her former delightful confidence that she should see any wide opening\r
+where she followed him. Poor Mr. Casaubon himself was lost among small\r
+closets and winding stairs, and in an agitated dimness about the\r
+Cabeiri, or in an exposure of other mythologists' ill-considered\r
+parallels, easily lost sight of any purpose which had prompted him to\r
+these labors. With his taper stuck before him he forgot the absence of\r
+windows, and in bitter manuscript remarks on other men's notions about\r
+the solar deities, he had become indifferent to the sunlight.\r
+\r
+These characteristics, fixed and unchangeable as bone in Mr. Casaubon,\r
+might have remained longer unfelt by Dorothea if she had been\r
+encouraged to pour forth her girlish and womanly feeling--if he would\r
+have held her hands between his and listened with the delight of\r
+tenderness and understanding to all the little histories which made up\r
+her experience, and would have given her the same sort of intimacy in\r
+return, so that the past life of each could be included in their mutual\r
+knowledge and affection--or if she could have fed her affection with\r
+those childlike caresses which are the bent of every sweet woman, who\r
+has begun by showering kisses on the hard pate of her bald doll,\r
+creating a happy soul within that woodenness from the wealth of her own\r
+love. That was Dorothea's bent. With all her yearning to know what\r
+was afar from her and to be widely benignant, she had ardor enough for\r
+what was near, to have kissed Mr. Casaubon's coat-sleeve, or to have\r
+caressed his shoe-latchet, if he would have made any other sign of\r
+acceptance than pronouncing her, with his unfailing propriety, to be of\r
+a most affectionate and truly feminine nature, indicating at the same\r
+time by politely reaching a chair for her that he regarded these\r
+manifestations as rather crude and startling. Having made his clerical\r
+toilet with due care in the morning, he was prepared only for those\r
+amenities of life which were suited to the well-adjusted stiff cravat\r
+of the period, and to a mind weighted with unpublished matter.\r
+\r
+And by a sad contradiction Dorothea's ideas and resolves seemed like\r
+melting ice floating and lost in the warm flood of which they had been\r
+but another form. She was humiliated to find herself a mere victim of\r
+feeling, as if she could know nothing except through that medium: all\r
+her strength was scattered in fits of agitation, of struggle, of\r
+despondency, and then again in visions of more complete renunciation,\r
+transforming all hard conditions into duty. Poor Dorothea! she was\r
+certainly troublesome--to herself chiefly; but this morning for the\r
+first time she had been troublesome to Mr. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+She had begun, while they were taking coffee, with a determination to\r
+shake off what she inwardly called her selfishness, and turned a face\r
+all cheerful attention to her husband when he said, "My dear Dorothea,\r
+we must now think of all that is yet left undone, as a preliminary to\r
+our departure. I would fain have returned home earlier that we might\r
+have been at Lowick for the Christmas; but my inquiries here have been\r
+protracted beyond their anticipated period. I trust, however, that the\r
+time here has not been passed unpleasantly to you. Among the sights of\r
+Europe, that of Rome has ever been held one of the most striking and in\r
+some respects edifying. I well remember that I considered it an epoch\r
+in my life when I visited it for the first time; after the fall of\r
+Napoleon, an event which opened the Continent to travellers. Indeed I\r
+think it is one among several cities to which an extreme hyperbole has\r
+been applied--'See Rome and die:' but in your case I would propose an\r
+emendation and say, See Rome as a bride, and live henceforth as a happy\r
+wife."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon pronounced this little speech with the most conscientious\r
+intention, blinking a little and swaying his head up and down, and\r
+concluding with a smile. He had not found marriage a rapturous state,\r
+but he had no idea of being anything else than an irreproachable\r
+husband, who would make a charming young woman as happy as she deserved\r
+to be.\r
+\r
+"I hope you are thoroughly satisfied with our stay--I mean, with the\r
+result so far as your studies are concerned," said Dorothea, trying to\r
+keep her mind fixed on what most affected her husband.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Mr. Casaubon, with that peculiar pitch of voice which makes\r
+the word half a negative. "I have been led farther than I had\r
+foreseen, and various subjects for annotation have presented themselves\r
+which, though I have no direct need of them, I could not pretermit.\r
+The task, notwithstanding the assistance of my amanuensis, has been a\r
+somewhat laborious one, but your society has happily prevented me from\r
+that too continuous prosecution of thought beyond the hours of study\r
+which has been the snare of my solitary life."\r
+\r
+"I am very glad that my presence has made any difference to you," said\r
+Dorothea, who had a vivid memory of evenings in which she had supposed\r
+that Mr. Casaubon's mind had gone too deep during the day to be able to\r
+get to the surface again. I fear there was a little temper in her\r
+reply. "I hope when we get to Lowick, I shall be more useful to you,\r
+and be able to enter a little more into what interests you."\r
+\r
+"Doubtless, my dear," said Mr. Casaubon, with a slight bow. "The notes\r
+I have here made will want sifting, and you can, if you please, extract\r
+them under my direction."\r
+\r
+"And all your notes," said Dorothea, whose heart had already burned\r
+within her on this subject, so that now she could not help speaking\r
+with her tongue. "All those rows of volumes--will you not now do what\r
+you used to speak of?--will you not make up your mind what part of them\r
+you will use, and begin to write the book which will make your vast\r
+knowledge useful to the world? I will write to your dictation, or I\r
+will copy and extract what you tell me: I can be of no other use."\r
+Dorothea, in a most unaccountable, darkly feminine manner, ended with a\r
+slight sob and eyes full of tears.\r
+\r
+The excessive feeling manifested would alone have been highly\r
+disturbing to Mr. Casaubon, but there were other reasons why Dorothea's\r
+words were among the most cutting and irritating to him that she could\r
+have been impelled to use. She was as blind to his inward troubles as\r
+he to hers: she had not yet learned those hidden conflicts in her\r
+husband which claim our pity. She had not yet listened patiently to\r
+his heartbeats, but only felt that her own was beating violently. In\r
+Mr. Casaubon's ear, Dorothea's voice gave loud emphatic iteration to\r
+those muffled suggestions of consciousness which it was possible to\r
+explain as mere fancy, the illusion of exaggerated sensitiveness:\r
+always when such suggestions are unmistakably repeated from without,\r
+they are resisted as cruel and unjust. We are angered even by the full\r
+acceptance of our humiliating confessions--how much more by hearing in\r
+hard distinct syllables from the lips of a near observer, those\r
+confused murmurs which we try to call morbid, and strive against as if\r
+they were the oncoming of numbness! And this cruel outward accuser was\r
+there in the shape of a wife--nay, of a young bride, who, instead of\r
+observing his abundant pen-scratches and amplitude of paper with the\r
+uncritical awe of an elegant-minded canary-bird, seemed to present\r
+herself as a spy watching everything with a malign power of inference.\r
+Here, towards this particular point of the compass, Mr. Casaubon had a\r
+sensitiveness to match Dorothea's, and an equal quickness to imagine\r
+more than the fact. He had formerly observed with approbation her\r
+capacity for worshipping the right object; he now foresaw with sudden\r
+terror that this capacity might be replaced by presumption, this\r
+worship by the most exasperating of all criticism,--that which sees\r
+vaguely a great many fine ends, and has not the least notion what it\r
+costs to reach them.\r
+\r
+For the first time since Dorothea had known him, Mr. Casaubon's face\r
+had a quick angry flush upon it.\r
+\r
+"My love," he said, with irritation reined in by propriety, "you may\r
+rely upon me for knowing the times and the seasons, adapted to the\r
+different stages of a work which is not to be measured by the facile\r
+conjectures of ignorant onlookers. It had been easy for me to gain a\r
+temporary effect by a mirage of baseless opinion; but it is ever the\r
+trial of the scrupulous explorer to be saluted with the impatient scorn\r
+of chatterers who attempt only the smallest achievements, being indeed\r
+equipped for no other. And it were well if all such could be\r
+admonished to discriminate judgments of which the true subject-matter\r
+lies entirely beyond their reach, from those of which the elements may\r
+be compassed by a narrow and superficial survey."\r
+\r
+This speech was delivered with an energy and readiness quite unusual\r
+with Mr. Casaubon. It was not indeed entirely an improvisation, but\r
+had taken shape in inward colloquy, and rushed out like the round\r
+grains from a fruit when sudden heat cracks it. Dorothea was not only\r
+his wife: she was a personification of that shallow world which\r
+surrounds the appreciated or desponding author.\r
+\r
+Dorothea was indignant in her turn. Had she not been repressing\r
+everything in herself except the desire to enter into some fellowship\r
+with her husband's chief interests?\r
+\r
+"My judgment _was_ a very superficial one--such as I am capable of\r
+forming," she answered, with a prompt resentment, that needed no\r
+rehearsal. "You showed me the rows of notebooks--you have often spoken\r
+of them--you have often said that they wanted digesting. But I never\r
+heard you speak of the writing that is to be published. Those were\r
+very simple facts, and my judgment went no farther. I only begged you\r
+to let me be of some good to you."\r
+\r
+Dorothea rose to leave the table and Mr. Casaubon made no reply, taking\r
+up a letter which lay beside him as if to reperuse it. Both were\r
+shocked at their mutual situation--that each should have betrayed anger\r
+towards the other. If they had been at home, settled at Lowick in\r
+ordinary life among their neighbors, the clash would have been less\r
+embarrassing: but on a wedding journey, the express object of which is\r
+to isolate two people on the ground that they are all the world to each\r
+other, the sense of disagreement is, to say the least, confounding and\r
+stultifying. To have changed your longitude extensively and placed\r
+yourselves in a moral solitude in order to have small explosions, to\r
+find conversation difficult and to hand a glass of water without\r
+looking, can hardly be regarded as satisfactory fulfilment even to the\r
+toughest minds. To Dorothea's inexperienced sensitiveness, it seemed\r
+like a catastrophe, changing all prospects; and to Mr. Casaubon it was\r
+a new pain, he never having been on a wedding journey before, or found\r
+himself in that close union which was more of a subjection than he had\r
+been able to imagine, since this charming young bride not only obliged\r
+him to much consideration on her behalf (which he had sedulously\r
+given), but turned out to be capable of agitating him cruelly just\r
+where he most needed soothing. Instead of getting a soft fence against\r
+the cold, shadowy, unapplausive audience of his life, had he only given\r
+it a more substantial presence?\r
+\r
+Neither of them felt it possible to speak again at present. To have\r
+reversed a previous arrangement and declined to go out would have been\r
+a show of persistent anger which Dorothea's conscience shrank from,\r
+seeing that she already began to feel herself guilty. However just her\r
+indignation might be, her ideal was not to claim justice, but to give\r
+tenderness. So when the carriage came to the door, she drove with Mr.\r
+Casaubon to the Vatican, walked with him through the stony avenue of\r
+inscriptions, and when she parted with him at the entrance to the\r
+Library, went on through the Museum out of mere listlessness as to what\r
+was around her. She had not spirit to turn round and say that she\r
+would drive anywhere. It was when Mr. Casaubon was quitting her that\r
+Naumann had first seen her, and he had entered the long gallery of\r
+sculpture at the same time with her; but here Naumann had to await\r
+Ladislaw with whom he was to settle a bet of champagne about an\r
+enigmatical mediaeval-looking figure there. After they had examined\r
+the figure, and had walked on finishing their dispute, they had parted,\r
+Ladislaw lingering behind while Naumann had gone into the Hall of\r
+Statues where he again saw Dorothea, and saw her in that brooding\r
+abstraction which made her pose remarkable. She did not really see the\r
+streak of sunlight on the floor more than she saw the statues: she was\r
+inwardly seeing the light of years to come in her own home and over the\r
+English fields and elms and hedge-bordered highroads; and feeling that\r
+the way in which they might be filled with joyful devotedness was not\r
+so clear to her as it had been. But in Dorothea's mind there was a\r
+current into which all thought and feeling were apt sooner or later to\r
+flow--the reaching forward of the whole consciousness towards the\r
+fullest truth, the least partial good. There was clearly something\r
+better than anger and despondency.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXI.\r
+\r
+ "Hire facounde eke full womanly and plain,\r
+ No contrefeted termes had she\r
+ To semen wise."\r
+ --CHAUCER.\r
+\r
+\r
+It was in that way Dorothea came to be sobbing as soon as she was\r
+securely alone. But she was presently roused by a knock at the door,\r
+which made her hastily dry her eyes before saying, "Come in." Tantripp\r
+had brought a card, and said that there was a gentleman waiting in the\r
+lobby. The courier had told him that only Mrs. Casaubon was at home,\r
+but he said he was a relation of Mr. Casaubon's: would she see him?\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Dorothea, without pause; "show him into the salon." Her\r
+chief impressions about young Ladislaw were that when she had seen him\r
+at Lowick she had been made aware of Mr. Casaubon's generosity towards\r
+him, and also that she had been interested in his own hesitation about\r
+his career. She was alive to anything that gave her an opportunity for\r
+active sympathy, and at this moment it seemed as if the visit had come\r
+to shake her out of her self-absorbed discontent--to remind her of her\r
+husband's goodness, and make her feel that she had now the right to be\r
+his helpmate in all kind deeds. She waited a minute or two, but when\r
+she passed into the next room there were just signs enough that she had\r
+been crying to make her open face look more youthful and appealing than\r
+usual. She met Ladislaw with that exquisite smile of good-will which\r
+is unmixed with vanity, and held out her hand to him. He was the elder\r
+by several years, but at that moment he looked much the younger, for\r
+his transparent complexion flushed suddenly, and he spoke with a\r
+shyness extremely unlike the ready indifference of his manner with his\r
+male companion, while Dorothea became all the calmer with a wondering\r
+desire to put him at ease.\r
+\r
+"I was not aware that you and Mr. Casaubon were in Rome, until this\r
+morning, when I saw you in the Vatican Museum," he said. "I knew you\r
+at once--but--I mean, that I concluded Mr. Casaubon's address would be\r
+found at the Poste Restante, and I was anxious to pay my respects to\r
+him and you as early as possible."\r
+\r
+"Pray sit down. He is not here now, but he will be glad to hear of\r
+you, I am sure," said Dorothea, seating herself unthinkingly between\r
+the fire and the light of the tall window, and pointing to a chair\r
+opposite, with the quietude of a benignant matron. The signs of\r
+girlish sorrow in her face were only the more striking. "Mr. Casaubon\r
+is much engaged; but you will leave your address--will you not?--and\r
+he will write to you."\r
+\r
+"You are very good," said Ladislaw, beginning to lose his diffidence in\r
+the interest with which he was observing the signs of weeping which had\r
+altered her face. "My address is on my card. But if you will allow me\r
+I will call again to-morrow at an hour when Mr. Casaubon is likely to\r
+be at home."\r
+\r
+"He goes to read in the Library of the Vatican every day, and you can\r
+hardly see him except by an appointment. Especially now. We are about\r
+to leave Rome, and he is very busy. He is usually away almost from\r
+breakfast till dinner. But I am sure he will wish you to dine with us."\r
+\r
+Will Ladislaw was struck mute for a few moments. He had never been\r
+fond of Mr. Casaubon, and if it had not been for the sense of\r
+obligation, would have laughed at him as a Bat of erudition. But the\r
+idea of this dried-up pedant, this elaborator of small explanations\r
+about as important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a\r
+vendor's back chamber, having first got this adorable young creature to\r
+marry him, and then passing his honeymoon away from her, groping after\r
+his mouldy futilities (Will was given to hyperbole)--this sudden\r
+picture stirred him with a sort of comic disgust: he was divided\r
+between the impulse to laugh aloud and the equally unseasonable impulse\r
+to burst into scornful invective.\r
+\r
+For an instant he felt that the struggle, was causing a queer\r
+contortion of his mobile features, but with a good effort he resolved\r
+it into nothing more offensive than a merry smile.\r
+\r
+Dorothea wondered; but the smile was irresistible, and shone back from\r
+her face too. Will Ladislaw's smile was delightful, unless you were\r
+angry with him beforehand: it was a gush of inward light illuminating\r
+the transparent skin as well as the eyes, and playing about every curve\r
+and line as if some Ariel were touching them with a new charm, and\r
+banishing forever the traces of moodiness. The reflection of that\r
+smile could not but have a little merriment in it too, even under dark\r
+eyelashes still moist, as Dorothea said inquiringly, "Something amuses\r
+you?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Will, quick in finding resources. "I am thinking of the\r
+sort of figure I cut the first time I saw you, when you annihilated my\r
+poor sketch with your criticism."\r
+\r
+"My criticism?" said Dorothea, wondering still more. "Surely not. I\r
+always feel particularly ignorant about painting."\r
+\r
+"I suspected you of knowing so much, that you knew how to say just what\r
+was most cutting. You said--I dare say you don't remember it as I\r
+do--that the relation of my sketch to nature was quite hidden from you.\r
+At least, you implied that." Will could laugh now as well as smile.\r
+\r
+"That was really my ignorance," said Dorothea, admiring\r
+Will's good-humor. "I must have said so only because I never could see\r
+any beauty in the pictures which my uncle told me all judges thought\r
+very fine. And I have gone about with just the same ignorance in Rome.\r
+There are comparatively few paintings that I can really enjoy. At\r
+first when I enter a room where the walls are covered with frescos, or\r
+with rare pictures, I feel a kind of awe--like a child present at great\r
+ceremonies where there are grand robes and processions; I feel myself\r
+in the presence of some higher life than my own. But when I begin to\r
+examine the pictures one by one the life goes out of them, or else is\r
+something violent and strange to me. It must be my own dulness. I am\r
+seeing so much all at once, and not understanding half of it. That\r
+always makes one feel stupid. It is painful to be told that anything\r
+is very fine and not be able to feel that it is fine--something like\r
+being blind, while people talk of the sky."\r
+\r
+"Oh, there is a great deal in the feeling for art which must be\r
+acquired," said Will. (It was impossible now to doubt the directness\r
+of Dorothea's confession.) "Art is an old language with a great many\r
+artificial affected styles, and sometimes the chief pleasure one gets\r
+out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing. I enjoy the art of\r
+all sorts here immensely; but I suppose if I could pick my enjoyment to\r
+pieces I should find it made up of many different threads. There is\r
+something in daubing a little one's self, and having an idea of the\r
+process."\r
+\r
+"You mean perhaps to be a painter?" said Dorothea, with a new direction\r
+of interest. "You mean to make painting your profession? Mr. Casaubon\r
+will like to hear that you have chosen a profession."\r
+\r
+"No, oh no," said Will, with some coldness. "I have quite made up my\r
+mind against it. It is too one-sided a life. I have been seeing a\r
+great deal of the German artists here: I travelled from Frankfort with\r
+one of them. Some are fine, even brilliant fellows--but I should not\r
+like to get into their way of looking at the world entirely from the\r
+studio point of view."\r
+\r
+"That I can understand," said Dorothea, cordially. "And in Rome it\r
+seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the\r
+world than pictures. But if you have a genius for painting, would it\r
+not be right to take that as a guide? Perhaps you might do better\r
+things than these--or different, so that there might not be so many\r
+pictures almost all alike in the same place."\r
+\r
+There was no mistaking this simplicity, and Will was won by it into\r
+frankness. "A man must have a very rare genius to make changes of that\r
+sort. I am afraid mine would not carry me even to the pitch of doing\r
+well what has been done already, at least not so well as to make it\r
+worth while. And I should never succeed in anything by dint of\r
+drudgery. If things don't come easily to me I never get them."\r
+\r
+"I have heard Mr. Casaubon say that he regrets your want of patience,"\r
+said Dorothea, gently. She was rather shocked at this mode of taking\r
+all life as a holiday.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I know Mr. Casaubon's opinion. He and I differ."\r
+\r
+The slight streak of contempt in this hasty reply offended Dorothea.\r
+She was all the more susceptible about Mr. Casaubon because of her\r
+morning's trouble.\r
+\r
+"Certainly you differ," she said, rather proudly. "I did not think of\r
+comparing you: such power of persevering devoted labor as Mr.\r
+Casaubon's is not common."\r
+\r
+Will saw that she was offended, but this only gave an additional\r
+impulse to the new irritation of his latent dislike towards Mr.\r
+Casaubon. It was too intolerable that Dorothea should be worshipping\r
+this husband: such weakness in a woman is pleasant to no man but the\r
+husband in question. Mortals are easily tempted to pinch the life out\r
+of their neighbor's buzzing glory, and think that such killing is no\r
+murder.\r
+\r
+"No, indeed," he answered, promptly. "And therefore it is a pity that\r
+it should be thrown away, as so much English scholarship is, for want\r
+of knowing what is being done by the rest of the world. If Mr.\r
+Casaubon read German he would save himself a great deal of trouble."\r
+\r
+"I do not understand you," said Dorothea, startled and anxious.\r
+\r
+"I merely mean," said Will, in an offhand way, "that the Germans have\r
+taken the lead in historical inquiries, and they laugh at results which\r
+are got by groping about in woods with a pocket-compass while they have\r
+made good roads. When I was with Mr. Casaubon I saw that he deafened\r
+himself in that direction: it was almost against his will that he read\r
+a Latin treatise written by a German. I was very sorry."\r
+\r
+Will only thought of giving a good pinch that would annihilate that\r
+vaunted laboriousness, and was unable to imagine the mode in which\r
+Dorothea would be wounded. Young Mr. Ladislaw was not at all deep\r
+himself in German writers; but very little achievement is required in\r
+order to pity another man's shortcomings.\r
+\r
+Poor Dorothea felt a pang at the thought that the labor of her\r
+husband's life might be void, which left her no energy to spare for the\r
+question whether this young relative who was so much obliged to him\r
+ought not to have repressed his observation. She did not even speak,\r
+but sat looking at her hands, absorbed in the piteousness of that\r
+thought.\r
+\r
+Will, however, having given that annihilating pinch, was rather\r
+ashamed, imagining from Dorothea's silence that he had offended her\r
+still more; and having also a conscience about plucking the\r
+tail-feathers from a benefactor.\r
+\r
+"I regretted it especially," he resumed, taking the usual course from\r
+detraction to insincere eulogy, "because of my gratitude and respect\r
+towards my cousin. It would not signify so much in a man whose talents\r
+and character were less distinguished."\r
+\r
+Dorothea raised her eyes, brighter than usual with excited feeling, and\r
+said in her saddest recitative, "How I wish I had learned German when I\r
+was at Lausanne! There were plenty of German teachers. But now I can\r
+be of no use."\r
+\r
+There was a new light, but still a mysterious light, for Will in\r
+Dorothea's last words. The question how she had come to accept Mr.\r
+Casaubon--which he had dismissed when he first saw her by saying that\r
+she must be disagreeable in spite of appearances--was not now to be\r
+answered on any such short and easy method. Whatever else she might\r
+be, she was not disagreeable. She was not coldly clever and indirectly\r
+satirical, but adorably simple and full of feeling. She was an angel\r
+beguiled. It would be a unique delight to wait and watch for the\r
+melodious fragments in which her heart and soul came forth so directly\r
+and ingenuously. The Aeolian harp again came into his mind.\r
+\r
+She must have made some original romance for herself in this marriage.\r
+And if Mr. Casaubon had been a dragon who had carried her off to his\r
+lair with his talons simply and without legal forms, it would have been\r
+an unavoidable feat of heroism to release her and fall at her feet.\r
+But he was something more unmanageable than a dragon: he was a\r
+benefactor with collective society at his back, and he was at that\r
+moment entering the room in all the unimpeachable correctness of his\r
+demeanor, while Dorothea was looking animated with a newly roused alarm\r
+and regret, and Will was looking animated with his admiring speculation\r
+about her feelings.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon felt a surprise which was quite unmixed with pleasure, but\r
+he did not swerve from his usual politeness of greeting, when Will rose\r
+and explained his presence. Mr. Casaubon was less happy than usual,\r
+and this perhaps made him look all the dimmer and more faded; else, the\r
+effect might easily have been produced by the contrast of his young\r
+cousin's appearance. The first impression on seeing Will was one of\r
+sunny brightness, which added to the uncertainty of his changing\r
+expression. Surely, his very features changed their form, his jaw\r
+looked sometimes large and sometimes small; and the little ripple in\r
+his nose was a preparation for metamorphosis. When he turned his head\r
+quickly his hair seemed to shake out light, and some persons thought\r
+they saw decided genius in this coruscation. Mr. Casaubon, on the\r
+contrary, stood rayless.\r
+\r
+As Dorothea's eyes were turned anxiously on her husband she was perhaps\r
+not insensible to the contrast, but it was only mingled with other\r
+causes in making her more conscious of that new alarm on his behalf\r
+which was the first stirring of a pitying tenderness fed by the\r
+realities of his lot and not by her own dreams. Yet it was a source of\r
+greater freedom to her that Will was there; his young equality was\r
+agreeable, and also perhaps his openness to conviction. She felt an\r
+immense need of some one to speak to, and she had never before seen any\r
+one who seemed so quick and pliable, so likely to understand everything.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon gravely hoped that Will was passing his time profitably as\r
+well as pleasantly in Rome--had thought his intention was to remain in\r
+South Germany--but begged him to come and dine to-morrow, when he could\r
+converse more at large: at present he was somewhat weary. Ladislaw\r
+understood, and accepting the invitation immediately took his leave.\r
+\r
+Dorothea's eyes followed her husband anxiously, while he sank down\r
+wearily at the end of a sofa, and resting his elbow supported his head\r
+and looked on the floor. A little flushed, and with bright eyes, she\r
+seated herself beside him, and said--\r
+\r
+"Forgive me for speaking so hastily to you this morning. I was wrong.\r
+I fear I hurt you and made the day more burdensome."\r
+\r
+"I am glad that you feel that, my dear," said Mr. Casaubon. He spoke\r
+quietly and bowed his head a little, but there was still an uneasy\r
+feeling in his eyes as he looked at her.\r
+\r
+"But you do forgive me?" said Dorothea, with a quick sob. In her need\r
+for some manifestation of feeling she was ready to exaggerate her own\r
+fault. Would not love see returning penitence afar off, and fall on\r
+its neck and kiss it?\r
+\r
+"My dear Dorothea--'who with repentance is not satisfied, is not of\r
+heaven nor earth:'--you do not think me worthy to be banished by that\r
+severe sentence," said Mr. Casaubon, exerting himself to make a strong\r
+statement, and also to smile faintly.\r
+\r
+Dorothea was silent, but a tear which had come up with the sob would\r
+insist on falling.\r
+\r
+"You are excited, my dear. And I also am feeling some unpleasant\r
+consequences of too much mental disturbance," said Mr. Casaubon. In\r
+fact, he had it in his thought to tell her that she ought not to have\r
+received young Ladislaw in his absence: but he abstained, partly from\r
+the sense that it would be ungracious to bring a new complaint in the\r
+moment of her penitent acknowledgment, partly because he wanted to\r
+avoid further agitation of himself by speech, and partly because he was\r
+too proud to betray that jealousy of disposition which was not so\r
+exhausted on his scholarly compeers that there was none to spare in\r
+other directions. There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little\r
+fire: it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp\r
+despondency of uneasy egoism.\r
+\r
+"I think it is time for us to dress," he added, looking at his watch.\r
+They both rose, and there was never any further allusion between them\r
+to what had passed on this day.\r
+\r
+But Dorothea remembered it to the last with the vividness with which we\r
+all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies,\r
+or some new motive is born. Today she had begun to see that she had\r
+been under a wild illusion in expecting a response to her feeling from\r
+Mr. Casaubon, and she had felt the waking of a presentiment that there\r
+might be a sad consciousness in his life which made as great a need on\r
+his side as on her own.\r
+\r
+We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder\r
+to feed our supreme selves: Dorothea had early begun to emerge from\r
+that stupidity, but yet it had been easier to her to imagine how she\r
+would devote herself to Mr. Casaubon, and become wise and strong in his\r
+strength and wisdom, than to conceive with that distinctness which is\r
+no longer reflection but feeling--an idea wrought back to the\r
+directness of sense, like the solidity of objects--that he had an\r
+equivalent centre of self, whence the lights and shadows must always\r
+fall with a certain difference.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXII.\r
+\r
+ "Nous câusames longtemps; elle était simple et bonne.\r
+ Ne sachant pas le mal, elle faisait le bien;\r
+ Des richesses du coeur elle me fit l'aumône,\r
+ Et tout en écoutant comme le coeur se donne,\r
+ Sans oser y penser je lui donnai le mien;\r
+ Elle emporta ma vie, et n'en sut jamais rien."\r
+ --ALFRED DE MUSSET.\r
+\r
+\r
+Will Ladislaw was delightfully agreeable at dinner the next day, and\r
+gave no opportunity for Mr. Casaubon to show disapprobation. On the\r
+contrary it seemed to Dorothea that Will had a happier way of drawing\r
+her husband into conversation and of deferentially listening to him\r
+than she had ever observed in any one before. To be sure, the\r
+listeners about Tipton were not highly gifted! Will talked a good deal\r
+himself, but what he said was thrown in with such rapidity, and with\r
+such an unimportant air of saying something by the way, that it seemed\r
+a gay little chime after the great bell. If Will was not always\r
+perfect, this was certainly one of his good days. He described touches\r
+of incident among the poor people in Rome, only to be seen by one who\r
+could move about freely; he found himself in agreement with Mr.\r
+Casaubon as to the unsound opinions of Middleton concerning the\r
+relations of Judaism and Catholicism; and passed easily to a\r
+half-enthusiastic half-playful picture of the enjoyment he got out of\r
+the very miscellaneousness of Rome, which made the mind flexible with\r
+constant comparison, and saved you from seeing the world's ages as a\r
+set of box-like partitions without vital connection. Mr. Casaubon's\r
+studies, Will observed, had always been of too broad a kind for that,\r
+and he had perhaps never felt any such sudden effect, but for himself\r
+he confessed that Rome had given him quite a new sense of history as a\r
+whole: the fragments stimulated his imagination and made him\r
+constructive. Then occasionally, but not too often, he appealed to\r
+Dorothea, and discussed what she said, as if her sentiment were an item\r
+to be considered in the final judgment even of the Madonna di Foligno\r
+or the Laocoon. A sense of contributing to form the world's opinion\r
+makes conversation particularly cheerful; and Mr. Casaubon too was not\r
+without his pride in his young wife, who spoke better than most women,\r
+as indeed he had perceived in choosing her.\r
+\r
+Since things were going on so pleasantly, Mr. Casaubon's statement that\r
+his labors in the Library would be suspended for a couple of days, and\r
+that after a brief renewal he should have no further reason for staying\r
+in Rome, encouraged Will to urge that Mrs. Casaubon should not go away\r
+without seeing a studio or two. Would not Mr. Casaubon take her? That\r
+sort of thing ought not to be missed: it was quite special: it was a\r
+form of life that grew like a small fresh vegetation with its\r
+population of insects on huge fossils. Will would be happy to conduct\r
+them--not to anything wearisome, only to a few examples.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon, seeing Dorothea look earnestly towards him, could not but\r
+ask her if she would be interested in such visits: he was now at her\r
+service during the whole day; and it was agreed that Will should come\r
+on the morrow and drive with them.\r
+\r
+Will could not omit Thorwaldsen, a living celebrity about whom even Mr.\r
+Casaubon inquired, but before the day was far advanced he led the way\r
+to the studio of his friend Adolf Naumann, whom he mentioned as one of\r
+the chief renovators of Christian art, one of those who had not only\r
+revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as\r
+mysteries at which the successive ages were spectators, and in relation\r
+to which the great souls of all periods became as it were\r
+contemporaries. Will added that he had made himself Naumann's pupil\r
+for the nonce.\r
+\r
+"I have been making some oil-sketches under him," said Will. "I hate\r
+copying. I must put something of my own in. Naumann has been painting\r
+the Saints drawing the Car of the Church, and I have been making a\r
+sketch of Marlowe's Tamburlaine Driving the Conquered Kings in his\r
+Chariot. I am not so ecclesiastical as Naumann, and I sometimes twit\r
+him with his excess of meaning. But this time I mean to outdo him in\r
+breadth of intention. I take Tamburlaine in his chariot for the\r
+tremendous course of the world's physical history lashing on the\r
+harnessed dynasties. In my opinion, that is a good mythical\r
+interpretation." Will here looked at Mr. Casaubon, who received this\r
+offhand treatment of symbolism very uneasily, and bowed with a neutral\r
+air.\r
+\r
+"The sketch must be very grand, if it conveys so much," said Dorothea.\r
+"I should need some explanation even of the meaning you give. Do you\r
+intend Tamburlaine to represent earthquakes and volcanoes?"\r
+\r
+"Oh yes," said Will, laughing, "and migrations of races and clearings\r
+of forests--and America and the steam-engine. Everything you can\r
+imagine!"\r
+\r
+"What a difficult kind of shorthand!" said Dorothea, smiling towards\r
+her husband. "It would require all your knowledge to be able to read\r
+it."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon blinked furtively at Will. He had a suspicion that he was\r
+being laughed at. But it was not possible to include Dorothea in the\r
+suspicion.\r
+\r
+They found Naumann painting industriously, but no model was present;\r
+his pictures were advantageously arranged, and his own plain vivacious\r
+person set off by a dove-colored blouse and a maroon velvet cap, so\r
+that everything was as fortunate as if he had expected the beautiful\r
+young English lady exactly at that time.\r
+\r
+The painter in his confident English gave little dissertations on his\r
+finished and unfinished subjects, seeming to observe Mr. Casaubon as\r
+much as he did Dorothea. Will burst in here and there with ardent\r
+words of praise, marking out particular merits in his friend's work;\r
+and Dorothea felt that she was getting quite new notions as to the\r
+significance of Madonnas seated under inexplicable canopied thrones\r
+with the simple country as a background, and of saints with\r
+architectural models in their hands, or knives accidentally wedged in\r
+their skulls. Some things which had seemed monstrous to her were\r
+gathering intelligibility and even a natural meaning: but all this was\r
+apparently a branch of knowledge in which Mr. Casaubon had not\r
+interested himself.\r
+\r
+"I think I would rather feel that painting is beautiful than have to\r
+read it as an enigma; but I should learn to understand these pictures\r
+sooner than yours with the very wide meaning," said Dorothea, speaking\r
+to Will.\r
+\r
+"Don't speak of my painting before Naumann," said Will. "He will tell\r
+you, it is all pfuscherei, which is his most opprobrious word!"\r
+\r
+"Is that true?" said Dorothea, turning her sincere eyes on Naumann, who\r
+made a slight grimace and said--\r
+\r
+"Oh, he does not mean it seriously with painting. His walk must be\r
+belles-lettres. That is wi-ide."\r
+\r
+Naumann's pronunciation of the vowel seemed to stretch the word\r
+satirically. Will did not half like it, but managed to laugh: and Mr.\r
+Casaubon, while he felt some disgust at the artist's German accent,\r
+began to entertain a little respect for his judicious severity.\r
+\r
+The respect was not diminished when Naumann, after drawing Will aside\r
+for a moment and looking, first at a large canvas, then at Mr.\r
+Casaubon, came forward again and said--\r
+\r
+"My friend Ladislaw thinks you will pardon me, sir, if I say that a\r
+sketch of your head would be invaluable to me for the St. Thomas\r
+Aquinas in my picture there. It is too much to ask; but I so seldom\r
+see just what I want--the idealistic in the real."\r
+\r
+"You astonish me greatly, sir," said Mr. Casaubon, his looks improved\r
+with a glow of delight; "but if my poor physiognomy, which I have been\r
+accustomed to regard as of the commonest order, can be of any use to\r
+you in furnishing some traits for the angelical doctor, I shall feel\r
+honored. That is to say, if the operation will not be a lengthy one;\r
+and if Mrs. Casaubon will not object to the delay."\r
+\r
+As for Dorothea, nothing could have pleased her more, unless it had\r
+been a miraculous voice pronouncing Mr. Casaubon the wisest and\r
+worthiest among the sons of men. In that case her tottering faith\r
+would have become firm again.\r
+\r
+Naumann's apparatus was at hand in wonderful completeness, and the\r
+sketch went on at once as well as the conversation. Dorothea sat down\r
+and subsided into calm silence, feeling happier than she had done for a\r
+long while before. Every one about her seemed good, and she said to\r
+herself that Rome, if she had only been less ignorant, would have been\r
+full of beauty: its sadness would have been winged with hope. No nature\r
+could be less suspicious than hers: when she was a child she believed\r
+in the gratitude of wasps and the honorable susceptibility of sparrows,\r
+and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest.\r
+\r
+The adroit artist was asking Mr. Casaubon questions about English\r
+polities, which brought long answers, and, Will meanwhile had perched\r
+himself on some steps in the background overlooking all.\r
+\r
+Presently Naumann said--"Now if I could lay this by for half an hour\r
+and take it up again--come and look, Ladislaw--I think it is perfect so\r
+far."\r
+\r
+Will vented those adjuring interjections which imply that admiration is\r
+too strong for syntax; and Naumann said in a tone of piteous regret--\r
+\r
+"Ah--now--if I could but have had more--but you have other\r
+engagements--I could not ask it--or even to come again to-morrow."\r
+\r
+"Oh, let us stay!" said Dorothea. "We have nothing to do to-day except\r
+go about, have we?" she added, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon.\r
+"It would be a pity not to make the head as good as possible."\r
+\r
+"I am at your service, sir, in the matter," said Mr. Casaubon, with\r
+polite condescension. "Having given up the interior of my head to\r
+idleness, it is as well that the exterior should work in this way."\r
+\r
+"You are unspeakably good--now I am happy!" said Naumann, and then went\r
+on in German to Will, pointing here and there to the sketch as if he\r
+were considering that. Putting it aside for a moment, he looked round\r
+vaguely, as if seeking some occupation for his visitors, and afterwards\r
+turning to Mr. Casaubon, said--\r
+\r
+"Perhaps the beautiful bride, the gracious lady, would not be unwilling\r
+to let me fill up the time by trying to make a slight sketch of\r
+her--not, of course, as you see, for that picture--only as a single\r
+study."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs. Casaubon would oblige him,\r
+and Dorothea said, at once, "Where shall I put myself?"\r
+\r
+Naumann was all apologies in asking her to stand, and allow him to\r
+adjust her attitude, to which she submitted without any of the affected\r
+airs and laughs frequently thought necessary on such occasions, when\r
+the painter said, "It is as Santa Clara that I want you to\r
+stand--leaning so, with your cheek against your hand--so--looking at\r
+that stool, please, so!"\r
+\r
+Will was divided between the inclination to fall at the Saint's feet\r
+and kiss her robe, and the temptation to knock Naumann down while he\r
+was adjusting her arm. All this was impudence and desecration, and he\r
+repented that he had brought her.\r
+\r
+The artist was diligent, and Will recovering himself moved about and\r
+occupied Mr. Casaubon as ingeniously as he could; but he did not in the\r
+end prevent the time from seeming long to that gentleman, as was clear\r
+from his expressing a fear that Mrs. Casaubon would be tired. Naumann\r
+took the hint and said--\r
+\r
+"Now, sir, if you can oblige me again; I will release the lady-wife."\r
+\r
+So Mr. Casaubon's patience held out further, and when after all it\r
+turned out that the head of Saint Thomas Aquinas would be more perfect\r
+if another sitting could be had, it was granted for the morrow. On the\r
+morrow Santa Clara too was retouched more than once. The result of all\r
+was so far from displeasing to Mr. Casaubon, that he arranged for the\r
+purchase of the picture in which Saint Thomas Aquinas sat among the\r
+doctors of the Church in a disputation too abstract to be represented,\r
+but listened to with more or less attention by an audience above. The\r
+Santa Clara, which was spoken of in the second place, Naumann declared\r
+himself to be dissatisfied with--he could not, in conscience, engage\r
+to make a worthy picture of it; so about the Santa Clara the\r
+arrangement was conditional.\r
+\r
+I will not dwell on Naumann's jokes at the expense of Mr. Casaubon that\r
+evening, or on his dithyrambs about Dorothea's charm, in all which Will\r
+joined, but with a difference. No sooner did Naumann mention any\r
+detail of Dorothea's beauty, than Will got exasperated at his\r
+presumption: there was grossness in his choice of the most ordinary\r
+words, and what business had he to talk of her lips? She was not a\r
+woman to be spoken of as other women were. Will could not say just\r
+what he thought, but he became irritable. And yet, when after some\r
+resistance he had consented to take the Casaubons to his friend's\r
+studio, he had been allured by the gratification of his pride in being\r
+the person who could grant Naumann such an opportunity of studying her\r
+loveliness--or rather her divineness, for the ordinary phrases which\r
+might apply to mere bodily prettiness were not applicable to her.\r
+(Certainly all Tipton and its neighborhood, as well as Dorothea\r
+herself, would have been surprised at her beauty being made so much of.\r
+In that part of the world Miss Brooke had been only a "fine young\r
+woman.")\r
+\r
+"Oblige me by letting the subject drop, Naumann. Mrs. Casaubon is not\r
+to be talked of as if she were a model," said Will. Naumann stared at\r
+him.\r
+\r
+"Schon! I will talk of my Aquinas. The head is not a bad type, after\r
+all. I dare say the great scholastic himself would have been flattered\r
+to have his portrait asked for. Nothing like these starchy doctors for\r
+vanity! It was as I thought: he cared much less for her portrait than\r
+his own."\r
+\r
+"He's a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb," said Will, with\r
+gnashing impetuosity. His obligations to Mr. Casaubon were not known\r
+to his hearer, but Will himself was thinking of them, and wishing that\r
+he could discharge them all by a check.\r
+\r
+Naumann gave a shrug and said, "It is good they go away soon, my dear.\r
+They are spoiling your fine temper."\r
+\r
+All Will's hope and contrivance were now concentrated on seeing\r
+Dorothea when she was alone. He only wanted her to take more emphatic\r
+notice of him; he only wanted to be something more special in her\r
+remembrance than he could yet believe himself likely to be. He was\r
+rather impatient under that open ardent good-will, which he saw was her\r
+usual state of feeling. The remote worship of a woman throned out of\r
+their reach plays a great part in men's lives, but in most cases the\r
+worshipper longs for some queenly recognition, some approving sign by\r
+which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her\r
+high place. That was precisely what Will wanted. But there were\r
+plenty of contradictions in his imaginative demands. It was beautiful\r
+to see how Dorothea's eyes turned with wifely anxiety and beseeching to\r
+Mr. Casaubon: she would have lost some of her halo if she had been\r
+without that duteous preoccupation; and yet at the next moment the\r
+husband's sandy absorption of such nectar was too intolerable; and\r
+Will's longing to say damaging things about him was perhaps not the\r
+less tormenting because he felt the strongest reasons for restraining\r
+it.\r
+\r
+Will had not been invited to dine the next day. Hence he persuaded\r
+himself that he was bound to call, and that the only eligible time was\r
+the middle of the day, when Mr. Casaubon would not be at home.\r
+\r
+Dorothea, who had not been made aware that her former reception of Will\r
+had displeased her husband, had no hesitation about seeing him,\r
+especially as he might be come to pay a farewell visit. When he\r
+entered she was looking at some cameos which she had been buying for\r
+Celia. She greeted Will as if his visit were quite a matter of course,\r
+and said at once, having a cameo bracelet in her hand--\r
+\r
+"I am so glad you are come. Perhaps you understand all about cameos,\r
+and can tell me if these are really good. I wished to have you with us\r
+in choosing them, but Mr. Casaubon objected: he thought there was not\r
+time. He will finish his work to-morrow, and we shall go away in three\r
+days. I have been uneasy about these cameos. Pray sit down and look\r
+at them."\r
+\r
+"I am not particularly knowing, but there can be no great mistake about\r
+these little Homeric bits: they are exquisitely neat. And the color is\r
+fine: it will just suit you."\r
+\r
+"Oh, they are for my sister, who has quite a different complexion. You\r
+saw her with me at Lowick: she is light-haired and very pretty--at\r
+least I think so. We were never so long away from each other in our\r
+lives before. She is a great pet and never was naughty in her life. I\r
+found out before I came away that she wanted me to buy her some cameos,\r
+and I should be sorry for them not to be good--after their kind."\r
+Dorothea added the last words with a smile.\r
+\r
+"You seem not to care about cameos," said Will, seating himself at some\r
+distance from her, and observing her while she closed the cases.\r
+\r
+"No, frankly, I don't think them a great object in life," said Dorothea\r
+\r
+"I fear you are a heretic about art generally. How is that? I should\r
+have expected you to be very sensitive to the beautiful everywhere."\r
+\r
+"I suppose I am dull about many things," said Dorothea, simply. "I\r
+should like to make life beautiful--I mean everybody's life. And then\r
+all this immense expense of art, that seems somehow to lie outside life\r
+and make it no better for the world, pains one. It spoils my enjoyment\r
+of anything when I am made to think that most people are shut out from\r
+it."\r
+\r
+"I call that the fanaticism of sympathy," said Will, impetuously. "You\r
+might say the same of landscape, of poetry, of all refinement. If you\r
+carried it out you ought to be miserable in your own goodness, and turn\r
+evil that you might have no advantage over others. The best piety is\r
+to enjoy--when you can. You are doing the most then to save the\r
+earth's character as an agreeable planet. And enjoyment radiates. It\r
+is of no use to try and take care of all the world; that is being taken\r
+care of when you feel delight--in art or in anything else. Would you\r
+turn all the youth of the world into a tragic chorus, wailing and\r
+moralizing over misery? I suspect that you have some false belief in\r
+the virtues of misery, and want to make your life a martyrdom." Will\r
+had gone further than he intended, and checked himself. But Dorothea's\r
+thought was not taking just the same direction as his own, and she\r
+answered without any special emotion--\r
+\r
+"Indeed you mistake me. I am not a sad, melancholy creature. I am\r
+never unhappy long together. I am angry and naughty--not like Celia: I\r
+have a great outburst, and then all seems glorious again. I cannot\r
+help believing in glorious things in a blind sort of way. I should be\r
+quite willing to enjoy the art here, but there is so much that I don't\r
+know the reason of--so much that seems to me a consecration of ugliness\r
+rather than beauty. The painting and sculpture may be wonderful, but\r
+the feeling is often low and brutal, and sometimes even ridiculous.\r
+Here and there I see what takes me at once as noble--something that I\r
+might compare with the Alban Mountains or the sunset from the Pincian\r
+Hill; but that makes it the greater pity that there is so little of the\r
+best kind among all that mass of things over which men have toiled so."\r
+\r
+"Of course there is always a great deal of poor work: the rarer things\r
+want that soil to grow in."\r
+\r
+"Oh dear," said Dorothea, taking up that thought into the chief current\r
+of her anxiety; "I see it must be very difficult to do anything good.\r
+I have often felt since I have been in Rome that most of our lives\r
+would look much uglier and more bungling than the pictures, if they\r
+could be put on the wall."\r
+\r
+Dorothea parted her lips again as if she were going to say more, but\r
+changed her mind and paused.\r
+\r
+"You are too young--it is an anachronism for you to have such\r
+thoughts," said Will, energetically, with a quick shake of the head\r
+habitual to him. "You talk as if you had never known any youth. It is\r
+monstrous--as if you had had a vision of Hades in your childhood, like\r
+the boy in the legend. You have been brought up in some of those\r
+horrible notions that choose the sweetest women to devour--like\r
+Minotaurs. And now you will go and be shut up in that stone prison at\r
+Lowick: you will be buried alive. It makes me savage to think of it!\r
+I would rather never have seen you than think of you with such a\r
+prospect."\r
+\r
+Will again feared that he had gone too far; but the meaning we attach\r
+to words depends on our feeling, and his tone of angry regret had so\r
+much kindness in it for Dorothea's heart, which had always been giving\r
+out ardor and had never been fed with much from the living beings\r
+around her, that she felt a new sense of gratitude and answered with a\r
+gentle smile--\r
+\r
+"It is very good of you to be anxious about me. It is because you did\r
+not like Lowick yourself: you had set your heart on another kind of\r
+life. But Lowick is my chosen home."\r
+\r
+The last sentence was spoken with an almost solemn cadence, and Will\r
+did not know what to say, since it would not be useful for him to\r
+embrace her slippers, and tell her that he would die for her: it was\r
+clear that she required nothing of the sort; and they were both silent\r
+for a moment or two, when Dorothea began again with an air of saying at\r
+last what had been in her mind beforehand.\r
+\r
+"I wanted to ask you again about something you said the other day.\r
+Perhaps it was half of it your lively way of speaking: I notice that\r
+you like to put things strongly; I myself often exaggerate when I speak\r
+hastily."\r
+\r
+"What was it?" said Will, observing that she spoke with a timidity\r
+quite new in her. "I have a hyperbolical tongue: it catches fire as it\r
+goes. I dare say I shall have to retract."\r
+\r
+"I mean what you said about the necessity of knowing German--I mean,\r
+for the subjects that Mr. Casaubon is engaged in. I have been thinking\r
+about it; and it seems to me that with Mr. Casaubon's learning he must\r
+have before him the same materials as German scholars--has he not?"\r
+Dorothea's timidity was due to an indistinct consciousness that she was\r
+in the strange situation of consulting a third person about the\r
+adequacy of Mr. Casaubon's learning.\r
+\r
+"Not exactly the same materials," said Will, thinking that he would be\r
+duly reserved. "He is not an Orientalist, you know. He does not\r
+profess to have more than second-hand knowledge there."\r
+\r
+"But there are very valuable books about antiquities which were written\r
+a long while ago by scholars who knew nothing about these modern\r
+things; and they are still used. Why should Mr. Casaubon's not be\r
+valuable, like theirs?" said Dorothea, with more remonstrant energy.\r
+She was impelled to have the argument aloud, which she had been having\r
+in her own mind.\r
+\r
+"That depends on the line of study taken," said Will, also getting a\r
+tone of rejoinder. "The subject Mr. Casaubon has chosen is as changing\r
+as chemistry: new discoveries are constantly making new points of view.\r
+Who wants a system on the basis of the four elements, or a book to\r
+refute Paracelsus? Do you not see that it is no use now to be crawling\r
+a little way after men of the last century--men like Bryant--and\r
+correcting their mistakes?--living in a lumber-room and furbishing up\r
+broken-legged theories about Chus and Mizraim?"\r
+\r
+"How can you bear to speak so lightly?" said Dorothea, with a look\r
+between sorrow and anger. "If it were as you say, what could be sadder\r
+than so much ardent labor all in vain? I wonder it does not affect you\r
+more painfully, if you really think that a man like Mr. Casaubon, of so\r
+much goodness, power, and learning, should in any way fail in what has\r
+been the labor of his best years." She was beginning to be shocked that\r
+she had got to such a point of supposition, and indignant with Will for\r
+having led her to it.\r
+\r
+"You questioned me about the matter of fact, not of feeling," said\r
+Will. "But if you wish to punish me for the fact, I submit. I am not\r
+in a position to express my feeling toward Mr. Casaubon: it would be at\r
+best a pensioner's eulogy."\r
+\r
+"Pray excuse me," said Dorothea, coloring deeply. "I am aware, as you\r
+say, that I am in fault in having introduced the subject. Indeed, I am\r
+wrong altogether. Failure after long perseverance is much grander than\r
+never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure."\r
+\r
+"I quite agree with you," said Will, determined to change the\r
+situation--"so much so that I have made up my mind not to run that\r
+risk of never attaining a failure. Mr. Casaubon's generosity has\r
+perhaps been dangerous to me, and I mean to renounce the liberty it has\r
+given me. I mean to go back to England shortly and work my own\r
+way--depend on nobody else than myself."\r
+\r
+"That is fine--I respect that feeling," said Dorothea, with returning\r
+kindness. "But Mr. Casaubon, I am sure, has never thought of anything\r
+in the matter except what was most for your welfare."\r
+\r
+"She has obstinacy and pride enough to serve instead of love, now she\r
+has married him," said Will to himself. Aloud he said, rising--\r
+\r
+"I shall not see you again."\r
+\r
+"Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon comes," said Dorothea, earnestly. "I am so\r
+glad we met in Rome. I wanted to know you."\r
+\r
+"And I have made you angry," said Will. "I have made you think ill of\r
+me."\r
+\r
+"Oh no. My sister tells me I am always angry with people who do not\r
+say just what I like. But I hope I am not given to think ill of them.\r
+In the end I am usually obliged to think ill of myself for being so\r
+impatient."\r
+\r
+"Still, you don't like me; I have made myself an unpleasant thought to\r
+you."\r
+\r
+"Not at all," said Dorothea, with the most open kindness. "I like you\r
+very much."\r
+\r
+Will was not quite contented, thinking that he would apparently have\r
+been of more importance if he had been disliked. He said nothing, but\r
+looked dull, not to say sulky.\r
+\r
+"And I am quite interested to see what you will do," Dorothea went on\r
+cheerfully. "I believe devoutly in a natural difference of vocation.\r
+If it were not for that belief, I suppose I should be very narrow--there\r
+are so many things, besides painting, that I am quite ignorant\r
+of. You would hardly believe how little I have taken in of music and\r
+literature, which you know so much of. I wonder what your vocation\r
+will turn out to be: perhaps you will be a poet?"\r
+\r
+"That depends. To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern that\r
+no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment\r
+is but a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the chords of\r
+emotion--a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling,\r
+and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge. One may have\r
+that condition by fits only."\r
+\r
+"But you leave out the poems," said Dorothea. "I think they are wanted\r
+to complete the poet. I understand what you mean about knowledge\r
+passing into feeling, for that seems to be just what I experience. But\r
+I am sure I could never produce a poem."\r
+\r
+"You _are_ a poem--and that is to be the best part of a poet--what\r
+makes up the poet's consciousness in his best moods," said Will,\r
+showing such originality as we all share with the morning and the\r
+spring-time and other endless renewals.\r
+\r
+"I am very glad to hear it," said Dorothea, laughing out her words in a\r
+bird-like modulation, and looking at Will with playful gratitude in her\r
+eyes. "What very kind things you say to me!"\r
+\r
+"I wish I could ever do anything that would be what you call kind--that\r
+I could ever be of the slightest service to you. I fear I shall never\r
+have the opportunity." Will spoke with fervor.\r
+\r
+"Oh yes," said Dorothea, cordially. "It will come; and I shall\r
+remember how well you wish me. I quite hoped that we should be friends\r
+when I first saw you--because of your relationship to Mr. Casaubon."\r
+There was a certain liquid brightness in her eyes, and Will was\r
+conscious that his own were obeying a law of nature and filling too.\r
+The allusion to Mr. Casaubon would have spoiled all if anything at that\r
+moment could have spoiled the subduing power, the sweet dignity, of her\r
+noble unsuspicious inexperience.\r
+\r
+"And there is one thing even now that you can do," said Dorothea,\r
+rising and walking a little way under the strength of a recurring\r
+impulse. "Promise me that you will not again, to any one, speak of\r
+that subject--I mean about Mr. Casaubon's writings--I mean in that\r
+kind of way. It was I who led to it. It was my fault. But promise\r
+me."\r
+\r
+She had returned from her brief pacing and stood opposite Will, looking\r
+gravely at him.\r
+\r
+"Certainly, I will promise you," said Will, reddening however. If he\r
+never said a cutting word about Mr. Casaubon again and left off\r
+receiving favors from him, it would clearly be permissible to hate him\r
+the more. The poet must know how to hate, says Goethe; and Will was at\r
+least ready with that accomplishment. He said that he must go now\r
+without waiting for Mr. Casaubon, whom he would come to take leave of\r
+at the last moment. Dorothea gave him her hand, and they exchanged a\r
+simple "Good-by."\r
+\r
+But going out of the porte cochere he met Mr. Casaubon, and that\r
+gentleman, expressing the best wishes for his cousin, politely waived\r
+the pleasure of any further leave-taking on the morrow, which would be\r
+sufficiently crowded with the preparations for departure.\r
+\r
+"I have something to tell you about our cousin Mr. Ladislaw, which I\r
+think will heighten your opinion of him," said Dorothea to her husband\r
+in the coarse of the evening. She had mentioned immediately on his\r
+entering that Will had just gone away, and would come again, but Mr.\r
+Casaubon had said, "I met him outside, and we made our final adieux, I\r
+believe," saying this with the air and tone by which we imply that any\r
+subject, whether private or public, does not interest us enough to wish\r
+for a further remark upon it. So Dorothea had waited.\r
+\r
+"What is that, my love?" said Mr Casaubon (he always said "my love"\r
+when his manner was the coldest).\r
+\r
+"He has made up his mind to leave off wandering at once, and to give up\r
+his dependence on your generosity. He means soon to go back to\r
+England, and work his own way. I thought you would consider that a\r
+good sign," said Dorothea, with an appealing look into her husband's\r
+neutral face.\r
+\r
+"Did he mention the precise order of occupation to which he would\r
+addict himself?"\r
+\r
+"No. But he said that he felt the danger which lay for him in your\r
+generosity. Of course he will write to you about it. Do you not think\r
+better of him for his resolve?"\r
+\r
+"I shall await his communication on the subject," said Mr. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+"I told him I was sure that the thing you considered in all you did for\r
+him was his own welfare. I remembered your goodness in what you said\r
+about him when I first saw him at Lowick," said Dorothea, putting her\r
+hand on her husband's.\r
+\r
+"I had a duty towards him," said Mr. Casaubon, laying his other hand on\r
+Dorothea's in conscientious acceptance of her caress, but with a glance\r
+which he could not hinder from being uneasy. "The young man, I\r
+confess, is not otherwise an object of interest to me, nor need we, I\r
+think, discuss his future course, which it is not ours to determine\r
+beyond the limits which I have sufficiently indicated." Dorothea did\r
+not mention Will again.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK III.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+WAITING FOR DEATH.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIII.\r
+\r
+ "Your horses of the Sun," he said,\r
+ "And first-rate whip Apollo!\r
+ Whate'er they be, I'll eat my head,\r
+ But I will beat them hollow."\r
+\r
+\r
+Fred Vincy, we have seen, had a debt on his mind, and though no such\r
+immaterial burthen could depress that buoyant-hearted young gentleman\r
+for many hours together, there were circumstances connected with this\r
+debt which made the thought of it unusually importunate. The creditor\r
+was Mr. Bambridge a horse-dealer of the neighborhood, whose company was\r
+much sought in Middlemarch by young men understood to be "addicted to\r
+pleasure." During the vacations Fred had naturally required more\r
+amusements than he had ready money for, and Mr. Bambridge had been\r
+accommodating enough not only to trust him for the hire of horses and\r
+the accidental expense of ruining a fine hunter, but also to make a\r
+small advance by which he might be able to meet some losses at\r
+billiards. The total debt was a hundred and sixty pounds. Bambridge\r
+was in no alarm about his money, being sure that young Vincy had\r
+backers; but he had required something to show for it, and Fred had at\r
+first given a bill with his own signature. Three months later he had\r
+renewed this bill with the signature of Caleb Garth. On both occasions\r
+Fred had felt confident that he should meet the bill himself, having\r
+ample funds at disposal in his own hopefulness. You will hardly demand\r
+that his confidence should have a basis in external facts; such\r
+confidence, we know, is something less coarse and materialistic: it is\r
+a comfortable disposition leading us to expect that the wisdom of\r
+providence or the folly of our friends, the mysteries of luck or the\r
+still greater mystery of our high individual value in the universe,\r
+will bring about agreeable issues, such as are consistent with our good\r
+taste in costume, and our general preference for the best style of\r
+thing. Fred felt sure that he should have a present from his uncle,\r
+that he should have a run of luck, that by dint of "swapping" he should\r
+gradually metamorphose a horse worth forty pounds into a horse that\r
+would fetch a hundred at any moment--"judgment" being always equivalent\r
+to an unspecified sum in hard cash. And in any case, even supposing\r
+negations which only a morbid distrust could imagine, Fred had always\r
+(at that time) his father's pocket as a last resource, so that his\r
+assets of hopefulness had a sort of gorgeous superfluity about them.\r
+Of what might be the capacity of his father's pocket, Fred had only a\r
+vague notion: was not trade elastic? And would not the deficiencies of\r
+one year be made up for by the surplus of another? The Vincys lived in\r
+an easy profuse way, not with any new ostentation, but according to the\r
+family habits and traditions, so that the children had no standard of\r
+economy, and the elder ones retained some of their infantine notion\r
+that their father might pay for anything if he would. Mr. Vincy\r
+himself had expensive Middlemarch habits--spent money on coursing, on\r
+his cellar, and on dinner-giving, while mamma had those running\r
+accounts with tradespeople, which give a cheerful sense of getting\r
+everything one wants without any question of payment. But it was in\r
+the nature of fathers, Fred knew, to bully one about expenses: there\r
+was always a little storm over his extravagance if he had to disclose a\r
+debt, and Fred disliked bad weather within doors. He was too filial to\r
+be disrespectful to his father, and he bore the thunder with the\r
+certainty that it was transient; but in the mean time it was\r
+disagreeable to see his mother cry, and also to be obliged to look\r
+sulky instead of having fun; for Fred was so good-tempered that if he\r
+looked glum under scolding, it was chiefly for propriety's sake. The\r
+easier course plainly, was to renew the bill with a friend's signature.\r
+Why not? With the superfluous securities of hope at his command, there\r
+was no reason why he should not have increased other people's\r
+liabilities to any extent, but for the fact that men whose names were\r
+good for anything were usually pessimists, indisposed to believe that\r
+the universal order of things would necessarily be agreeable to an\r
+agreeable young gentleman.\r
+\r
+With a favor to ask we review our list of friends, do justice to their\r
+more amiable qualities, forgive their little offenses, and concerning\r
+each in turn, try to arrive at the conclusion that he will be eager to\r
+oblige us, our own eagerness to be obliged being as communicable as\r
+other warmth. Still there is always a certain number who are dismissed\r
+as but moderately eager until the others have refused; and it happened\r
+that Fred checked off all his friends but one, on the ground that\r
+applying to them would be disagreeable; being implicitly convinced that\r
+he at least (whatever might be maintained about mankind generally) had\r
+a right to be free from anything disagreeable. That he should ever\r
+fall into a thoroughly unpleasant position--wear trousers shrunk with\r
+washing, eat cold mutton, have to walk for want of a horse, or to "duck\r
+under" in any sort of way--was an absurdity irreconcilable with those\r
+cheerful intuitions implanted in him by nature. And Fred winced under\r
+the idea of being looked down upon as wanting funds for small debts.\r
+Thus it came to pass that the friend whom he chose to apply to was at\r
+once the poorest and the kindest--namely, Caleb Garth.\r
+\r
+The Garths were very fond of Fred, as he was of them; for when he and\r
+Rosamond were little ones, and the Garths were better off, the slight\r
+connection between the two families through Mr. Featherstone's double\r
+marriage (the first to Mr. Garth's sister, and the second to Mrs.\r
+Vincy's) had led to an acquaintance which was carried on between the\r
+children rather than the parents: the children drank tea together out\r
+of their toy teacups, and spent whole days together in play. Mary was\r
+a little hoyden, and Fred at six years old thought her the nicest girl\r
+in the world, making her his wife with a brass ring which he had cut\r
+from an umbrella. Through all the stages of his education he had kept\r
+his affection for the Garths, and his habit of going to their house as\r
+a second home, though any intercourse between them and the elders of\r
+his family had long ceased. Even when Caleb Garth was prosperous, the\r
+Vincys were on condescending terms with him and his wife, for there\r
+were nice distinctions of rank in Middlemarch; and though old\r
+manufacturers could not any more than dukes be connected with none but\r
+equals, they were conscious of an inherent social superiority which was\r
+defined with great nicety in practice, though hardly expressible\r
+theoretically. Since then Mr. Garth had failed in the building\r
+business, which he had unfortunately added to his other avocations of\r
+surveyor, valuer, and agent, had conducted that business for a time\r
+entirely for the benefit of his assignees, and had been living\r
+narrowly, exerting himself to the utmost that he might after all pay\r
+twenty shillings in the pound. He had now achieved this, and from all\r
+who did not think it a bad precedent, his honorable exertions had won\r
+him due esteem; but in no part of the world is genteel visiting founded\r
+on esteem, in the absence of suitable furniture and complete\r
+dinner-service. Mrs. Vincy had never been at her ease with Mrs. Garth,\r
+and frequently spoke of her as a woman who had had to work for her\r
+bread--meaning that Mrs. Garth had been a teacher before her marriage;\r
+in which case an intimacy with Lindley Murray and Mangnall's Questions\r
+was something like a draper's discrimination of calico trademarks, or a\r
+courier's acquaintance with foreign countries: no woman who was better\r
+off needed that sort of thing. And since Mary had been keeping Mr.\r
+Featherstone's house, Mrs. Vincy's want of liking for the Garths had\r
+been converted into something more positive, by alarm lest Fred should\r
+engage himself to this plain girl, whose parents "lived in such a small\r
+way." Fred, being aware of this, never spoke at home of his visits to\r
+Mrs. Garth, which had of late become more frequent, the increasing\r
+ardor of his affection for Mary inclining him the more towards those\r
+who belonged to her.\r
+\r
+Mr. Garth had a small office in the town, and to this Fred went with\r
+his request. He obtained it without much difficulty, for a large\r
+amount of painful experience had not sufficed to make Caleb Garth\r
+cautious about his own affairs, or distrustful of his fellow-men when\r
+they had not proved themselves untrustworthy; and he had the highest\r
+opinion of Fred, was "sure the lad would turn out well--an open\r
+affectionate fellow, with a good bottom to his character--you might\r
+trust him for anything." Such was Caleb's psychological argument. He\r
+was one of those rare men who are rigid to themselves and indulgent to\r
+others. He had a certain shame about his neighbors' errors, and never\r
+spoke of them willingly; hence he was not likely to divert his mind\r
+from the best mode of hardening timber and other ingenious devices in\r
+order to preconceive those errors. If he had to blame any one, it was\r
+necessary for him to move all the papers within his reach, or describe\r
+various diagrams with his stick, or make calculations with the odd\r
+money in his pocket, before he could begin; and he would rather do\r
+other men's work than find fault with their doing. I fear he was a bad\r
+disciplinarian.\r
+\r
+When Fred stated the circumstances of his debt, his wish to meet it\r
+without troubling his father, and the certainty that the money would be\r
+forthcoming so as to cause no one any inconvenience, Caleb pushed his\r
+spectacles upward, listened, looked into his favorite's clear young\r
+eyes, and believed him, not distinguishing confidence about the future\r
+from veracity about the past; but he felt that it was an occasion for a\r
+friendly hint as to conduct, and that before giving his signature he\r
+must give a rather strong admonition. Accordingly, he took the paper\r
+and lowered his spectacles, measured the space at his command, reached\r
+his pen and examined it, dipped it in the ink and examined it again,\r
+then pushed the paper a little way from him, lifted up his spectacles\r
+again, showed a deepened depression in the outer angle of his bushy\r
+eyebrows, which gave his face a peculiar mildness (pardon these details\r
+for once--you would have learned to love them if you had known Caleb\r
+Garth), and said in a comfortable tone--\r
+\r
+"It was a misfortune, eh, that breaking the horse's knees? And then,\r
+these exchanges, they don't answer when you have 'cute jockeys to deal\r
+with. You'll be wiser another time, my boy."\r
+\r
+Whereupon Caleb drew down his spectacles, and proceeded to write his\r
+signature with the care which he always gave to that performance; for\r
+whatever he did in the way of business he did well. He contemplated\r
+the large well-proportioned letters and final flourish, with his head a\r
+trifle on one side for an instant, then handed it to Fred, said\r
+"Good-by," and returned forthwith to his absorption in a plan for Sir\r
+James Chettam's new farm-buildings.\r
+\r
+Either because his interest in this work thrust the incident of the\r
+signature from his memory, or for some reason of which Caleb was more\r
+conscious, Mrs. Garth remained ignorant of the affair.\r
+\r
+Since it occurred, a change had come over Fred's sky, which altered his\r
+view of the distance, and was the reason why his uncle Featherstone's\r
+present of money was of importance enough to make his color come and\r
+go, first with a too definite expectation, and afterwards with a\r
+proportionate disappointment. His failure in passing his examination,\r
+had made his accumulation of college debts the more unpardonable by his\r
+father, and there had been an unprecedented storm at home. Mr. Vincy\r
+had sworn that if he had anything more of that sort to put up with,\r
+Fred should turn out and get his living how he could; and he had never\r
+yet quite recovered his good-humored tone to his son, who had\r
+especially enraged him by saying at this stage of things that he did\r
+not want to be a clergyman, and would rather not "go on with that."\r
+Fred was conscious that he would have been yet more severely dealt with\r
+if his family as well as himself had not secretly regarded him as Mr.\r
+Featherstone's heir; that old gentleman's pride in him, and apparent\r
+fondness for him, serving in the stead of more exemplary conduct--just\r
+as when a youthful nobleman steals jewellery we call the act\r
+kleptomania, speak of it with a philosophical smile, and never think of\r
+his being sent to the house of correction as if he were a ragged boy\r
+who had stolen turnips. In fact, tacit expectations of what would be\r
+done for him by uncle Featherstone determined the angle at which most\r
+people viewed Fred Vincy in Middlemarch; and in his own consciousness,\r
+what uncle Featherstone would do for him in an emergency, or what he\r
+would do simply as an incorporated luck, formed always an immeasurable\r
+depth of aerial perspective. But that present of bank-notes, once\r
+made, was measurable, and being applied to the amount of the debt,\r
+showed a deficit which had still to be filled up either by Fred's\r
+"judgment" or by luck in some other shape. For that little episode of\r
+the alleged borrowing, in which he had made his father the agent in\r
+getting the Bulstrode certificate, was a new reason against going to\r
+his father for money towards meeting his actual debt. Fred was keen\r
+enough to foresee that anger would confuse distinctions, and that his\r
+denial of having borrowed expressly on the strength of his uncle's will\r
+would be taken as a falsehood. He had gone to his father and told him\r
+one vexatious affair, and he had left another untold: in such cases the\r
+complete revelation always produces the impression of a previous\r
+duplicity. Now Fred piqued himself on keeping clear of lies, and even\r
+fibs; he often shrugged his shoulders and made a significant grimace at\r
+what he called Rosamond's fibs (it is only brothers who can associate\r
+such ideas with a lovely girl); and rather than incur the accusation of\r
+falsehood he would even incur some trouble and self-restraint. It was\r
+under strong inward pressure of this kind that Fred had taken the wise\r
+step of depositing the eighty pounds with his mother. It was a pity\r
+that he had not at once given them to Mr. Garth; but he meant to make\r
+the sum complete with another sixty, and with a view to this, he had\r
+kept twenty pounds in his own pocket as a sort of seed-corn, which,\r
+planted by judgment, and watered by luck, might yield more than\r
+threefold--a very poor rate of multiplication when the field is a young\r
+gentleman's infinite soul, with all the numerals at command.\r
+\r
+Fred was not a gambler: he had not that specific disease in which the\r
+suspension of the whole nervous energy on a chance or risk becomes as\r
+necessary as the dram to the drunkard; he had only the tendency to that\r
+diffusive form of gambling which has no alcoholic intensity, but is\r
+carried on with the healthiest chyle-fed blood, keeping up a joyous\r
+imaginative activity which fashions events according to desire, and\r
+having no fears about its own weather, only sees the advantage there\r
+must be to others in going aboard with it. Hopefulness has a pleasure\r
+in making a throw of any kind, because the prospect of success is\r
+certain; and only a more generous pleasure in offering as many as\r
+possible a share in the stake. Fred liked play, especially billiards,\r
+as he liked hunting or riding a steeple-chase; and he only liked it the\r
+better because he wanted money and hoped to win. But the twenty\r
+pounds' worth of seed-corn had been planted in vain in the seductive\r
+green plot--all of it at least which had not been dispersed by the\r
+roadside--and Fred found himself close upon the term of payment with no\r
+money at command beyond the eighty pounds which he had deposited with\r
+his mother. The broken-winded horse which he rode represented a\r
+present which had been made to him a long while ago by his uncle\r
+Featherstone: his father always allowed him to keep a horse, Mr.\r
+Vincy's own habits making him regard this as a reasonable demand even\r
+for a son who was rather exasperating. This horse, then, was Fred's\r
+property, and in his anxiety to meet the imminent bill he determined to\r
+sacrifice a possession without which life would certainly be worth\r
+little. He made the resolution with a sense of heroism--heroism forced\r
+on him by the dread of breaking his word to Mr. Garth, by his love for\r
+Mary and awe of her opinion. He would start for Houndsley horse-fair\r
+which was to be held the next morning, and--simply sell his horse,\r
+bringing back the money by coach?--Well, the horse would hardly fetch\r
+more than thirty pounds, and there was no knowing what might happen; it\r
+would be folly to balk himself of luck beforehand. It was a hundred to\r
+one that some good chance would fall in his way; the longer he thought\r
+of it, the less possible it seemed that he should not have a good\r
+chance, and the less reasonable that he should not equip himself with\r
+the powder and shot for bringing it down. He would ride to Houndsley\r
+with Bambridge and with Horrock "the vet," and without asking them\r
+anything expressly, he should virtually get the benefit of their\r
+opinion. Before he set out, Fred got the eighty pounds from his mother.\r
+\r
+Most of those who saw Fred riding out of Middlemarch in company with\r
+Bambridge and Horrock, on his way of course to Houndsley horse-fair,\r
+thought that young Vincy was pleasure-seeking as usual; and but for an\r
+unwonted consciousness of grave matters on hand, he himself would have\r
+had a sense of dissipation, and of doing what might be expected of a\r
+gay young fellow. Considering that Fred was not at all coarse, that he\r
+rather looked down on the manners and speech of young men who had not\r
+been to the university, and that he had written stanzas as pastoral and\r
+unvoluptuous as his flute-playing, his attraction towards Bambridge and\r
+Horrock was an interesting fact which even the love of horse-flesh\r
+would not wholly account for without that mysterious influence of\r
+Naming which determinates so much of mortal choice. Under any other\r
+name than "pleasure" the society of Messieurs Bambridge and Horrock\r
+must certainly have been regarded as monotonous; and to arrive with\r
+them at Houndsley on a drizzling afternoon, to get down at the Red Lion\r
+in a street shaded with coal-dust, and dine in a room furnished with a\r
+dirt-enamelled map of the county, a bad portrait of an anonymous horse\r
+in a stable, His Majesty George the Fourth with legs and cravat, and\r
+various leaden spittoons, might have seemed a hard business, but for\r
+the sustaining power of nomenclature which determined that the pursuit\r
+of these things was "gay."\r
+\r
+In Mr. Horrock there was certainly an apparent unfathomableness which\r
+offered play to the imagination. Costume, at a glance, gave him a\r
+thrilling association with horses (enough to specify the hat-brim which\r
+took the slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of bending\r
+downwards), and nature had given him a face which by dint of Mongolian\r
+eyes, and a nose, mouth, and chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a\r
+moderate inclination upwards, gave the effect of a subdued unchangeable\r
+sceptical smile, of all expressions the most tyrannous over a\r
+susceptible mind, and, when accompanied by adequate silence, likely to\r
+create the reputation of an invincible understanding, an infinite fund\r
+of humor--too dry to flow, and probably in a state of immovable\r
+crust,--and a critical judgment which, if you could ever be fortunate\r
+enough to know it, would be _the_ thing and no other. It is a\r
+physiognomy seen in all vocations, but perhaps it has never been more\r
+powerful over the youth of England than in a judge of horses.\r
+\r
+Mr. Horrock, at a question from Fred about his horse's fetlock, turned\r
+sideways in his saddle, and watched the horse's action for the space of\r
+three minutes, then turned forward, twitched his own bridle, and\r
+remained silent with a profile neither more nor less sceptical than it\r
+had been.\r
+\r
+The part thus played in dialogue by Mr. Horrock was terribly effective.\r
+A mixture of passions was excited in Fred--a mad desire to thrash\r
+Horrock's opinion into utterance, restrained by anxiety to retain the\r
+advantage of his friendship. There was always the chance that Horrock\r
+might say something quite invaluable at the right moment.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bambridge had more open manners, and appeared to give forth his\r
+ideas without economy. He was loud, robust, and was sometimes spoken\r
+of as being "given to indulgence"--chiefly in swearing, drinking, and\r
+beating his wife. Some people who had lost by him called him a vicious\r
+man; but he regarded horse-dealing as the finest of the arts, and might\r
+have argued plausibly that it had nothing to do with morality. He was\r
+undeniably a prosperous man, bore his drinking better than others bore\r
+their moderation, and, on the whole, flourished like the green\r
+bay-tree. But his range of conversation was limited, and like the fine\r
+old tune, "Drops of brandy," gave you after a while a sense of\r
+returning upon itself in a way that might make weak heads dizzy. But a\r
+slight infusion of Mr. Bambridge was felt to give tone and character to\r
+several circles in Middlemarch; and he was a distinguished figure in\r
+the bar and billiard-room at the Green Dragon. He knew some anecdotes\r
+about the heroes of the turf, and various clever tricks of Marquesses\r
+and Viscounts which seemed to prove that blood asserted its\r
+pre-eminence even among black-legs; but the minute retentiveness of his\r
+memory was chiefly shown about the horses he had himself bought and\r
+sold; the number of miles they would trot you in no time without\r
+turning a hair being, after the lapse of years, still a subject of\r
+passionate asseveration, in which he would assist the imagination of\r
+his hearers by solemnly swearing that they never saw anything like it.\r
+In short, Mr. Bambridge was a man of pleasure and a gay companion.\r
+\r
+Fred was subtle, and did not tell his friends that he was going to\r
+Houndsley bent on selling his horse: he wished to get indirectly at\r
+their genuine opinion of its value, not being aware that a genuine\r
+opinion was the last thing likely to be extracted from such eminent\r
+critics. It was not Mr. Bambridge's weakness to be a gratuitous\r
+flatterer. He had never before been so much struck with the fact that\r
+this unfortunate bay was a roarer to a degree which required the\r
+roundest word for perdition to give you any idea of it.\r
+\r
+"You made a bad hand at swapping when you went to anybody but me,\r
+Vincy! Why, you never threw your leg across a finer horse than that\r
+chestnut, and you gave him for this brute. If you set him cantering,\r
+he goes on like twenty sawyers. I never heard but one worse roarer in\r
+my life, and that was a roan: it belonged to Pegwell, the corn-factor;\r
+he used to drive him in his gig seven years ago, and he wanted me to\r
+take him, but I said, 'Thank you, Peg, I don't deal in\r
+wind-instruments.' That was what I said. It went the round of the\r
+country, that joke did. But, what the hell! the horse was a penny\r
+trumpet to that roarer of yours."\r
+\r
+"Why, you said just now his was worse than mine," said Fred, more\r
+irritable than usual.\r
+\r
+"I said a lie, then," said Mr. Bambridge, emphatically. "There wasn't\r
+a penny to choose between 'em."\r
+\r
+Fred spurred his horse, and they trotted on a little way. When they\r
+slackened again, Mr. Bambridge said--\r
+\r
+"Not but what the roan was a better trotter than yours."\r
+\r
+"I'm quite satisfied with his paces, I know," said Fred, who required\r
+all the consciousness of being in gay company to support him; "I say\r
+his trot is an uncommonly clean one, eh, Horrock?"\r
+\r
+Mr. Horrock looked before him with as complete a neutrality as if he\r
+had been a portrait by a great master.\r
+\r
+Fred gave up the fallacious hope of getting a genuine opinion; but on\r
+reflection he saw that Bambridge's depreciation and Horrock's silence\r
+were both virtually encouraging, and indicated that they thought better\r
+of the horse than they chose to say.\r
+\r
+That very evening, indeed, before the fair had set in, Fred thought he\r
+saw a favorable opening for disposing advantageously of his horse, but\r
+an opening which made him congratulate himself on his foresight in\r
+bringing with him his eighty pounds. A young farmer, acquainted with\r
+Mr. Bambridge, came into the Red Lion, and entered into conversation\r
+about parting with a hunter, which he introduced at once as Diamond,\r
+implying that it was a public character. For himself he only wanted a\r
+useful hack, which would draw upon occasion; being about to marry and\r
+to give up hunting. The hunter was in a friend's stable at some little\r
+distance; there was still time for gentlemen to see it before dark.\r
+The friend's stable had to be reached through a back street where you\r
+might as easily have been poisoned without expense of drugs as in any\r
+grim street of that unsanitary period. Fred was not fortified against\r
+disgust by brandy, as his companions were, but the hope of having at\r
+last seen the horse that would enable him to make money was\r
+exhilarating enough to lead him over the same ground again the first\r
+thing in the morning. He felt sure that if he did not come to a\r
+bargain with the farmer, Bambridge would; for the stress of\r
+circumstances, Fred felt, was sharpening his acuteness and endowing him\r
+with all the constructive power of suspicion. Bambridge had run down\r
+Diamond in a way that he never would have done (the horse being a\r
+friend's) if he had not thought of buying it; every one who looked at\r
+the animal--even Horrock--was evidently impressed with its merit. To\r
+get all the advantage of being with men of this sort, you must know how\r
+to draw your inferences, and not be a spoon who takes things literally.\r
+The color of the horse was a dappled gray, and Fred happened to know\r
+that Lord Medlicote's man was on the look-out for just such a horse.\r
+After all his running down, Bambridge let it out in the course of the\r
+evening, when the farmer was absent, that he had seen worse horses go\r
+for eighty pounds. Of course he contradicted himself twenty times\r
+over, but when you know what is likely to be true you can test a man's\r
+admissions. And Fred could not but reckon his own judgment of a horse\r
+as worth something. The farmer had paused over Fred's respectable\r
+though broken-winded steed long enough to show that he thought it worth\r
+consideration, and it seemed probable that he would take it, with\r
+five-and-twenty pounds in addition, as the equivalent of Diamond. In\r
+that case Fred, when he had parted with his new horse for at least\r
+eighty pounds, would be fifty-five pounds in pocket by the transaction,\r
+and would have a hundred and thirty-five pounds towards meeting the\r
+bill; so that the deficit temporarily thrown on Mr. Garth would at the\r
+utmost be twenty-five pounds. By the time he was hurrying on his\r
+clothes in the morning, he saw so clearly the importance of not losing\r
+this rare chance, that if Bambridge and Horrock had both dissuaded him,\r
+he would not have been deluded into a direct interpretation of their\r
+purpose: he would have been aware that those deep hands held something\r
+else than a young fellow's interest. With regard to horses, distrust\r
+was your only clew. But scepticism, as we know, can never be\r
+thoroughly applied, else life would come to a standstill: something we\r
+must believe in and do, and whatever that something may be called, it\r
+is virtually our own judgment, even when it seems like the most slavish\r
+reliance on another. Fred believed in the excellence of his bargain,\r
+and even before the fair had well set in, had got possession of the\r
+dappled gray, at the price of his old horse and thirty pounds in\r
+addition--only five pounds more than he had expected to give.\r
+\r
+But he felt a little worried and wearied, perhaps with mental debate,\r
+and without waiting for the further gayeties of the horse-fair, he set\r
+out alone on his fourteen miles' journey, meaning to take it very\r
+quietly and keep his horse fresh.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIV.\r
+\r
+ "The offender's sorrow brings but small relief\r
+ To him who wears the strong offence's cross."\r
+ --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.\r
+\r
+\r
+I am sorry to say that only the third day after the propitious events\r
+at Houndsley Fred Vincy had fallen into worse spirits than he had known\r
+in his life before. Not that he had been disappointed as to the\r
+possible market for his horse, but that before the bargain could be\r
+concluded with Lord Medlicote's man, this Diamond, in which hope to the\r
+amount of eighty pounds had been invested, had without the slightest\r
+warning exhibited in the stable a most vicious energy in kicking, had\r
+just missed killing the groom, and had ended in laming himself severely\r
+by catching his leg in a rope that overhung the stable-board. There was\r
+no more redress for this than for the discovery of bad temper after\r
+marriage--which of course old companions were aware of before the\r
+ceremony. For some reason or other, Fred had none of his usual\r
+elasticity under this stroke of ill-fortune: he was simply aware that\r
+he had only fifty pounds, that there was no chance of his getting any\r
+more at present, and that the bill for a hundred and sixty would be\r
+presented in five days. Even if he had applied to his father on the\r
+plea that Mr. Garth should be saved from loss, Fred felt smartingly\r
+that his father would angrily refuse to rescue Mr. Garth from the\r
+consequence of what he would call encouraging extravagance and deceit.\r
+He was so utterly downcast that he could frame no other project than to\r
+go straight to Mr. Garth and tell him the sad truth, carrying with him\r
+the fifty pounds, and getting that sum at least safely out of his own\r
+hands. His father, being at the warehouse, did not yet know of the\r
+accident: when he did, he would storm about the vicious brute being\r
+brought into his stable; and before meeting that lesser annoyance Fred\r
+wanted to get away with all his courage to face the greater. He took\r
+his father's nag, for he had made up his mind that when he had told Mr.\r
+Garth, he would ride to Stone Court and confess all to Mary. In fact,\r
+it is probable that but for Mary's existence and Fred's love for her,\r
+his conscience would have been much less active both in previously\r
+urging the debt on his thought and impelling him not to spare himself\r
+after his usual fashion by deferring an unpleasant task, but to act as\r
+directly and simply as he could. Even much stronger mortals than Fred\r
+Vincy hold half their rectitude in the mind of the being they love\r
+best. "The theatre of all my actions is fallen," said an antique\r
+personage when his chief friend was dead; and they are fortunate who\r
+get a theatre where the audience demands their best. Certainly it\r
+would have made a considerable difference to Fred at that time if Mary\r
+Garth had had no decided notions as to what was admirable in character.\r
+\r
+Mr. Garth was not at the office, and Fred rode on to his house, which\r
+was a little way outside the town--a homely place with an orchard in\r
+front of it, a rambling, old-fashioned, half-timbered building, which\r
+before the town had spread had been a farm-house, but was now\r
+surrounded with the private gardens of the townsmen. We get the fonder\r
+of our houses if they have a physiognomy of their own, as our friends\r
+have. The Garth family, which was rather a large one, for Mary had\r
+four brothers and one sister, were very fond of their old house, from\r
+which all the best furniture had long been sold. Fred liked it too,\r
+knowing it by heart even to the attic which smelt deliciously of apples\r
+and quinces, and until to-day he had never come to it without pleasant\r
+expectations; but his heart beat uneasily now with the sense that he\r
+should probably have to make his confession before Mrs. Garth, of whom\r
+he was rather more in awe than of her husband. Not that she was\r
+inclined to sarcasm and to impulsive sallies, as Mary was. In her\r
+present matronly age at least, Mrs. Garth never committed herself by\r
+over-hasty speech; having, as she said, borne the yoke in her youth,\r
+and learned self-control. She had that rare sense which discerns what\r
+is unalterable, and submits to it without murmuring. Adoring her\r
+husband's virtues, she had very early made up her mind to his\r
+incapacity of minding his own interests, and had met the consequences\r
+cheerfully. She had been magnanimous enough to renounce all pride in\r
+teapots or children's frilling, and had never poured any pathetic\r
+confidences into the ears of her feminine neighbors concerning Mr.\r
+Garth's want of prudence and the sums he might have had if he had been\r
+like other men. Hence these fair neighbors thought her either proud or\r
+eccentric, and sometimes spoke of her to their husbands as "your fine\r
+Mrs. Garth." She was not without her criticism of them in return, being\r
+more accurately instructed than most matrons in Middlemarch, and--where\r
+is the blameless woman?--apt to be a little severe towards her own sex,\r
+which in her opinion was framed to be entirely subordinate. On the\r
+other hand, she was disproportionately indulgent towards the failings\r
+of men, and was often heard to say that these were natural. Also, it\r
+must be admitted that Mrs. Garth was a trifle too emphatic in her\r
+resistance to what she held to be follies: the passage from governess\r
+into housewife had wrought itself a little too strongly into her\r
+consciousness, and she rarely forgot that while her grammar and accent\r
+were above the town standard, she wore a plain cap, cooked the family\r
+dinner, and darned all the stockings. She had sometimes taken pupils\r
+in a peripatetic fashion, making them follow her about in the kitchen\r
+with their book or slate. She thought it good for them to see that she\r
+could make an excellent lather while she corrected their blunders\r
+"without looking,"--that a woman with her sleeves tucked up above her\r
+elbows might know all about the Subjunctive Mood or the Torrid\r
+Zone--that, in short, she might possess "education" and other good\r
+things ending in "tion," and worthy to be pronounced emphatically,\r
+without being a useless doll. When she made remarks to this edifying\r
+effect, she had a firm little frown on her brow, which yet did not\r
+hinder her face from looking benevolent, and her words which came forth\r
+like a procession were uttered in a fervid agreeable contralto.\r
+Certainly, the exemplary Mrs. Garth had her droll aspects, but her\r
+character sustained her oddities, as a very fine wine sustains a flavor\r
+of skin.\r
+\r
+Towards Fred Vincy she had a motherly feeling, and had always been\r
+disposed to excuse his errors, though she would probably not have\r
+excused Mary for engaging herself to him, her daughter being included\r
+in that more rigorous judgment which she applied to her own sex. But\r
+this very fact of her exceptional indulgence towards him made it the\r
+harder to Fred that he must now inevitably sink in her opinion. And\r
+the circumstances of his visit turned out to be still more unpleasant\r
+than he had expected; for Caleb Garth had gone out early to look at\r
+some repairs not far off. Mrs. Garth at certain hours was always in\r
+the kitchen, and this morning she was carrying on several occupations\r
+at once there--making her pies at the well-scoured deal table on one\r
+side of that airy room, observing Sally's movements at the oven and\r
+dough-tub through an open door, and giving lessons to her youngest boy\r
+and girl, who were standing opposite to her at the table with their\r
+books and slates before them. A tub and a clothes-horse at the other\r
+end of the kitchen indicated an intermittent wash of small things also\r
+going on.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth, with her sleeves turned above her elbows, deftly handling\r
+her pastry--applying her rolling-pin and giving ornamental pinches,\r
+while she expounded with grammatical fervor what were the right views\r
+about the concord of verbs and pronouns with "nouns of multitude or\r
+signifying many," was a sight agreeably amusing. She was of the same\r
+curly-haired, square-faced type as Mary, but handsomer, with more\r
+delicacy of feature, a pale skin, a solid matronly figure, and a\r
+remarkable firmness of glance. In her snowy-frilled cap she reminded\r
+one of that delightful Frenchwoman whom we have all seen marketing,\r
+basket on arm. Looking at the mother, you might hope that the daughter\r
+would become like her, which is a prospective advantage equal to a\r
+dowry--the mother too often standing behind the daughter like a\r
+malignant prophecy--"Such as I am, she will shortly be."\r
+\r
+"Now let us go through that once more," said Mrs. Garth, pinching an\r
+apple-puff which seemed to distract Ben, an energetic young male with a\r
+heavy brow, from due attention to the lesson. "'Not without regard to\r
+the import of the word as conveying unity or plurality of idea'--tell\r
+me again what that means, Ben."\r
+\r
+(Mrs. Garth, like more celebrated educators, had her favorite ancient\r
+paths, and in a general wreck of society would have tried to hold her\r
+"Lindley Murray" above the waves.)\r
+\r
+"Oh--it means--you must think what you mean," said Ben, rather\r
+peevishly. "I hate grammar. What's the use of it?"\r
+\r
+"To teach you to speak and write correctly, so that you can be\r
+understood," said Mrs. Garth, with severe precision. "Should you like\r
+to speak as old Job does?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Ben, stoutly; "it's funnier. He says, 'Yo goo'--that's\r
+just as good as 'You go.'"\r
+\r
+"But he says, 'A ship's in the garden,' instead of 'a sheep,'" said\r
+Letty, with an air of superiority. "You might think he meant a ship\r
+off the sea."\r
+\r
+"No, you mightn't, if you weren't silly," said Ben. "How could a ship\r
+off the sea come there?"\r
+\r
+"These things belong only to pronunciation, which is the least part of\r
+grammar," said Mrs. Garth. "That apple-peel is to be eaten by the\r
+pigs, Ben; if you eat it, I must give them your piece of pasty. Job\r
+has only to speak about very plain things. How do you think you would\r
+write or speak about anything more difficult, if you knew no more of\r
+grammar than he does? You would use wrong words, and put words in the\r
+wrong places, and instead of making people understand you, they would\r
+turn away from you as a tiresome person. What would you do then?"\r
+\r
+"I shouldn't care, I should leave off," said Ben, with a sense that\r
+this was an agreeable issue where grammar was concerned.\r
+\r
+"I see you are getting tired and stupid, Ben," said Mrs. Garth,\r
+accustomed to these obstructive arguments from her male offspring.\r
+Having finished her pies, she moved towards the clothes-horse, and\r
+said, "Come here and tell me the story I told you on Wednesday, about\r
+Cincinnatus."\r
+\r
+"I know! he was a farmer," said Ben.\r
+\r
+"Now, Ben, he was a Roman--let _me_ tell," said Letty, using her elbow\r
+contentiously.\r
+\r
+"You silly thing, he was a Roman farmer, and he was ploughing."\r
+\r
+"Yes, but before that--that didn't come first--people wanted him," said\r
+Letty.\r
+\r
+"Well, but you must say what sort of a man he was first," insisted Ben.\r
+"He was a wise man, like my father, and that made the people want his\r
+advice. And he was a brave man, and could fight. And so could my\r
+father--couldn't he, mother?"\r
+\r
+"Now, Ben, let me tell the story straight on, as mother told it us,"\r
+said Letty, frowning. "Please, mother, tell Ben not to speak."\r
+\r
+"Letty, I am ashamed of you," said her mother, wringing out the caps\r
+from the tub. "When your brother began, you ought to have waited to\r
+see if he could not tell the story. How rude you look, pushing and\r
+frowning, as if you wanted to conquer with your elbows! Cincinnatus, I\r
+am sure, would have been sorry to see his daughter behave so." (Mrs.\r
+Garth delivered this awful sentence with much majesty of enunciation,\r
+and Letty felt that between repressed volubility and general disesteem,\r
+that of the Romans inclusive, life was already a painful affair.) "Now,\r
+Ben."\r
+\r
+"Well--oh--well--why, there was a great deal of fighting, and they were\r
+all blockheads, and--I can't tell it just how you told it--but they\r
+wanted a man to be captain and king and everything--"\r
+\r
+"Dictator, now," said Letty, with injured looks, and not without a wish\r
+to make her mother repent.\r
+\r
+"Very well, dictator!" said Ben, contemptuously. "But that isn't a\r
+good word: he didn't tell them to write on slates."\r
+\r
+"Come, come, Ben, you are not so ignorant as that," said Mrs. Garth,\r
+carefully serious. "Hark, there is a knock at the door! Run, Letty,\r
+and open it."\r
+\r
+The knock was Fred's; and when Letty said that her father was not in\r
+yet, but that her mother was in the kitchen, Fred had no alternative.\r
+He could not depart from his usual practice of going to see Mrs. Garth\r
+in the kitchen if she happened to be at work there. He put his arm\r
+round Letty's neck silently, and led her into the kitchen without his\r
+usual jokes and caresses.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth was surprised to see Fred at this hour, but surprise was not\r
+a feeling that she was given to express, and she only said, quietly\r
+continuing her work--\r
+\r
+"You, Fred, so early in the day? You look quite pale. Has anything\r
+happened?"\r
+\r
+"I want to speak to Mr. Garth," said Fred, not yet ready to say\r
+more--"and to you also," he added, after a little pause, for he had no\r
+doubt that Mrs. Garth knew everything about the bill, and he must in the\r
+end speak of it before her, if not to her solely.\r
+\r
+"Caleb will be in again in a few minutes," said Mrs. Garth, who\r
+imagined some trouble between Fred and his father. "He is sure not to\r
+be long, because he has some work at his desk that must be done this\r
+morning. Do you mind staying with me, while I finish my matters here?"\r
+\r
+"But we needn't go on about Cincinnatus, need we?" said Ben, who had\r
+taken Fred's whip out of his hand, and was trying its efficiency on the\r
+cat.\r
+\r
+"No, go out now. But put that whip down. How very mean of you to whip\r
+poor old Tortoise! Pray take the whip from him, Fred."\r
+\r
+"Come, old boy, give it me," said Fred, putting out his hand.\r
+\r
+"Will you let me ride on your horse to-day?" said Ben, rendering up the\r
+whip, with an air of not being obliged to do it.\r
+\r
+"Not to-day--another time. I am not riding my own horse."\r
+\r
+"Shall you see Mary to-day?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, I think so," said Fred, with an unpleasant twinge.\r
+\r
+"Tell her to come home soon, and play at forfeits, and make fun."\r
+\r
+"Enough, enough, Ben! run away," said Mrs. Garth, seeing that Fred was\r
+teased. . .\r
+\r
+"Are Letty and Ben your only pupils now, Mrs. Garth?" said Fred, when\r
+the children were gone and it was needful to say something that would\r
+pass the time. He was not yet sure whether he should wait for Mr.\r
+Garth, or use any good opportunity in conversation to confess to Mrs.\r
+Garth herself, give her the money and ride away.\r
+\r
+"One--only one. Fanny Hackbutt comes at half past eleven. I am not\r
+getting a great income now," said Mrs. Garth, smiling. "I am at a low\r
+ebb with pupils. But I have saved my little purse for Alfred's\r
+premium: I have ninety-two pounds. He can go to Mr. Hanmer's now; he\r
+is just at the right age."\r
+\r
+This did not lead well towards the news that Mr. Garth was on the brink\r
+of losing ninety-two pounds and more. Fred was silent. "Young\r
+gentlemen who go to college are rather more costly than that," Mrs.\r
+Garth innocently continued, pulling out the edging on a cap-border.\r
+"And Caleb thinks that Alfred will turn out a distinguished engineer:\r
+he wants to give the boy a good chance. There he is! I hear him\r
+coming in. We will go to him in the parlor, shall we?"\r
+\r
+When they entered the parlor Caleb had thrown down his hat and was\r
+seated at his desk.\r
+\r
+"What! Fred, my boy!" he said, in a tone of mild surprise, holding his\r
+pen still undipped; "you are here betimes." But missing the usual\r
+expression of cheerful greeting in Fred's face, he immediately added,\r
+"Is there anything up at home?--anything the matter?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, Mr. Garth, I am come to tell something that I am afraid will give\r
+you a bad opinion of me. I am come to tell you and Mrs. Garth that I\r
+can't keep my word. I can't find the money to meet the bill after all.\r
+I have been unfortunate; I have only got these fifty pounds towards the\r
+hundred and sixty."\r
+\r
+While Fred was speaking, he had taken out the notes and laid them on\r
+the desk before Mr. Garth. He had burst forth at once with the plain\r
+fact, feeling boyishly miserable and without verbal resources. Mrs.\r
+Garth was mutely astonished, and looked at her husband for an\r
+explanation. Caleb blushed, and after a little pause said--\r
+\r
+"Oh, I didn't tell you, Susan: I put my name to a bill for Fred; it was\r
+for a hundred and sixty pounds. He made sure he could meet it himself."\r
+\r
+There was an evident change in Mrs. Garth's face, but it was like a\r
+change below the surface of water which remains smooth. She fixed her\r
+eyes on Fred, saying--\r
+\r
+"I suppose you have asked your father for the rest of the money and he\r
+has refused you."\r
+\r
+"No," said Fred, biting his lip, and speaking with more difficulty;\r
+"but I know it will be of no use to ask him; and unless it were of use,\r
+I should not like to mention Mr. Garth's name in the matter."\r
+\r
+"It has come at an unfortunate time," said Caleb, in his hesitating\r
+way, looking down at the notes and nervously fingering the paper,\r
+"Christmas upon us--I'm rather hard up just now. You see, I have to\r
+cut out everything like a tailor with short measure. What can we do,\r
+Susan? I shall want every farthing we have in the bank. It's a\r
+hundred and ten pounds, the deuce take it!"\r
+\r
+"I must give you the ninety-two pounds that I have put by for Alfred's\r
+premium," said Mrs. Garth, gravely and decisively, though a nice ear\r
+might have discerned a slight tremor in some of the words. "And I have\r
+no doubt that Mary has twenty pounds saved from her salary by this\r
+time. She will advance it."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth had not again looked at Fred, and was not in the least\r
+calculating what words she should use to cut him the most effectively.\r
+Like the eccentric woman she was, she was at present absorbed in\r
+considering what was to be done, and did not fancy that the end could\r
+be better achieved by bitter remarks or explosions. But she had made\r
+Fred feel for the first time something like the tooth of remorse.\r
+Curiously enough, his pain in the affair beforehand had consisted\r
+almost entirely in the sense that he must seem dishonorable, and sink\r
+in the opinion of the Garths: he had not occupied himself with the\r
+inconvenience and possible injury that his breach might occasion them,\r
+for this exercise of the imagination on other people's needs is not\r
+common with hopeful young gentlemen. Indeed we are most of us brought\r
+up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is\r
+something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong. But\r
+at this moment he suddenly saw himself as a pitiful rascal who was\r
+robbing two women of their savings.\r
+\r
+"I shall certainly pay it all, Mrs. Garth--ultimately," he stammered\r
+out.\r
+\r
+"Yes, ultimately," said Mrs. Garth, who having a special dislike to\r
+fine words on ugly occasions, could not now repress an epigram. "But\r
+boys cannot well be apprenticed ultimately: they should be apprenticed\r
+at fifteen." She had never been so little inclined to make excuses for\r
+Fred.\r
+\r
+"I was the most in the wrong, Susan," said Caleb. "Fred made sure of\r
+finding the money. But I'd no business to be fingering bills. I\r
+suppose you have looked all round and tried all honest means?" he\r
+added, fixing his merciful gray eyes on Fred. Caleb was too delicate,\r
+to specify Mr. Featherstone.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I have tried everything--I really have. I should have had a\r
+hundred and thirty pounds ready but for a misfortune with a horse which\r
+I was about to sell. My uncle had given me eighty pounds, and I paid\r
+away thirty with my old horse in order to get another which I was going\r
+to sell for eighty or more--I meant to go without a horse--but now it\r
+has turned out vicious and lamed itself. I wish I and the horses too\r
+had been at the devil, before I had brought this on you. There's no\r
+one else I care so much for: you and Mrs. Garth have always been so\r
+kind to me. However, it's no use saying that. You will always think\r
+me a rascal now."\r
+\r
+Fred turned round and hurried out of the room, conscious that he was\r
+getting rather womanish, and feeling confusedly that his being sorry\r
+was not of much use to the Garths. They could see him mount, and\r
+quickly pass through the gate.\r
+\r
+"I am disappointed in Fred Vincy," said Mrs. Garth. "I would not have\r
+believed beforehand that he would have drawn you into his debts. I\r
+knew he was extravagant, but I did not think that he would be so mean\r
+as to hang his risks on his oldest friend, who could the least afford\r
+to lose."\r
+\r
+"I was a fool, Susan:"\r
+\r
+"That you were," said the wife, nodding and smiling. "But I should not\r
+have gone to publish it in the market-place. Why should you keep such\r
+things from me? It is just so with your buttons: you let them burst\r
+off without telling me, and go out with your wristband hanging. If I\r
+had only known I might have been ready with some better plan."\r
+\r
+"You are sadly cut up, I know, Susan," said Caleb, looking feelingly at\r
+her. "I can't abide your losing the money you've scraped together for\r
+Alfred."\r
+\r
+"It is very well that I _had_ scraped it together; and it is you who\r
+will have to suffer, for you must teach the boy yourself. You must\r
+give up your bad habits. Some men take to drinking, and you have taken\r
+to working without pay. You must indulge yourself a little less in\r
+that. And you must ride over to Mary, and ask the child what money she\r
+has."\r
+\r
+Caleb had pushed his chair back, and was leaning forward, shaking his\r
+head slowly, and fitting his finger-tips together with much nicety.\r
+\r
+"Poor Mary!" he said. "Susan," he went on in a lowered tone, "I'm\r
+afraid she may be fond of Fred."\r
+\r
+"Oh no! She always laughs at him; and he is not likely to think of her\r
+in any other than a brotherly way."\r
+\r
+Caleb made no rejoinder, but presently lowered his spectacles, drew up\r
+his chair to the desk, and said, "Deuce take the bill--I wish it was\r
+at Hanover! These things are a sad interruption to business!"\r
+\r
+The first part of this speech comprised his whole store of maledictory\r
+expression, and was uttered with a slight snarl easy to imagine. But\r
+it would be difficult to convey to those who never heard him utter the\r
+word "business," the peculiar tone of fervid veneration, of religious\r
+regard, in which he wrapped it, as a consecrated symbol is wrapped in\r
+its gold-fringed linen.\r
+\r
+Caleb Garth often shook his head in meditation on the value, the\r
+indispensable might of that myriad-headed, myriad-handed labor by which\r
+the social body is fed, clothed, and housed. It had laid hold of his\r
+imagination in boyhood. The echoes of the great hammer where roof or\r
+keel were a-making, the signal-shouts of the workmen, the roar of the\r
+furnace, the thunder and plash of the engine, were a sublime music to\r
+him; the felling and lading of timber, and the huge trunk vibrating\r
+star-like in the distance along the highway, the crane at work on the\r
+wharf, the piled-up produce in warehouses, the precision and variety of\r
+muscular effort wherever exact work had to be turned out,--all these\r
+sights of his youth had acted on him as poetry without the aid of the\r
+poets, had made a philosophy for him without the aid of philosophers,\r
+a religion without the aid of theology. His early ambition had been to\r
+have as effective a share as possible in this sublime labor, which was\r
+peculiarly dignified by him with the name of "business;" and though he\r
+had only been a short time under a surveyor, and had been chiefly his\r
+own teacher, he knew more of land, building, and mining than most of\r
+the special men in the county.\r
+\r
+His classification of human employments was rather crude, and, like the\r
+categories of more celebrated men, would not be acceptable in these\r
+advanced times. He divided them into "business, politics, preaching,\r
+learning, and amusement." He had nothing to say against the last four;\r
+but he regarded them as a reverential pagan regarded other gods than\r
+his own. In the same way, he thought very well of all ranks, but he\r
+would not himself have liked to be of any rank in which he had not such\r
+close contact with "business" as to get often honorably decorated with\r
+marks of dust and mortar, the damp of the engine, or the sweet soil of\r
+the woods and fields. Though he had never regarded himself as other\r
+than an orthodox Christian, and would argue on prevenient grace if the\r
+subject were proposed to him, I think his virtual divinities were good\r
+practical schemes, accurate work, and the faithful completion of\r
+undertakings: his prince of darkness was a slack workman. But there\r
+was no spirit of denial in Caleb, and the world seemed so wondrous to\r
+him that he was ready to accept any number of systems, like any number\r
+of firmaments, if they did not obviously interfere with the best\r
+land-drainage, solid building, correct measuring, and judicious boring\r
+(for coal). In fact, he had a reverential soul with a strong practical\r
+intelligence. But he could not manage finance: he knew values well,\r
+but he had no keenness of imagination for monetary results in the shape\r
+of profit and loss: and having ascertained this to his cost, he\r
+determined to give up all forms of his beloved "business" which\r
+required that talent. He gave himself up entirely to the many kinds of\r
+work which he could do without handling capital, and was one of those\r
+precious men within his own district whom everybody would choose to\r
+work for them, because he did his work well, charged very little, and\r
+often declined to charge at all. It is no wonder, then, that the\r
+Garths were poor, and "lived in a small way." However, they did not\r
+mind it.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXV.\r
+\r
+ "Love seeketh not itself to please,\r
+ Nor for itself hath any care\r
+ But for another gives its ease\r
+ And builds a heaven in hell's despair.\r
+ . . . . . . .\r
+ Love seeketh only self to please,\r
+ To bind another to its delight,\r
+ Joys in another's loss of ease,\r
+ And builds a hell in heaven's despite."\r
+ --W. BLAKE: Songs of Experience\r
+\r
+\r
+Fred Vincy wanted to arrive at Stone Court when Mary could not expect\r
+him, and when his uncle was not down-stairs in that case she might be\r
+sitting alone in the wainscoted parlor. He left his horse in the yard\r
+to avoid making a noise on the gravel in front, and entered the parlor\r
+without other notice than the noise of the door-handle. Mary was in her\r
+usual corner, laughing over Mrs. Piozzi's recollections of Johnson, and\r
+looked up with the fun still in her face. It gradually faded as she\r
+saw Fred approach her without speaking, and stand before her with his\r
+elbow on the mantel-piece, looking ill. She too was silent, only\r
+raising her eyes to him inquiringly.\r
+\r
+"Mary," he began, "I am a good-for-nothing blackguard."\r
+\r
+"I should think one of those epithets would do at a time," said Mary,\r
+trying to smile, but feeling alarmed.\r
+\r
+"I know you will never think well of me any more. You will think me a\r
+liar. You will think me dishonest. You will think I didn't care for\r
+you, or your father and mother. You always do make the worst of me, I\r
+know."\r
+\r
+"I cannot deny that I shall think all that of you, Fred, if you give me\r
+good reasons. But please to tell me at once what you have done. I\r
+would rather know the painful truth than imagine it."\r
+\r
+"I owed money--a hundred and sixty pounds. I asked your father to put\r
+his name to a bill. I thought it would not signify to him. I made\r
+sure of paying the money myself, and I have tried as hard as I could.\r
+And now, I have been so unlucky--a horse has turned out badly--I can\r
+only pay fifty pounds. And I can't ask my father for the money: he\r
+would not give me a farthing. And my uncle gave me a hundred a little\r
+while ago. So what can I do? And now your father has no ready money\r
+to spare, and your mother will have to pay away her ninety-two pounds\r
+that she has saved, and she says your savings must go too. You see\r
+what a--"\r
+\r
+"Oh, poor mother, poor father!" said Mary, her eyes filling with tears,\r
+and a little sob rising which she tried to repress. She looked\r
+straight before her and took no notice of Fred, all the consequences at\r
+home becoming present to her. He too remained silent for some moments,\r
+feeling more miserable than ever. "I wouldn't have hurt you for the\r
+world, Mary," he said at last. "You can never forgive me."\r
+\r
+"What does it matter whether I forgive you?" said Mary, passionately.\r
+"Would that make it any better for my mother to lose the money she has\r
+been earning by lessons for four years, that she might send Alfred to\r
+Mr. Hanmer's? Should you think all that pleasant enough if I forgave\r
+you?"\r
+\r
+"Say what you like, Mary. I deserve it all."\r
+\r
+"I don't want to say anything," said Mary, more quietly, "and my anger\r
+is of no use." She dried her eyes, threw aside her book, rose and\r
+fetched her sewing.\r
+\r
+Fred followed her with his eyes, hoping that they would meet hers, and\r
+in that way find access for his imploring penitence. But no! Mary\r
+could easily avoid looking upward.\r
+\r
+"I do care about your mother's money going," he said, when she was\r
+seated again and sewing quickly. "I wanted to ask you, Mary--don't\r
+you think that Mr. Featherstone--if you were to tell him--tell him, I\r
+mean, about apprenticing Alfred--would advance the money?"\r
+\r
+"My family is not fond of begging, Fred. We would rather work for our\r
+money. Besides, you say that Mr. Featherstone has lately given you a\r
+hundred pounds. He rarely makes presents; he has never made presents\r
+to us. I am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even if\r
+I chose to beg of him, it would be of no use."\r
+\r
+"I am so miserable, Mary--if you knew how miserable I am, you would be\r
+sorry for me."\r
+\r
+"There are other things to be more sorry for than that. But selfish\r
+people always think their own discomfort of more importance than\r
+anything else in the world. I see enough of that every day."\r
+\r
+"It is hardly fair to call me selfish. If you knew what things other\r
+young men do, you would think me a good way off the worst."\r
+\r
+"I know that people who spend a great deal of money on themselves\r
+without knowing how they shall pay, must be selfish. They are always\r
+thinking of what they can get for themselves, and not of what other\r
+people may lose."\r
+\r
+"Any man may be unfortunate, Mary, and find himself unable to pay when\r
+he meant it. There is not a better man in the world than your father,\r
+and yet he got into trouble."\r
+\r
+"How dare you make any comparison between my father and you, Fred?"\r
+said Mary, in a deep tone of indignation. "He never got into trouble\r
+by thinking of his own idle pleasures, but because he was always\r
+thinking of the work he was doing for other people. And he has fared\r
+hard, and worked hard to make good everybody's loss."\r
+\r
+"And you think that I shall never try to make good anything, Mary. It\r
+is not generous to believe the worst of a man. When you have got any\r
+power over him, I think you might try and use it to make him better;\r
+but that is what you never do. However, I'm going," Fred ended,\r
+languidly. "I shall never speak to you about anything again. I'm very\r
+sorry for all the trouble I've caused--that's all."\r
+\r
+Mary had dropped her work out of her hand and looked up. There is\r
+often something maternal even in a girlish love, and Mary's hard\r
+experience had wrought her nature to an impressibility very different\r
+from that hard slight thing which we call girlishness. At Fred's last\r
+words she felt an instantaneous pang, something like what a mother\r
+feels at the imagined sobs or cries of her naughty truant child, which\r
+may lose itself and get harm. And when, looking up, her eyes met his\r
+dull despairing glance, her pity for him surmounted her anger and all\r
+her other anxieties.\r
+\r
+"Oh, Fred, how ill you look! Sit down a moment. Don't go yet. Let me\r
+tell uncle that you are here. He has been wondering that he has not\r
+seen you for a whole week." Mary spoke hurriedly, saying the words\r
+that came first without knowing very well what they were, but saying\r
+them in a half-soothing half-beseeching tone, and rising as if to go\r
+away to Mr. Featherstone. Of course Fred felt as if the clouds had\r
+parted and a gleam had come: he moved and stood in her way.\r
+\r
+"Say one word, Mary, and I will do anything. Say you will not think\r
+the worst of me--will not give me up altogether."\r
+\r
+"As if it were any pleasure to me to think ill of you," said Mary, in a\r
+mournful tone. "As if it were not very painful to me to see you an\r
+idle frivolous creature. How can you bear to be so contemptible, when\r
+others are working and striving, and there are so many things to be\r
+done--how can you bear to be fit for nothing in the world that is\r
+useful? And with so much good in your disposition, Fred,--you might\r
+be worth a great deal."\r
+\r
+"I will try to be anything you like, Mary, if you will say that you\r
+love me."\r
+\r
+"I should be ashamed to say that I loved a man who must always be\r
+hanging on others, and reckoning on what they would do for him. What\r
+will you be when you are forty? Like Mr. Bowyer, I suppose--just as\r
+idle, living in Mrs. Beck's front parlor--fat and shabby, hoping\r
+somebody will invite you to dinner--spending your morning in learning a\r
+comic song--oh no! learning a tune on the flute."\r
+\r
+Mary's lips had begun to curl with a smile as soon as she had asked\r
+that question about Fred's future (young souls are mobile), and before\r
+she ended, her face had its full illumination of fun. To him it was\r
+like the cessation of an ache that Mary could laugh at him, and with a\r
+passive sort of smile he tried to reach her hand; but she slipped away\r
+quickly towards the door and said, "I shall tell uncle. You _must_ see\r
+him for a moment or two."\r
+\r
+Fred secretly felt that his future was guaranteed against the\r
+fulfilment of Mary's sarcastic prophecies, apart from that "anything"\r
+which he was ready to do if she would define it. He never dared in\r
+Mary's presence to approach the subject of his expectations from Mr.\r
+Featherstone, and she always ignored them, as if everything depended on\r
+himself. But if ever he actually came into the property, she must\r
+recognize the change in his position. All this passed through his mind\r
+somewhat languidly, before he went up to see his uncle. He stayed but\r
+a little while, excusing himself on the ground that he had a cold; and\r
+Mary did not reappear before he left the house. But as he rode home,\r
+he began to be more conscious of being ill, than of being melancholy.\r
+\r
+When Caleb Garth arrived at Stone Court soon after dusk, Mary was not\r
+surprised, although he seldom had leisure for paying her a visit, and\r
+was not at all fond of having to talk with Mr. Featherstone. The old\r
+man, on the other hand, felt himself ill at ease with a brother-in-law\r
+whom he could not annoy, who did not mind about being considered poor,\r
+had nothing to ask of him, and understood all kinds of farming and\r
+mining business better than he did. But Mary had felt sure that her\r
+parents would want to see her, and if her father had not come, she\r
+would have obtained leave to go home for an hour or two the next day.\r
+After discussing prices during tea with Mr. Featherstone Caleb rose to\r
+bid him good-by, and said, "I want to speak to you, Mary."\r
+\r
+She took a candle into another large parlor, where there was no fire,\r
+and setting down the feeble light on the dark mahogany table, turned\r
+round to her father, and putting her arms round his neck kissed him\r
+with childish kisses which he delighted in,--the expression of his\r
+large brows softening as the expression of a great beautiful dog\r
+softens when it is caressed. Mary was his favorite child, and whatever\r
+Susan might say, and right as she was on all other subjects, Caleb\r
+thought it natural that Fred or any one else should think Mary more\r
+lovable than other girls.\r
+\r
+"I've got something to tell you, my dear," said Caleb in his hesitating\r
+way. "No very good news; but then it might be worse."\r
+\r
+"About money, father? I think I know what it is."\r
+\r
+"Ay? how can that be? You see, I've been a bit of a fool again, and\r
+put my name to a bill, and now it comes to paying; and your mother has\r
+got to part with her savings, that's the worst of it, and even they\r
+won't quite make things even. We wanted a hundred and ten pounds: your\r
+mother has ninety-two, and I have none to spare in the bank; and she\r
+thinks that you have some savings."\r
+\r
+"Oh yes; I have more than four-and-twenty pounds. I thought you would\r
+come, father, so I put it in my bag. See! beautiful white notes and\r
+gold."\r
+\r
+Mary took out the folded money from her reticule and put it into her\r
+father's hand.\r
+\r
+"Well, but how--we only want eighteen--here, put the rest back,\r
+child,--but how did you know about it?" said Caleb, who, in his\r
+unconquerable indifference to money, was beginning to be chiefly\r
+concerned about the relation the affair might have to Mary's affections.\r
+\r
+"Fred told me this morning."\r
+\r
+"Ah! Did he come on purpose?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, I think so. He was a good deal distressed."\r
+\r
+"I'm afraid Fred is not to be trusted, Mary," said the father, with\r
+hesitating tenderness. "He means better than he acts, perhaps. But I\r
+should think it a pity for any body's happiness to be wrapped up in\r
+him, and so would your mother."\r
+\r
+"And so should I, father," said Mary, not looking up, but putting the\r
+back of her father's hand against her cheek.\r
+\r
+"I don't want to pry, my dear. But I was afraid there might be\r
+something between you and Fred, and I wanted to caution you. You see,\r
+Mary"--here Caleb's voice became more tender; he had been pushing his\r
+hat about on the table and looking at it, but finally he turned his\r
+eyes on his daughter--"a woman, let her be as good as she may, has got\r
+to put up with the life her husband makes for her. Your mother has had\r
+to put up with a good deal because of me."\r
+\r
+Mary turned the back of her father's hand to her lips and smiled at him.\r
+\r
+"Well, well, nobody's perfect, but"--here Mr. Garth shook his head to\r
+help out the inadequacy of words--"what I am thinking of is--what it\r
+must be for a wife when she's never sure of her husband, when he hasn't\r
+got a principle in him to make him more afraid of doing the wrong thing\r
+by others than of getting his own toes pinched. That's the long and\r
+the short of it, Mary. Young folks may get fond of each other before\r
+they know what life is, and they may think it all holiday if they can\r
+only get together; but it soon turns into working day, my dear.\r
+However, you have more sense than most, and you haven't been kept in\r
+cotton-wool: there may be no occasion for me to say this, but a father\r
+trembles for his daughter, and you are all by yourself here."\r
+\r
+"Don't fear for me, father," said Mary, gravely meeting her father's\r
+eyes; "Fred has always been very good to me; he is kind-hearted and\r
+affectionate, and not false, I think, with all his self-indulgence. But\r
+I will never engage myself to one who has no manly independence, and\r
+who goes on loitering away his time on the chance that others will\r
+provide for him. You and my mother have taught me too much pride for\r
+that."\r
+\r
+"That's right--that's right. Then I am easy," said Mr. Garth, taking\r
+up his hat. "But it's hard to run away with your earnings, eh child."\r
+\r
+"Father!" said Mary, in her deepest tone of remonstrance. "Take\r
+pocketfuls of love besides to them all at home," was her last word\r
+before he closed the outer door on himself.\r
+\r
+"I suppose your father wanted your earnings," said old Mr.\r
+Featherstone, with his usual power of unpleasant surmise, when Mary\r
+returned to him. "He makes but a tight fit, I reckon. You're of age\r
+now; you ought to be saving for yourself."\r
+\r
+"I consider my father and mother the best part of myself, sir," said\r
+Mary, coldly.\r
+\r
+Mr. Featherstone grunted: he could not deny that an ordinary sort of\r
+girl like her might be expected to be useful, so he thought of another\r
+rejoinder, disagreeable enough to be always apropos. "If Fred Vincy\r
+comes to-morrow, now, don't you keep him chattering: let him come up to\r
+me."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXVI.\r
+\r
+ "He beats me and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction!\r
+ would it were otherwise--that I could beat him while\r
+ he railed at me.--"\r
+ --Troilus and Cressida.\r
+\r
+\r
+But Fred did not go to Stone Court the next day, for reasons that were\r
+quite peremptory. From those visits to unsanitary Houndsley streets in\r
+search of Diamond, he had brought back not only a bad bargain in\r
+horse-flesh, but the further misfortune of some ailment which for a day\r
+or two had deemed mere depression and headache, but which got so much\r
+worse when he returned from his visit to Stone Court that, going into\r
+the dining-room, he threw himself on the sofa, and in answer to his\r
+mother's anxious question, said, "I feel very ill: I think you must\r
+send for Wrench."\r
+\r
+Wrench came, but did not apprehend anything serious, spoke of a "slight\r
+derangement," and did not speak of coming again on the morrow. He had\r
+a due value for the Vincys' house, but the wariest men are apt to be\r
+dulled by routine, and on worried mornings will sometimes go through\r
+their business with the zest of the daily bell-ringer. Mr. Wrench was\r
+a small, neat, bilious man, with a well-dressed wig: he had a laborious\r
+practice, an irascible temper, a lymphatic wife and seven children; and\r
+he was already rather late before setting out on a four-miles drive to\r
+meet Dr. Minchin on the other side of Tipton, the decease of Hicks, a\r
+rural practitioner, having increased Middlemarch practice in that\r
+direction. Great statesmen err, and why not small medical men? Mr.\r
+Wrench did not neglect sending the usual white parcels, which this time\r
+had black and drastic contents. Their effect was not alleviating to\r
+poor Fred, who, however, unwilling as he said to believe that he was\r
+"in for an illness," rose at his usual easy hour the next morning and\r
+went down-stairs meaning to breakfast, but succeeded in nothing but in\r
+sitting and shivering by the fire. Mr. Wrench was again sent for, but\r
+was gone on his rounds, and Mrs. Vincy seeing her darling's changed\r
+looks and general misery, began to cry and said she would send for Dr.\r
+Sprague.\r
+\r
+"Oh, nonsense, mother! It's nothing," said Fred, putting out his hot\r
+dry hand to her, "I shall soon be all right. I must have taken cold in\r
+that nasty damp ride."\r
+\r
+"Mamma!" said Rosamond, who was seated near the window (the dining-room\r
+windows looked on that highly respectable street called Lowick Gate),\r
+"there is Mr. Lydgate, stopping to speak to some one. If I were you I\r
+would call him in. He has cured Ellen Bulstrode. They say he cures\r
+every one."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Vincy sprang to the window and opened it in an instant, thinking\r
+only of Fred and not of medical etiquette. Lydgate was only two yards\r
+off on the other side of some iron palisading, and turned round at the\r
+sudden sound of the sash, before she called to him. In two minutes he\r
+was in the room, and Rosamond went out, after waiting just long enough\r
+to show a pretty anxiety conflicting with her sense of what was\r
+becoming.\r
+\r
+Lydgate had to hear a narrative in which Mrs. Vincy's mind insisted\r
+with remarkable instinct on every point of minor importance, especially\r
+on what Mr. Wrench had said and had not said about coming again. That\r
+there might be an awkward affair with Wrench, Lydgate saw at once; but\r
+the case was serious enough to make him dismiss that consideration: he\r
+was convinced that Fred was in the pink-skinned stage of typhoid fever,\r
+and that he had taken just the wrong medicines. He must go to bed\r
+immediately, must have a regular nurse, and various appliances and\r
+precautions must be used, about which Lydgate was particular. Poor\r
+Mrs. Vincy's terror at these indications of danger found vent in such\r
+words as came most easily. She thought it "very ill usage on the part\r
+of Mr. Wrench, who had attended their house so many years in preference\r
+to Mr. Peacock, though Mr. Peacock was equally a friend. Why Mr.\r
+Wrench should neglect her children more than others, she could not for\r
+the life of her understand. He had not neglected Mrs. Larcher's when\r
+they had the measles, nor indeed would Mrs. Vincy have wished that he\r
+should. And if anything should happen--"\r
+\r
+Here poor Mrs. Vincy's spirit quite broke down, and her Niobe throat\r
+and good-humored face were sadly convulsed. This was in the hall out\r
+of Fred's hearing, but Rosamond had opened the drawing-room door, and\r
+now came forward anxiously. Lydgate apologized for Mr. Wrench, said\r
+that the symptoms yesterday might have been disguising, and that this\r
+form of fever was very equivocal in its beginnings: he would go\r
+immediately to the druggist's and have a prescription made up in order\r
+to lose no time, but he would write to Mr. Wrench and tell him what had\r
+been done.\r
+\r
+"But you must come again--you must go on attending Fred. I can't have\r
+my boy left to anybody who may come or not. I bear nobody ill-will,\r
+thank God, and Mr. Wrench saved me in the pleurisy, but he'd better\r
+have let me die--if--if--"\r
+\r
+"I will meet Mr. Wrench here, then, shall I?" said Lydgate, really\r
+believing that Wrench was not well prepared to deal wisely with a case\r
+of this kind.\r
+\r
+"Pray make that arrangement, Mr. Lydgate," said Rosamond, coming to her\r
+mother's aid, and supporting her arm to lead her away.\r
+\r
+When Mr. Vincy came home he was very angry with Wrench, and did not\r
+care if he never came into his house again. Lydgate should go on now,\r
+whether Wrench liked it or not. It was no joke to have fever in the\r
+house. Everybody must be sent to now, not to come to dinner on\r
+Thursday. And Pritchard needn't get up any wine: brandy was the best\r
+thing against infection. "I shall drink brandy," added Mr. Vincy,\r
+emphatically--as much as to say, this was not an occasion for firing\r
+with blank-cartridges. "He's an uncommonly unfortunate lad, is Fred.\r
+He'd need have--some luck by-and-by to make up for all this--else I\r
+don't know who'd have an eldest son."\r
+\r
+"Don't say so, Vincy," said the mother, with a quivering lip, "if you\r
+don't want him to be taken from me."\r
+\r
+"It will worret you to death, Lucy; _that_ I can see," said Mr. Vincy,\r
+more mildly. "However, Wrench shall know what I think of the matter."\r
+(What Mr. Vincy thought confusedly was, that the fever might somehow\r
+have been hindered if Wrench had shown the proper solicitude about\r
+his--the Mayor's--family.) "I'm the last man to give in to the cry\r
+about new doctors, or new parsons either--whether they're Bulstrode's\r
+men or not. But Wrench shall know what I think, take it as he will."\r
+\r
+Wrench did not take it at all well. Lydgate was as polite as he could\r
+be in his offhand way, but politeness in a man who has placed you at a\r
+disadvantage is only an additional exasperation, especially if he\r
+happens to have been an object of dislike beforehand. Country\r
+practitioners used to be an irritable species, susceptible on the point\r
+of honor; and Mr. Wrench was one of the most irritable among them. He\r
+did not refuse to meet Lydgate in the evening, but his temper was\r
+somewhat tried on the occasion. He had to hear Mrs. Vincy say--\r
+\r
+"Oh, Mr. Wrench, what have I ever done that you should use me so?-- To\r
+go away, and never to come again! And my boy might have been stretched\r
+a corpse!"\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy, who had been keeping up a sharp fire on the enemy Infection,\r
+and was a good deal heated in consequence, started up when he heard\r
+Wrench come in, and went into the hall to let him know what he thought.\r
+\r
+"I'll tell you what, Wrench, this is beyond a joke," said the Mayor,\r
+who of late had had to rebuke offenders with an official air, and how\r
+broadened himself by putting his thumbs in his armholes.-- "To let\r
+fever get unawares into a house like this. There are some things that\r
+ought to be actionable, and are not so-- that's my opinion."\r
+\r
+But irrational reproaches were easier to bear than the sense of being\r
+instructed, or rather the sense that a younger man, like Lydgate,\r
+inwardly considered him in need of instruction, for "in point of fact,"\r
+Mr. Wrench afterwards said, Lydgate paraded flighty, foreign notions,\r
+which would not wear. He swallowed his ire for the moment, but he\r
+afterwards wrote to decline further attendance in the case. The house\r
+might be a good one, but Mr. Wrench was not going to truckle to anybody\r
+on a professional matter. He reflected, with much probability on his\r
+side, that Lydgate would by-and-by be caught tripping too, and that his\r
+ungentlemanly attempts to discredit the sale of drugs by his\r
+professional brethren, would by-and-by recoil on himself. He threw out\r
+biting remarks on Lydgate's tricks, worthy only of a quack, to get\r
+himself a factitious reputation with credulous people. That cant about\r
+cures was never got up by sound practitioners.\r
+\r
+This was a point on which Lydgate smarted as much as Wrench could\r
+desire. To be puffed by ignorance was not only humiliating, but\r
+perilous, and not more enviable than the reputation of the\r
+weather-prophet. He was impatient of the foolish expectations amidst\r
+which all work must be carried on, and likely enough to damage himself\r
+as much as Mr. Wrench could wish, by an unprofessional openness.\r
+\r
+However, Lydgate was installed as medical attendant on the Vincys, and\r
+the event was a subject of general conversation in Middlemarch. Some\r
+said, that the Vincys had behaved scandalously, that Mr. Vincy had\r
+threatened Wrench, and that Mrs. Vincy had accused him of poisoning her\r
+son. Others were of opinion that Mr. Lydgate's passing by was\r
+providential, that he was wonderfully clever in fevers, and that\r
+Bulstrode was in the right to bring him forward. Many people believed\r
+that Lydgate's coming to the town at all was really due to Bulstrode;\r
+and Mrs. Taft, who was always counting stitches and gathered her\r
+information in misleading fragments caught between the rows of her\r
+knitting, had got it into her head that Mr. Lydgate was a natural son\r
+of Bulstrode's, a fact which seemed to justify her suspicions of\r
+evangelical laymen.\r
+\r
+She one day communicated this piece of knowledge to Mrs. Farebrother,\r
+who did not fail to tell her son of it, observing--\r
+\r
+"I should not be surprised at anything in Bulstrode, but I should be\r
+sorry to think it of Mr. Lydgate."\r
+\r
+"Why, mother," said Mr. Farebrother, after an explosive laugh, "you\r
+know very well that Lydgate is of a good family in the North. He never\r
+heard of Bulstrode before he came here."\r
+\r
+"That is satisfactory so far as Mr. Lydgate is concerned, Camden," said\r
+the old lady, with an air of precision.--"But as to Bulstrode--the\r
+report may be true of some other son."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXVII.\r
+\r
+ Let the high Muse chant loves Olympian:\r
+ We are but mortals, and must sing of man.\r
+\r
+\r
+An eminent philosopher among my friends, who can dignify even your ugly\r
+furniture by lifting it into the serene light of science, has shown me\r
+this pregnant little fact. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of\r
+polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and\r
+multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a\r
+lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will\r
+seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles round\r
+that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going\r
+everywhere impartially and it is only your candle which produces the\r
+flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light falling with\r
+an exclusive optical selection. These things are a parable. The\r
+scratches are events, and the candle is the egoism of any person now\r
+absent--of Miss Vincy, for example. Rosamond had a Providence of her\r
+own who had kindly made her more charming than other girls, and who\r
+seemed to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Wrench's mistake in\r
+order to bring her and Lydgate within effective proximity. It would\r
+have been to contravene these arrangements if Rosamond had consented to\r
+go away to Stone Court or elsewhere, as her parents wished her to do,\r
+especially since Mr. Lydgate thought the precaution needless.\r
+Therefore, while Miss Morgan and the children were sent away to a\r
+farmhouse the morning after Fred's illness had declared itself,\r
+Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma.\r
+\r
+Poor mamma indeed was an object to touch any creature born of woman;\r
+and Mr. Vincy, who doted on his wife, was more alarmed on her account\r
+than on Fred's. But for his insistence she would have taken no rest:\r
+her brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume which had\r
+always been so fresh and gay, she was like a sick bird with languid eye\r
+and plumage ruffled, her senses dulled to the sights and sounds that\r
+used most to interest her. Fred's delirium, in which he seemed to be\r
+wandering out of her reach, tore her heart. After her first outburst\r
+against Mr. Wrench she went about very quietly: her one low cry was to\r
+Lydgate. She would follow him out of the room and put her hand on his\r
+arm moaning out, "Save my boy." Once she pleaded, "He has always been\r
+good to me, Mr. Lydgate: he never had a hard word for his mother,"--as\r
+if poor Fred's suffering were an accusation against him. All the\r
+deepest fibres of the mother's memory were stirred, and the young man\r
+whose voice took a gentler tone when he spoke to her, was one with the\r
+babe whom she had loved, with a love new to her, before he was born.\r
+\r
+"I have good hope, Mrs. Vincy," Lydgate would say. "Come down with me\r
+and let us talk about the food." In that way he led her to the parlor\r
+where Rosamond was, and made a change for her, surprising her into\r
+taking some tea or broth which had been prepared for her. There was a\r
+constant understanding between him and Rosamond on these matters. He\r
+almost always saw her before going to the sickroom, and she appealed to\r
+him as to what she could do for mamma. Her presence of mind and\r
+adroitness in carrying out his hints were admirable, and it is not\r
+wonderful that the idea of seeing Rosamond began to mingle itself with\r
+his interest in the case. Especially when the critical stage was\r
+passed, and he began to feel confident of Fred's recovery. In the more\r
+doubtful time, he had advised calling in Dr. Sprague (who, if he could,\r
+would rather have remained neutral on Wrench's account); but after two\r
+consultations, the conduct of the case was left to Lydgate, and there\r
+was every reason to make him assiduous. Morning and evening he was at\r
+Mr. Vincy's, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became\r
+simply feeble, and lay not only in need of the utmost petting but\r
+conscious of it, so that Mrs. Vincy felt as if, after all, the illness\r
+had made a festival for her tenderness.\r
+\r
+Both father and mother held it an added reason for good spirits, when\r
+old Mr. Featherstone sent messages by Lydgate, saying that Fred must\r
+make haste and get well, as he, Peter Featherstone, could not do\r
+without him, and missed his visits sadly. The old man himself was\r
+getting bedridden. Mrs. Vincy told these messages to Fred when he\r
+could listen, and he turned towards her his delicate, pinched face,\r
+from which all the thick blond hair had been cut away, and in which the\r
+eyes seemed to have got larger, yearning for some word about\r
+Mary--wondering what she felt about his illness. No word passed his\r
+lips; but "to hear with eyes belongs to love's rare wit," and the\r
+mother in the fulness of her heart not only divined Fred's longing, but\r
+felt ready for any sacrifice in order to satisfy him.\r
+\r
+"If I can only see my boy strong again," she said, in her loving folly;\r
+"and who knows?--perhaps master of Stone Court! and he can marry\r
+anybody he likes then."\r
+\r
+"Not if they won't have me, mother," said Fred. The illness had made\r
+him childish, and tears came as he spoke.\r
+\r
+"Oh, take a bit of jelly, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, secretly\r
+incredulous of any such refusal.\r
+\r
+She never left Fred's side when her husband was not in the house, and\r
+thus Rosamond was in the unusual position of being much alone.\r
+Lydgate, naturally, never thought of staying long with her, yet it\r
+seemed that the brief impersonal conversations they had together were\r
+creating that peculiar intimacy which consists in shyness. They were\r
+obliged to look at each other in speaking, and somehow the looking\r
+could not be carried through as the matter of course which it really\r
+was. Lydgate began to feel this sort of consciousness unpleasant and\r
+one day looked down, or anywhere, like an ill-worked puppet. But this\r
+turned out badly: the next day, Rosamond looked down, and the\r
+consequence was that when their eyes met again, both were more\r
+conscious than before. There was no help for this in science, and as\r
+Lydgate did not want to flirt, there seemed to be no help for it in\r
+folly. It was therefore a relief when neighbors no longer considered\r
+the house in quarantine, and when the chances of seeing Rosamond alone\r
+were very much reduced.\r
+\r
+But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which each feels that the\r
+other is feeling something, having once existed, its effect is not to\r
+be done away with. Talk about the weather and other well-bred topics\r
+is apt to seem a hollow device, and behavior can hardly become easy\r
+unless it frankly recognizes a mutual fascination--which of course need\r
+not mean anything deep or serious. This was the way in which Rosamond\r
+and Lydgate slid gracefully into ease, and made their intercourse\r
+lively again. Visitors came and went as usual, there was once more\r
+music in the drawing-room, and all the extra hospitality of Mr. Vincy's\r
+mayoralty returned. Lydgate, whenever he could, took his seat by\r
+Rosamond's side, and lingered to hear her music, calling himself her\r
+captive--meaning, all the while, not to be her captive. The\r
+preposterousness of the notion that he could at once set up a\r
+satisfactory establishment as a married man was a sufficient guarantee\r
+against danger. This play at being a little in love was agreeable, and\r
+did not interfere with graver pursuits. Flirtation, after all, was not\r
+necessarily a singeing process. Rosamond, for her part, had never\r
+enjoyed the days so much in her life before: she was sure of being\r
+admired by some one worth captivating, and she did not distinguish\r
+flirtation from love, either in herself or in another. She seemed to\r
+be sailing with a fair wind just whither she would go, and her thoughts\r
+were much occupied with a handsome house in Lowick Gate which she hoped\r
+would by-and-by be vacant. She was quite determined, when she was\r
+married, to rid herself adroitly of all the visitors who were not\r
+agreeable to her at her father's; and she imagined the drawing-room in\r
+her favorite house with various styles of furniture.\r
+\r
+Certainly her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate himself; he\r
+seemed to her almost perfect: if he had known his notes so that his\r
+enchantment under her music had been less like an emotional elephant's,\r
+and if he had been able to discriminate better the refinements of her\r
+taste in dress, she could hardly have mentioned a deficiency in him.\r
+How different he was from young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Those\r
+young men had not a notion of French, and could speak on no subject\r
+with striking knowledge, except perhaps the dyeing and carrying trades,\r
+which of course they were ashamed to mention; they were Middlemarch\r
+gentry, elated with their silver-headed whips and satin stocks, but\r
+embarrassed in their manners, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above\r
+them, having at least the accent and manner of a university man.\r
+Whereas Lydgate was always listened to, bore himself with the careless\r
+politeness of conscious superiority, and seemed to have the right\r
+clothes on by a certain natural affinity, without ever having to think\r
+about them. Rosamond was proud when he entered the room, and when he\r
+approached her with a distinguishing smile, she had a delicious sense\r
+that she was the object of enviable homage. If Lydgate had been aware\r
+of all the pride he excited in that delicate bosom, he might have been\r
+just as well pleased as any other man, even the most densely ignorant\r
+of humoral pathology or fibrous tissue: he held it one of the prettiest\r
+attitudes of the feminine mind to adore a man's pre-eminence without\r
+too precise a knowledge of what it consisted in. But Rosamond was not\r
+one of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and whose\r
+behavior is awkwardly driven by their impulses, instead of being\r
+steered by wary grace and propriety. Do you imagine that her rapid\r
+forecast and rumination concerning house-furniture and society were\r
+ever discernible in her conversation, even with her mamma? On the\r
+contrary, she would have expressed the prettiest surprise and\r
+disapprobation if she had heard that another young lady had been\r
+detected in that immodest prematureness--indeed, would probably have\r
+disbelieved in its possibility. For Rosamond never showed any\r
+unbecoming knowledge, and was always that combination of correct\r
+sentiments, music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing, private\r
+album for extracted verse, and perfect blond loveliness, which made the\r
+irresistible woman for the doomed man of that date. Think no unfair\r
+evil of her, pray: she had no wicked plots, nothing sordid or\r
+mercenary; in fact, she never thought of money except as something\r
+necessary which other people would always provide. She was not in the\r
+habit of devising falsehoods, and if her statements were no direct clew\r
+to fact, why, they were not intended in that light--they were among\r
+her elegant accomplishments, intended to please. Nature had inspired\r
+many arts in finishing Mrs. Lemon's favorite pupil, who by general\r
+consent (Fred's excepted) was a rare compound of beauty, cleverness,\r
+and amiability.\r
+\r
+Lydgate found it more and more agreeable to be with her, and there was\r
+no constraint now, there was a delightful interchange of influence in\r
+their eyes, and what they said had that superfluity of meaning for\r
+them, which is observable with some sense of flatness by a third\r
+person; still they had no interviews or asides from which a third\r
+person need have been excluded. In fact, they flirted; and Lydgate was\r
+secure in the belief that they did nothing else. If a man could not\r
+love and be wise, surely he could flirt and be wise at the same time?\r
+Really, the men in Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother, were great\r
+bores, and Lydgate did not care about commercial politics or cards:\r
+what was he to do for relaxation? He was often invited to the\r
+Bulstrodes'; but the girls there were hardly out of the schoolroom; and\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode's _naive_ way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the\r
+nothingness of this life and the desirability of cut glass, the\r
+consciousness at once of filthy rags and the best damask, was not a\r
+sufficient relief from the weight of her husband's invariable\r
+seriousness. The Vincys' house, with all its faults, was the\r
+pleasanter by contrast; besides, it nourished Rosamond--sweet to look\r
+at as a half-opened blush-rose, and adorned with accomplishments for\r
+the refined amusement of man.\r
+\r
+But he made some enemies, other than medical, by his success with Miss\r
+Vincy. One evening he came into the drawing-room rather late, when\r
+several other visitors were there. The card-table had drawn off the\r
+elders, and Mr. Ned Plymdale (one of the good matches in Middlemarch,\r
+though not one of its leading minds) was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond.\r
+He had brought the last "Keepsake," the gorgeous watered-silk\r
+publication which marked modern progress at that time; and he\r
+considered himself very fortunate that he could be the first to look\r
+over it with her, dwelling on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny\r
+copper-plate cheeks and copper-plate smiles, and pointing to comic\r
+verses as capital and sentimental stories as interesting. Rosamond was\r
+gracious, and Mr. Ned was satisfied that he had the very best thing in\r
+art and literature as a medium for "paying addresses"--the very thing\r
+to please a nice girl. He had also reasons, deep rather than\r
+ostensible, for being satisfied with his own appearance. To\r
+superficial observers his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking as\r
+if it were being gradually reabsorbed. And it did indeed cause him\r
+some difficulty about the fit of his satin stocks, for which chins were\r
+at that time useful.\r
+\r
+"I think the Honorable Mrs. S. is something like you," said Mr. Ned.\r
+He kept the book open at the bewitching portrait, and looked at it\r
+rather languishingly.\r
+\r
+"Her back is very large; she seems to have sat for that," said\r
+Rosamond, not meaning any satire, but thinking how red young Plymdale's\r
+hands were, and wondering why Lydgate did not come. She went on with\r
+her tatting all the while.\r
+\r
+"I did not say she was as beautiful as you are," said Mr. Ned,\r
+venturing to look from the portrait to its rival.\r
+\r
+"I suspect you of being an adroit flatterer," said Rosamond, feeling\r
+sure that she should have to reject this young gentleman a second time.\r
+\r
+But now Lydgate came in; the book was closed before he reached\r
+Rosamond's corner, and as he took his seat with easy confidence on the\r
+other side of her, young Plymdale's jaw fell like a barometer towards\r
+the cheerless side of change. Rosamond enjoyed not only Lydgate's\r
+presence but its effect: she liked to excite jealousy.\r
+\r
+"What a late comer you are!" she said, as they shook hands. "Mamma had\r
+given you up a little while ago. How do you find Fred?"\r
+\r
+"As usual; going on well, but slowly. I want him to go away--to Stone\r
+Court, for example. But your mamma seems to have some objection."\r
+\r
+"Poor fellow!" said Rosamond, prettily. "You will see Fred so\r
+changed," she added, turning to the other suitor; "we have looked to\r
+Mr. Lydgate as our guardian angel during this illness."\r
+\r
+Mr. Ned smiled nervously, while Lydgate, drawing the "Keepsake" towards\r
+him and opening it, gave a short scornful laugh and tossed up his\r
+chin, as if in wonderment at human folly.\r
+\r
+"What are you laughing at so profanely?" said Rosamond, with bland\r
+neutrality.\r
+\r
+"I wonder which would turn out to be the silliest--the engravings or\r
+the writing here," said Lydgate, in his most convinced tone, while he\r
+turned over the pages quickly, seeming to see all through the book in\r
+no time, and showing his large white hands to much advantage, as\r
+Rosamond thought. "Do look at this bridegroom coming out of church:\r
+did you ever see such a 'sugared invention'--as the Elizabethans used\r
+to say? Did any haberdasher ever look so smirking? Yet I will answer\r
+for it the story makes him one of the first gentlemen in the land."\r
+\r
+"You are so severe, I am frightened at you," said Rosamond, keeping her\r
+amusement duly moderate. Poor young Plymdale had lingered with\r
+admiration over this very engraving, and his spirit was stirred.\r
+\r
+"There are a great many celebrated people writing in the 'Keepsake,' at\r
+all events," he said, in a tone at once piqued and timid. "This is the\r
+first time I have heard it called silly."\r
+\r
+"I think I shall turn round on you and accuse you of being a Goth,"\r
+said Rosamond, looking at Lydgate with a smile. "I suspect you know\r
+nothing about Lady Blessington and L. E. L." Rosamond herself was not\r
+without relish for these writers, but she did not readily commit\r
+herself by admiration, and was alive to the slightest hint that\r
+anything was not, according to Lydgate, in the very highest taste.\r
+\r
+"But Sir Walter Scott--I suppose Mr. Lydgate knows him," said young\r
+Plymdale, a little cheered by this advantage.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I read no literature now," said Lydgate, shutting the book, and\r
+pushing it away. "I read so much when I was a lad, that I suppose it\r
+will last me all my life. I used to know Scott's poems by heart."\r
+\r
+"I should like to know when you left off," said Rosamond, "because then\r
+I might be sure that I knew something which you did not know."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate would say that was not worth knowing," said Mr. Ned,\r
+purposely caustic.\r
+\r
+"On the contrary," said Lydgate, showing no smart; but smiling with\r
+exasperating confidence at Rosamond. "It would be worth knowing by the\r
+fact that Miss Vincy could tell it me."\r
+\r
+Young Plymdale soon went to look at the whist-playing, thinking that\r
+Lydgate was one of the most conceited, unpleasant fellows it had ever\r
+been his ill-fortune to meet.\r
+\r
+"How rash you are!" said Rosamond, inwardly delighted. "Do you see\r
+that you have given offence?"\r
+\r
+"What! is it Mr. Plymdale's book? I am sorry. I didn't think about\r
+it."\r
+\r
+"I shall begin to admit what you said of yourself when you first came\r
+here--that you are a bear, and want teaching by the birds."\r
+\r
+"Well, there is a bird who can teach me what she will. Don't I listen\r
+to her willingly?"\r
+\r
+To Rosamond it seemed as if she and Lydgate were as good as engaged.\r
+That they were some time to be engaged had long been an idea in her\r
+mind; and ideas, we know, tend to a more solid kind of existence, the\r
+necessary materials being at hand. It is true, Lydgate had the\r
+counter-idea of remaining unengaged; but this was a mere negative, a\r
+shadow cast by other resolves which themselves were capable of\r
+shrinking. Circumstance was almost sure to be on the side of\r
+Rosamond's idea, which had a shaping activity and looked through\r
+watchful blue eyes, whereas Lydgate's lay blind and unconcerned as a\r
+jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it.\r
+\r
+That evening when he went home, he looked at his phials to see how a\r
+process of maceration was going on, with undisturbed interest; and he\r
+wrote out his daily notes with as much precision as usual. The\r
+reveries from which it was difficult for him to detach himself were\r
+ideal constructions of something else than Rosamond's virtues, and the\r
+primitive tissue was still his fair unknown. Moreover, he was\r
+beginning to feel some zest for the growing though half-suppressed feud\r
+between him and the other medical men, which was likely to become more\r
+manifest, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new hospital was\r
+about to be declared; and there were various inspiriting signs that his\r
+non-acceptance by some of Peacock's patients might be counterbalanced\r
+by the impression he had produced in other quarters. Only a few days\r
+later, when he had happened to overtake Rosamond on the Lowick road and\r
+had got down from his horse to walk by her side until he had quite\r
+protected her from a passing drove, he had been stopped by a servant on\r
+horseback with a message calling him in to a house of some importance\r
+where Peacock had never attended; and it was the second instance of\r
+this kind. The servant was Sir James Chettam's, and the house was\r
+Lowick Manor.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXVIII.\r
+\r
+ 1st Gent. All times are good to seek your wedded home\r
+ Bringing a mutual delight.\r
+\r
+ 2d Gent. Why, true.\r
+ The calendar hath not an evil day\r
+ For souls made one by love, and even death\r
+ Were sweetness, if it came like rolling waves\r
+ While they two clasped each other, and foresaw\r
+ No life apart.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. and Mrs. Casaubon, returning from their wedding journey, arrived at\r
+Lowick Manor in the middle of January. A light snow was falling as\r
+they descended at the door, and in the morning, when Dorothea passed\r
+from her dressing-room avenue the blue-green boudoir that we know of,\r
+she saw the long avenue of limes lifting their trunks from a white\r
+earth, and spreading white branches against the dun and motionless sky.\r
+The distant flat shrank in uniform whiteness and low-hanging uniformity\r
+of cloud. The very furniture in the room seemed to have shrunk since\r
+she saw it before: the stag in the tapestry looked more like a ghost in\r
+his ghostly blue-green world; the volumes of polite literature in the\r
+bookcase looked more like immovable imitations of books. The bright\r
+fire of dry oak-boughs burning on the logs seemed an incongruous\r
+renewal of life and glow--like the figure of Dorothea herself as she\r
+entered carrying the red-leather cases containing the cameos for Celia.\r
+\r
+She was glowing from her morning toilet as only healthful youth can\r
+glow: there was gem-like brightness on her coiled hair and in her hazel\r
+eyes; there was warm red life in her lips; her throat had a breathing\r
+whiteness above the differing white of the fur which itself seemed to\r
+wind about her neck and cling down her blue-gray pelisse with a\r
+tenderness gathered from her own, a sentient commingled innocence which\r
+kept its loveliness against the crystalline purity of the outdoor snow.\r
+As she laid the cameo-cases on the table in the bow-window, she\r
+unconsciously kept her hands on them, immediately absorbed in looking\r
+out on the still, white enclosure which made her visible world.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon, who had risen early complaining of palpitation, was in\r
+the library giving audience to his curate Mr. Tucker. By-and-by Celia\r
+would come in her quality of bridesmaid as well as sister, and through\r
+the next weeks there would be wedding visits received and given; all in\r
+continuance of that transitional life understood to correspond with the\r
+excitement of bridal felicity, and keeping up the sense of busy\r
+ineffectiveness, as of a dream which the dreamer begins to suspect.\r
+The duties of her married life, contemplated as so great beforehand,\r
+seemed to be shrinking with the furniture and the white vapor-walled\r
+landscape. The clear heights where she expected to walk in full\r
+communion had become difficult to see even in her imagination; the\r
+delicious repose of the soul on a complete superior had been shaken\r
+into uneasy effort and alarmed with dim presentiment. When would the\r
+days begin of that active wifely devotion which was to strengthen her\r
+husband's life and exalt her own? Never perhaps, as she had\r
+preconceived them; but somehow--still somehow. In this solemnly\r
+pledged union of her life, duty would present itself in some new form\r
+of inspiration and give a new meaning to wifely love.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile there was the snow and the low arch of dun vapor--there was\r
+the stifling oppression of that gentlewoman's world, where everything\r
+was done for her and none asked for her aid--where the sense of\r
+connection with a manifold pregnant existence had to be kept up\r
+painfully as an inward vision, instead of coming from without in claims\r
+that would have shaped her energies.-- "What shall I do?" "Whatever you\r
+please, my dear:" that had been her brief history since she had left\r
+off learning morning lessons and practising silly rhythms on the hated\r
+piano. Marriage, which was to bring guidance into worthy and\r
+imperative occupation, had not yet freed her from the gentlewoman's\r
+oppressive liberty: it had not even filled her leisure with the\r
+ruminant joy of unchecked tenderness. Her blooming full-pulsed youth\r
+stood there in a moral imprisonment which made itself one with the\r
+chill, colorless, narrowed landscape, with the shrunken furniture, the\r
+never-read books, and the ghostly stag in a pale fantastic world that\r
+seemed to be vanishing from the daylight.\r
+\r
+In the first minutes when Dorothea looked out she felt nothing but the\r
+dreary oppression; then came a keen remembrance, and turning away from\r
+the window she walked round the room. The ideas and hopes which were\r
+living in her mind when she first saw this room nearly three months\r
+before were present now only as memories: she judged them as we judge\r
+transient and departed things. All existence seemed to beat with a\r
+lower pulse than her own, and her religious faith was a solitary cry,\r
+the struggle out of a nightmare in which every object was withering and\r
+shrinking away from her. Each remembered thing in the room was\r
+disenchanted, was deadened as an unlit transparency, till her wandering\r
+gaze came to the group of miniatures, and there at last she saw\r
+something which had gathered new breath and meaning: it was the\r
+miniature of Mr. Casaubon's aunt Julia, who had made the unfortunate\r
+marriage--of Will Ladislaw's grandmother. Dorothea could fancy that\r
+it was alive now--the delicate woman's face which yet had a headstrong\r
+look, a peculiarity difficult to interpret. Was it only her friends\r
+who thought her marriage unfortunate? or did she herself find it out to\r
+be a mistake, and taste the salt bitterness of her tears in the\r
+merciful silence of the night? What breadths of experience Dorothea\r
+seemed to have passed over since she first looked at this miniature!\r
+She felt a new companionship with it, as if it had an ear for her and\r
+could see how she was looking at it. Here was a woman who had known\r
+some difficulty about marriage. Nay, the colors deepened, the lips and\r
+chin seemed to get larger, the hair and eyes seemed to be sending out\r
+light, the face was masculine and beamed on her with that full gaze\r
+which tells her on whom it falls that she is too interesting for the\r
+slightest movement of her eyelid to pass unnoticed and uninterpreted.\r
+The vivid presentation came like a pleasant glow to Dorothea: she felt\r
+herself smiling, and turning from the miniature sat down and looked up\r
+as if she were again talking to a figure in front of her. But the\r
+smile disappeared as she went on meditating, and at last she said\r
+aloud--\r
+\r
+"Oh, it was cruel to speak so! How sad--how dreadful!"\r
+\r
+She rose quickly and went out of the room, hurrying along the corridor,\r
+with the irresistible impulse to go and see her husband and inquire if\r
+she could do anything for him. Perhaps Mr. Tucker was gone and Mr.\r
+Casaubon was alone in the library. She felt as if all her morning's\r
+gloom would vanish if she could see her husband glad because of her\r
+presence.\r
+\r
+But when she reached the head of the dark oak there was Celia coming\r
+up, and below there was Mr. Brooke, exchanging welcomes and\r
+congratulations with Mr. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+"Dodo!" said Celia, in her quiet staccato; then kissed her sister,\r
+whose arms encircled her, and said no more. I think they both cried a\r
+little in a furtive manner, while Dorothea ran down-stairs to greet her\r
+uncle.\r
+\r
+"I need not ask how you are, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, after kissing\r
+her forehead. "Rome has agreed with you, I see--happiness, frescos,\r
+the antique--that sort of thing. Well, it's very pleasant to have you\r
+back again, and you understand all about art now, eh? But Casaubon is\r
+a little pale, I tell him--a little pale, you know. Studying hard in\r
+his holidays is carrying it rather too far. I overdid it at one\r
+time"--Mr. Brooke still held Dorothea's hand, but had turned his face\r
+to Mr. Casaubon--"about topography, ruins, temples--I thought I had a\r
+clew, but I saw it would carry me too far, and nothing might come of\r
+it. You may go any length in that sort of thing, and nothing may come\r
+of it, you know."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's eyes also were turned up to her husband's face with some\r
+anxiety at the idea that those who saw him afresh after absence might\r
+be aware of signs which she had not noticed.\r
+\r
+"Nothing to alarm you, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, observing her\r
+expression. "A little English beef and mutton will soon make a\r
+difference. It was all very well to look pale, sitting for the\r
+portrait of Aquinas, you know--we got your letter just in time. But\r
+Aquinas, now--he was a little too subtle, wasn't he? Does anybody read\r
+Aquinas?"\r
+\r
+"He is not indeed an author adapted to superficial minds," said Mr.\r
+Casaubon, meeting these timely questions with dignified patience.\r
+\r
+"You would like coffee in your own room, uncle?" said Dorothea, coming\r
+to the rescue.\r
+\r
+"Yes; and you must go to Celia: she has great news to tell you, you\r
+know. I leave it all to her."\r
+\r
+The blue-green boudoir looked much more cheerful when Celia was seated\r
+there in a pelisse exactly like her sister's, surveying the cameos with\r
+a placid satisfaction, while the conversation passed on to other topics.\r
+\r
+"Do you think it nice to go to Rome on a wedding journey?" said Celia,\r
+with her ready delicate blush which Dorothea was used to on the\r
+smallest occasions.\r
+\r
+"It would not suit all--not you, dear, for example," said Dorothea,\r
+quietly. No one would ever know what she thought of a wedding journey\r
+to Rome.\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when\r
+they are married. She says they get tired to death of each other, and\r
+can't quarrel comfortably, as they would at home. And Lady Chettam\r
+says she went to Bath." Celia's color changed again and again--seemed\r
+\r
+ "To come and go with tidings from the heart,\r
+ As it a running messenger had been."\r
+\r
+It must mean more than Celia's blushing usually did.\r
+\r
+"Celia! has something happened?" said Dorothea, in a tone full of\r
+sisterly feeling. "Have you really any great news to tell me?"\r
+\r
+"It was because you went away, Dodo. Then there was nobody but me for\r
+Sir James to talk to," said Celia, with a certain roguishness in her\r
+eyes.\r
+\r
+"I understand. It is as I used to hope and believe," said Dorothea,\r
+taking her sister's face between her hands, and looking at her half\r
+anxiously. Celia's marriage seemed more serious than it used to do.\r
+\r
+"It was only three days ago," said Celia. "And Lady Chettam is very\r
+kind."\r
+\r
+"And you are very happy?"\r
+\r
+"Yes. We are not going to be married yet. Because every thing is to\r
+be got ready. And I don't want to be married so very soon, because I\r
+think it is nice to be engaged. And we shall be married all our lives\r
+after."\r
+\r
+"I do believe you could not marry better, Kitty. Sir James is a good,\r
+honorable man," said Dorothea, warmly.\r
+\r
+"He has gone on with the cottages, Dodo. He will tell you about them\r
+when he comes. Shall you be glad to see him?"\r
+\r
+"Of course I shall. How can you ask me?"\r
+\r
+"Only I was afraid you would be getting so learned," said Celia,\r
+regarding Mr. Casaubon's learning as a kind of damp which might in due\r
+time saturate a neighboring body.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIX.\r
+\r
+ "I found that no genius in another could please me. My\r
+ unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of\r
+ comfort."--GOLDSMITH.\r
+\r
+\r
+One morning, some weeks after her arrival at Lowick, Dorothea--but why\r
+always Dorothea? Was her point of view the only possible one with\r
+regard to this marriage? I protest against all our interest, all our\r
+effort at understanding being given to the young skins that look\r
+blooming in spite of trouble; for these too will get faded, and will\r
+know the older and more eating griefs which we are helping to neglect.\r
+In spite of the blinking eyes and white moles objectionable to Celia,\r
+and the want of muscular curve which was morally painful to Sir James,\r
+Mr. Casaubon had an intense consciousness within him, and was\r
+spiritually a-hungered like the rest of us. He had done nothing\r
+exceptional in marrying--nothing but what society sanctions, and\r
+considers an occasion for wreaths and bouquets. It had occurred to him\r
+that he must not any longer defer his intention of matrimony, and he\r
+had reflected that in taking a wife, a man of good position should\r
+expect and carefully choose a blooming young lady--the younger the\r
+better, because more educable and submissive--of a rank equal to his\r
+own, of religious principles, virtuous disposition, and good\r
+understanding. On such a young lady he would make handsome\r
+settlements, and he would neglect no arrangement for her happiness: in\r
+return, he should receive family pleasures and leave behind him that\r
+copy of himself which seemed so urgently required of a man--to the\r
+sonneteers of the sixteenth century. Times had altered since then, and\r
+no sonneteer had insisted on Mr. Casaubon's leaving a copy of himself;\r
+moreover, he had not yet succeeded in issuing copies of his\r
+mythological key; but he had always intended to acquit himself by\r
+marriage, and the sense that he was fast leaving the years behind him,\r
+that the world was getting dimmer and that he felt lonely, was a reason\r
+to him for losing no more time in overtaking domestic delights before\r
+they too were left behind by the years.\r
+\r
+And when he had seen Dorothea he believed that he had found even more\r
+than he demanded: she might really be such a helpmate to him as would\r
+enable him to dispense with a hired secretary, an aid which Mr.\r
+Casaubon had never yet employed and had a suspicious dread of. (Mr.\r
+Casaubon was nervously conscious that he was expected to manifest a\r
+powerful mind.) Providence, in its kindness, had supplied him with the\r
+wife he needed. A wife, a modest young lady, with the purely\r
+appreciative, unambitious abilities of her sex, is sure to think her\r
+husband's mind powerful. Whether Providence had taken equal care of\r
+Miss Brooke in presenting her with Mr. Casaubon was an idea which could\r
+hardly occur to him. Society never made the preposterous demand that a\r
+man should think as much about his own qualifications for making a\r
+charming girl happy as he thinks of hers for making himself happy. As\r
+if a man could choose not only his wife but his wife's husband! Or as\r
+if he were bound to provide charms for his posterity in his own\r
+person!-- When Dorothea accepted him with effusion, that was only\r
+natural; and Mr. Casaubon believed that his happiness was going to\r
+begin.\r
+\r
+He had not had much foretaste of happiness in his previous life. To\r
+know intense joy without a strong bodily frame, one must have an\r
+enthusiastic soul. Mr. Casaubon had never had a strong bodily frame,\r
+and his soul was sensitive without being enthusiastic: it was too\r
+languid to thrill out of self-consciousness into passionate delight; it\r
+went on fluttering in the swampy ground where it was hatched, thinking\r
+of its wings and never flying. His experience was of that pitiable\r
+kind which shrinks from pity, and fears most of all that it should be\r
+known: it was that proud narrow sensitiveness which has not mass enough\r
+to spare for transformation into sympathy, and quivers thread-like in\r
+small currents of self-preoccupation or at best of an egoistic\r
+scrupulosity. And Mr. Casaubon had many scruples: he was capable of a\r
+severe self-restraint; he was resolute in being a man of honor\r
+according to the code; he would be unimpeachable by any recognized\r
+opinion. In conduct these ends had been attained; but the difficulty\r
+of making his Key to all Mythologies unimpeachable weighed like lead\r
+upon his mind; and the pamphlets--or "Parerga" as he called them--by\r
+which he tested his public and deposited small monumental records of\r
+his march, were far from having been seen in all their significance.\r
+He suspected the Archdeacon of not having read them; he was in painful\r
+doubt as to what was really thought of them by the leading minds of\r
+Brasenose, and bitterly convinced that his old acquaintance Carp had\r
+been the writer of that depreciatory recension which was kept locked in\r
+a small drawer of Mr. Casaubon's desk, and also in a dark closet of his\r
+verbal memory. These were heavy impressions to struggle against, and\r
+brought that melancholy embitterment which is the consequence of all\r
+excessive claim: even his religious faith wavered with his wavering\r
+trust in his own authorship, and the consolations of the Christian hope\r
+in immortality seemed to lean on the immortality of the still unwritten\r
+Key to all Mythologies. For my part I am very sorry for him. It is an\r
+uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to\r
+enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be\r
+liberated from a small hungry shivering self--never to be fully\r
+possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness\r
+rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardor of a\r
+passion, the energy of an action, but always to be scholarly and\r
+uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. Becoming a\r
+dean or even a bishop would make little difference, I fear, to Mr.\r
+Casaubon's uneasiness. Doubtless some ancient Greek has observed that\r
+behind the big mask and the speaking-trumpet, there must always be our\r
+poor little eyes peeping as usual and our timorous lips more or less\r
+under anxious control.\r
+\r
+To this mental estate mapped out a quarter of a century before, to\r
+sensibilities thus fenced in, Mr. Casaubon had thought of annexing\r
+happiness with a lovely young bride; but even before marriage, as we\r
+have seen, he found himself under a new depression in the consciousness\r
+that the new bliss was not blissful to him. Inclination yearned back\r
+to its old, easier custom. And the deeper he went in domesticity the\r
+more did the sense of acquitting himself and acting with propriety\r
+predominate over any other satisfaction. Marriage, like religion and\r
+erudition, nay, like authorship itself, was fated to become an outward\r
+requirement, and Edward Casaubon was bent on fulfilling unimpeachably\r
+all requirements. Even drawing Dorothea into use in his study,\r
+according to his own intention before marriage, was an effort which he\r
+was always tempted to defer, and but for her pleading insistence it\r
+might never have begun. But she had succeeded in making it a matter of\r
+course that she should take her place at an early hour in the library\r
+and have work either of reading aloud or copying assigned her. The\r
+work had been easier to define because Mr. Casaubon had adopted an\r
+immediate intention: there was to be a new Parergon, a small monograph\r
+on some lately traced indications concerning the Egyptian mysteries\r
+whereby certain assertions of Warburton's could be corrected.\r
+References were extensive even here, but not altogether shoreless; and\r
+sentences were actually to be written in the shape wherein they would\r
+be scanned by Brasenose and a less formidable posterity. These minor\r
+monumental productions were always exciting to Mr. Casaubon; digestion\r
+was made difficult by the interference of citations, or by the rivalry\r
+of dialectical phrases ringing against each other in his brain. And\r
+from the first there was to be a Latin dedication about which\r
+everything was uncertain except that it was not to be addressed to\r
+Carp: it was a poisonous regret to Mr. Casaubon that he had once\r
+addressed a dedication to Carp in which he had numbered that member of\r
+the animal kingdom among the viros nullo aevo perituros, a mistake\r
+which would infallibly lay the dedicator open to ridicule in the next\r
+age, and might even be chuckled over by Pike and Tench in the present.\r
+\r
+Thus Mr. Casaubon was in one of his busiest epochs, and as I began to\r
+say a little while ago, Dorothea joined him early in the library where\r
+he had breakfasted alone. Celia at this time was on a second visit to\r
+Lowick, probably the last before her marriage, and was in the\r
+drawing-room expecting Sir James.\r
+\r
+Dorothea had learned to read the signs of her husband's mood, and she\r
+saw that the morning had become more foggy there during the last hour.\r
+She was going silently to her desk when he said, in that distant tone\r
+which implied that he was discharging a disagreeable duty--\r
+\r
+"Dorothea, here is a letter for you, which was enclosed in one\r
+addressed to me."\r
+\r
+It was a letter of two pages, and she immediately looked at the\r
+signature.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Ladislaw! What can he have to say to me?" she exclaimed, in a\r
+tone of pleased surprise. "But," she added, looking at Mr. Casaubon,\r
+"I can imagine what he has written to you about."\r
+\r
+"You can, if you please, read the letter," said Mr. Casaubon, severely\r
+pointing to it with his pen, and not looking at her. "But I may as\r
+well say beforehand, that I must decline the proposal it contains to\r
+pay a visit here. I trust I may be excused for desiring an interval of\r
+complete freedom from such distractions as have been hitherto\r
+inevitable, and especially from guests whose desultory vivacity makes\r
+their presence a fatigue."\r
+\r
+There had been no clashing of temper between Dorothea and her husband\r
+since that little explosion in Rome, which had left such strong traces\r
+in her mind that it had been easier ever since to quell emotion than to\r
+incur the consequence of venting it. But this ill-tempered\r
+anticipation that she could desire visits which might be disagreeable\r
+to her husband, this gratuitous defence of himself against selfish\r
+complaint on her part, was too sharp a sting to be meditated on until\r
+after it had been resented. Dorothea had thought that she could have\r
+been patient with John Milton, but she had never imagined him behaving\r
+in this way; and for a moment Mr. Casaubon seemed to be stupidly\r
+undiscerning and odiously unjust. Pity, that "new-born babe" which was\r
+by-and-by to rule many a storm within her, did not "stride the blast"\r
+on this occasion. With her first words, uttered in a tone that shook\r
+him, she startled Mr. Casaubon into looking at her, and meeting the\r
+flash of her eyes.\r
+\r
+"Why do you attribute to me a wish for anything that would annoy you?\r
+You speak to me as if I were something you had to contend against.\r
+Wait at least till I appear to consult my own pleasure apart from\r
+yours."\r
+\r
+"Dorothea, you are hasty," answered Mr. Casaubon, nervously.\r
+\r
+Decidedly, this woman was too young to be on the formidable level of\r
+wifehood--unless she had been pale and featureless and taken\r
+everything for granted.\r
+\r
+"I think it was you who were first hasty in your false suppositions\r
+about my feeling," said Dorothea, in the same tone. The fire was not\r
+dissipated yet, and she thought it was ignoble in her husband not to\r
+apologize to her.\r
+\r
+"We will, if you please, say no more on this subject, Dorothea. I have\r
+neither leisure nor energy for this kind of debate."\r
+\r
+Here Mr. Casaubon dipped his pen and made as if he would return to his\r
+writing, though his hand trembled so much that the words seemed to be\r
+written in an unknown character. There are answers which, in turning\r
+away wrath, only send it to the other end of the room, and to have a\r
+discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice is all on your own\r
+side is even more exasperating in marriage than in philosophy.\r
+\r
+Dorothea left Ladislaw's two letters unread on her husband's\r
+writing-table and went to her own place, the scorn and indignation\r
+within her rejecting the reading of these letters, just as we hurl away\r
+any trash towards which we seem to have been suspected of mean\r
+cupidity. She did not in the least divine the subtle sources of her\r
+husband's bad temper about these letters: she only knew that they had\r
+caused him to offend her. She began to work at once, and her hand did\r
+not tremble; on the contrary, in writing out the quotations which had\r
+been given to her the day before, she felt that she was forming her\r
+letters beautifully, and it seemed to her that she saw the construction\r
+of the Latin she was copying, and which she was beginning to\r
+understand, more clearly than usual. In her indignation there was a\r
+sense of superiority, but it went out for the present in firmness of\r
+stroke, and did not compress itself into an inward articulate voice\r
+pronouncing the once "affable archangel" a poor creature.\r
+\r
+There had been this apparent quiet for half an hour, and Dorothea had\r
+not looked away from her own table, when she heard the loud bang of a\r
+book on the floor, and turning quickly saw Mr. Casaubon on the library\r
+steps clinging forward as if he were in some bodily distress. She\r
+started up and bounded towards him in an instant: he was evidently in\r
+great straits for breath. Jumping on a stool she got close to his\r
+elbow and said with her whole soul melted into tender alarm--\r
+\r
+"Can you lean on me, dear?"\r
+\r
+He was still for two or three minutes, which seemed endless to her,\r
+unable to speak or move, gasping for breath. When at last he descended\r
+the three steps and fell backward in the large chair which Dorothea had\r
+drawn close to the foot of the ladder, he no longer gasped but seemed\r
+helpless and about to faint. Dorothea rang the bell violently, and\r
+presently Mr. Casaubon was helped to the couch: he did not faint, and\r
+was gradually reviving, when Sir James Chettam came in, having been met\r
+in the hall with the news that Mr. Casaubon had "had a fit in the\r
+library."\r
+\r
+"Good God! this is just what might have been expected," was his\r
+immediate thought. If his prophetic soul had been urged to\r
+particularize, it seemed to him that "fits" would have been the\r
+definite expression alighted upon. He asked his informant, the butler,\r
+whether the doctor had been sent for. The butler never knew his master\r
+to want the doctor before; but would it not be right to send for a\r
+physician?\r
+\r
+When Sir James entered the library, however, Mr. Casaubon could make\r
+some signs of his usual politeness, and Dorothea, who in the reaction\r
+from her first terror had been kneeling and sobbing by his side now\r
+rose and herself proposed that some one should ride off for a medical\r
+man.\r
+\r
+"I recommend you to send for Lydgate," said Sir James. "My mother has\r
+called him in, and she has found him uncommonly clever. She has had a\r
+poor opinion of the physicians since my father's death."\r
+\r
+Dorothea appealed to her husband, and he made a silent sign of\r
+approval. So Mr. Lydgate was sent for and he came wonderfully soon,\r
+for the messenger, who was Sir James Chettam's man and knew Mr.\r
+Lydgate, met him leading his horse along the Lowick road and giving his\r
+arm to Miss Vincy.\r
+\r
+Celia, in the drawing-room, had known nothing of the trouble till Sir\r
+James told her of it. After Dorothea's account, he no longer\r
+considered the illness a fit, but still something "of that nature."\r
+\r
+"Poor dear Dodo--how dreadful!" said Celia, feeling as much grieved as\r
+her own perfect happiness would allow. Her little hands were clasped,\r
+and enclosed by Sir James's as a bud is enfolded by a liberal calyx.\r
+"It is very shocking that Mr. Casaubon should be ill; but I never did\r
+like him. And I think he is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and he\r
+ought to be, for I am sure no one else would have had him--do you\r
+think they would?"\r
+\r
+"I always thought it a horrible sacrifice of your sister," said Sir\r
+James.\r
+\r
+"Yes. But poor Dodo never did do what other people do, and I think she\r
+never will."\r
+\r
+"She is a noble creature," said the loyal-hearted Sir James. He had\r
+just had a fresh impression of this kind, as he had seen Dorothea\r
+stretching her tender arm under her husband's neck and looking at him\r
+with unspeakable sorrow. He did not know how much penitence there was\r
+in the sorrow.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Celia, thinking it was very well for Sir James to say so,\r
+but _he_ would not have been comfortable with Dodo. "Shall I go to\r
+her? Could I help her, do you think?"\r
+\r
+"I think it would be well for you just to go and see her before Lydgate\r
+comes," said Sir James, magnanimously. "Only don't stay long."\r
+\r
+While Celia was gone he walked up and down remembering what he had\r
+originally felt about Dorothea's engagement, and feeling a revival of\r
+his disgust at Mr. Brooke's indifference. If Cadwallader--if every\r
+one else had regarded the affair as he, Sir James, had done, the\r
+marriage might have been hindered. It was wicked to let a young girl\r
+blindly decide her fate in that way, without any effort to save her.\r
+Sir James had long ceased to have any regrets on his own account: his\r
+heart was satisfied with his engagement to Celia. But he had a\r
+chivalrous nature (was not the disinterested service of woman among the\r
+ideal glories of old chivalry?): his disregarded love had not turned to\r
+bitterness; its death had made sweet odors--floating memories that\r
+clung with a consecrating effect to Dorothea. He could remain her\r
+brotherly friend, interpreting her actions with generous trustfulness.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXX.\r
+\r
+ "Qui veut delasser hors de propos, lasse."--PASCAL.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon had no second attack of equal severity with the first, and\r
+in a few days began to recover his usual condition. But Lydgate seemed\r
+to think the case worth a great deal of attention. He not only used\r
+his stethoscope (which had not become a matter of course in practice at\r
+that time), but sat quietly by his patient and watched him. To Mr.\r
+Casaubon's questions about himself, he replied that the source of the\r
+illness was the common error of intellectual men--a too eager and\r
+monotonous application: the remedy was, to be satisfied with moderate\r
+work, and to seek variety of relaxation. Mr. Brooke, who sat by on one\r
+occasion, suggested that Mr. Casaubon should go fishing, as Cadwallader\r
+did, and have a turning-room, make toys, table-legs, and that kind of\r
+thing.\r
+\r
+"In short, you recommend me to anticipate the arrival of my second\r
+childhood," said poor Mr. Casaubon, with some bitterness. "These\r
+things," he added, looking at Lydgate, "would be to me such relaxation\r
+as tow-picking is to prisoners in a house of correction."\r
+\r
+"I confess," said Lydgate, smiling, "amusement is rather an\r
+unsatisfactory prescription. It is something like telling people to\r
+keep up their spirits. Perhaps I had better say, that you must submit\r
+to be mildly bored rather than to go on working."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Brooke. "Get Dorothea to play backgammon with you\r
+in the evenings. And shuttlecock, now--I don't know a finer game than\r
+shuttlecock for the daytime. I remember it all the fashion. To be\r
+sure, your eyes might not stand that, Casaubon. But you must unbend,\r
+you know. Why, you might take to some light study: conchology, now: I\r
+always think that must be a light study. Or get Dorothea to read you\r
+light things, Smollett--'Roderick Random,' 'Humphrey Clinker:' they\r
+are a little broad, but she may read anything now she's married, you\r
+know. I remember they made me laugh uncommonly--there's a droll bit\r
+about a postilion's breeches. We have no such humor now. I have gone\r
+through all these things, but they might be rather new to you."\r
+\r
+"As new as eating thistles," would have been an answer to represent Mr.\r
+Casaubon's feelings. But he only bowed resignedly, with due respect to\r
+his wife's uncle, and observed that doubtless the works he mentioned\r
+had "served as a resource to a certain order of minds."\r
+\r
+"You see," said the able magistrate to Lydgate, when they were outside\r
+the door, "Casaubon has been a little narrow: it leaves him rather at a\r
+loss when you forbid him his particular work, which I believe is\r
+something very deep indeed--in the line of research, you know. I would\r
+never give way to that; I was always versatile. But a clergyman is\r
+tied a little tight. If they would make him a bishop, now!--he did a\r
+very good pamphlet for Peel. He would have more movement then, more\r
+show; he might get a little flesh. But I recommend you to talk to Mrs.\r
+Casaubon. She is clever enough for anything, is my niece. Tell her,\r
+her husband wants liveliness, diversion: put her on amusing tactics."\r
+\r
+Without Mr. Brooke's advice, Lydgate had determined on speaking to\r
+Dorothea. She had not been present while her uncle was throwing out\r
+his pleasant suggestions as to the mode in which life at Lowick might\r
+be enlivened, but she was usually by her husband's side, and the\r
+unaffected signs of intense anxiety in her face and voice about\r
+whatever touched his mind or health, made a drama which Lydgate was\r
+inclined to watch. He said to himself that he was only doing right in\r
+telling her the truth about her husband's probable future, but he\r
+certainly thought also that it would be interesting to talk\r
+confidentially with her. A medical man likes to make psychological\r
+observations, and sometimes in the pursuit of such studies is too\r
+easily tempted into momentous prophecy which life and death easily set\r
+at nought. Lydgate had often been satirical on this gratuitous\r
+prediction, and he meant now to be guarded.\r
+\r
+He asked for Mrs. Casaubon, but being told that she was out walking, he\r
+was going away, when Dorothea and Celia appeared, both glowing from\r
+their struggle with the March wind. When Lydgate begged to speak with\r
+her alone, Dorothea opened the library door which happened to be the\r
+nearest, thinking of nothing at the moment but what he might have to\r
+say about Mr. Casaubon. It was the first time she had entered this\r
+room since her husband had been taken ill, and the servant had chosen\r
+not to open the shutters. But there was light enough to read by from\r
+the narrow upper panes of the windows.\r
+\r
+"You will not mind this sombre light," said Dorothea, standing in the\r
+middle of the room. "Since you forbade books, the library has been out\r
+of the question. But Mr. Casaubon will soon be here again, I hope. Is\r
+he not making progress?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, much more rapid progress than I at first expected. Indeed, he is\r
+already nearly in his usual state of health."\r
+\r
+"You do not fear that the illness will return?" said Dorothea, whose\r
+quick ear had detected some significance in Lydgate's tone.\r
+\r
+"Such cases are peculiarly difficult to pronounce upon," said Lydgate.\r
+"The only point on which I can be confident is that it will be\r
+desirable to be very watchful on Mr. Casaubon's account, lest he should\r
+in any way strain his nervous power."\r
+\r
+"I beseech you to speak quite plainly," said Dorothea, in an imploring\r
+tone. "I cannot bear to think that there might be something which I\r
+did not know, and which, if I had known it, would have made me act\r
+differently." The words came out like a cry: it was evident that they\r
+were the voice of some mental experience which lay not very far off.\r
+\r
+"Sit down," she added, placing herself on the nearest chair, and\r
+throwing off her bonnet and gloves, with an instinctive discarding of\r
+formality where a great question of destiny was concerned.\r
+\r
+"What you say now justifies my own view," said Lydgate. "I think it is\r
+one's function as a medical man to hinder regrets of that sort as far\r
+as possible. But I beg you to observe that Mr. Casaubon's case is\r
+precisely of the kind in which the issue is most difficult to pronounce\r
+upon. He may possibly live for fifteen years or more, without much\r
+worse health than he has had hitherto."\r
+\r
+Dorothea had turned very pale, and when Lydgate paused she said in a\r
+low voice, "You mean if we are very careful."\r
+\r
+"Yes--careful against mental agitation of all kinds, and against\r
+excessive application."\r
+\r
+"He would be miserable, if he had to give up his work," said Dorothea,\r
+with a quick prevision of that wretchedness.\r
+\r
+"I am aware of that. The only course is to try by all means, direct\r
+and indirect, to moderate and vary his occupations. With a happy\r
+concurrence of circumstances, there is, as I said, no immediate danger\r
+from that affection of the heart, which I believe to have been the\r
+cause of his late attack. On the other hand, it is possible that the\r
+disease may develop itself more rapidly: it is one of those cases in\r
+which death is sometimes sudden. Nothing should be neglected which\r
+might be affected by such an issue."\r
+\r
+There was silence for a few moments, while Dorothea sat as if she had\r
+been turned to marble, though the life within her was so intense that\r
+her mind had never before swept in brief time over an equal range of\r
+scenes and motives.\r
+\r
+"Help me, pray," she said, at last, in the same low voice as before.\r
+"Tell me what I can do."\r
+\r
+"What do you think of foreign travel? You have been lately in Rome, I\r
+think."\r
+\r
+The memories which made this resource utterly hopeless were a new\r
+current that shook Dorothea out of her pallid immobility.\r
+\r
+"Oh, that would not do--that would be worse than anything," she said\r
+with a more childlike despondency, while the tears rolled down.\r
+"Nothing will be of any use that he does not enjoy."\r
+\r
+"I wish that I could have spared you this pain," said Lydgate, deeply\r
+touched, yet wondering about her marriage. Women just like Dorothea\r
+had not entered into his traditions.\r
+\r
+"It was right of you to tell me. I thank you for telling me the truth."\r
+\r
+"I wish you to understand that I shall not say anything to enlighten\r
+Mr. Casaubon himself. I think it desirable for him to know nothing\r
+more than that he must not overwork himself, and must observe certain\r
+rules. Anxiety of any kind would be precisely the most unfavorable\r
+condition for him."\r
+\r
+Lydgate rose, and Dorothea mechanically rose at the same time,\r
+unclasping her cloak and throwing it off as if it stifled her. He was\r
+bowing and quitting her, when an impulse which if she had been alone\r
+would have turned into a prayer, made her say with a sob in her voice--\r
+\r
+"Oh, you are a wise man, are you not? You know all about life and\r
+death. Advise me. Think what I can do. He has been laboring all his\r
+life and looking forward. He minds about nothing else.-- And I mind\r
+about nothing else--"\r
+\r
+For years after Lydgate remembered the impression produced in him by\r
+this involuntary appeal--this cry from soul to soul, without other\r
+consciousness than their moving with kindred natures in the same\r
+embroiled medium, the same troublous fitfully illuminated life. But\r
+what could he say now except that he should see Mr. Casaubon again\r
+to-morrow?\r
+\r
+When he was gone, Dorothea's tears gushed forth, and relieved her\r
+stifling oppression. Then she dried her eyes, reminded that her\r
+distress must not be betrayed to her husband; and looked round the room\r
+thinking that she must order the servant to attend to it as usual,\r
+since Mr. Casaubon might now at any moment wish to enter. On his\r
+writing-table there were letters which had lain untouched since the\r
+morning when he was taken ill, and among them, as Dorothea well\r
+remembered, there were young Ladislaw's letters, the one addressed to\r
+her still unopened. The associations of these letters had been made\r
+the more painful by that sudden attack of illness which she felt that\r
+the agitation caused by her anger might have helped to bring on: it\r
+would be time enough to read them when they were again thrust upon her,\r
+and she had had no inclination to fetch them from the library. But now\r
+it occurred to her that they should be put out of her husband's sight:\r
+whatever might have been the sources of his annoyance about them, he\r
+must, if possible, not be annoyed again; and she ran her eyes first\r
+over the letter addressed to him to assure herself whether or not it\r
+would be necessary to write in order to hinder the offensive visit.\r
+\r
+Will wrote from Rome, and began by saying that his obligations to Mr.\r
+Casaubon were too deep for all thanks not to seem impertinent. It was\r
+plain that if he were not grateful, he must be the poorest-spirited\r
+rascal who had ever found a generous friend. To expand in wordy thanks\r
+would be like saying, "I am honest." But Will had come to perceive that\r
+his defects--defects which Mr. Casaubon had himself often pointed\r
+to--needed for their correction that more strenuous position which his\r
+relative's generosity had hitherto prevented from being inevitable. He\r
+trusted that he should make the best return, if return were possible,\r
+by showing the effectiveness of the education for which he was\r
+indebted, and by ceasing in future to need any diversion towards\r
+himself of funds on which others might have a better claim. He was\r
+coming to England, to try his fortune, as many other young men were\r
+obliged to do whose only capital was in their brains. His friend\r
+Naumann had desired him to take charge of the "Dispute"--the picture\r
+painted for Mr. Casaubon, with whose permission, and Mrs. Casaubon's,\r
+Will would convey it to Lowick in person. A letter addressed to the\r
+Poste Restante in Paris within the fortnight would hinder him, if\r
+necessary, from arriving at an inconvenient moment. He enclosed a\r
+letter to Mrs. Casaubon in which he continued a discussion about art,\r
+begun with her in Rome.\r
+\r
+Opening her own letter Dorothea saw that it was a lively continuation\r
+of his remonstrance with her fanatical sympathy and her want of sturdy\r
+neutral delight in things as they were--an outpouring of his young\r
+vivacity which it was impossible to read just now. She had immediately\r
+to consider what was to be done about the other letter: there was still\r
+time perhaps to prevent Will from coming to Lowick. Dorothea ended by\r
+giving the letter to her uncle, who was still in the house, and begging\r
+him to let Will know that Mr. Casaubon had been ill, and that his\r
+health would not allow the reception of any visitors.\r
+\r
+No one more ready than Mr. Brooke to write a letter: his only\r
+difficulty was to write a short one, and his ideas in this case\r
+expanded over the three large pages and the inward foldings. He had\r
+simply said to Dorothea--\r
+\r
+"To be sure, I will write, my dear. He's a very clever young\r
+fellow--this young Ladislaw--I dare say will be a rising young man.\r
+It's a good letter--marks his sense of things, you know. However, I\r
+will tell him about Casaubon."\r
+\r
+But the end of Mr. Brooke's pen was a thinking organ, evolving\r
+sentences, especially of a benevolent kind, before the rest of his mind\r
+could well overtake them. It expressed regrets and proposed remedies,\r
+which, when Mr. Brooke read them, seemed felicitously\r
+worded--surprisingly the right thing, and determined a sequel which he\r
+had never before thought of. In this case, his pen found it such a pity\r
+young Ladislaw should not have come into the neighborhood just at\r
+that time, in order that Mr. Brooke might make his acquaintance more\r
+fully, and that they might go over the long-neglected Italian drawings\r
+together--it also felt such an interest in a young man who was starting\r
+in life with a stock of ideas--that by the end of the second page it\r
+had persuaded Mr. Brooke to invite young Ladislaw, since he could not\r
+be received at Lowick, to come to Tipton Grange. Why not? They could\r
+find a great many things to do together, and this was a period of\r
+peculiar growth--the political horizon was expanding, and--in short,\r
+Mr. Brooke's pen went off into a little speech which it had lately\r
+reported for that imperfectly edited organ the "Middlemarch Pioneer."\r
+While Mr. Brooke was sealing this letter, he felt elated with an influx\r
+of dim projects:--a young man capable of putting ideas into form, the\r
+"Pioneer" purchased to clear the pathway for a new candidate, documents\r
+utilized--who knew what might come of it all? Since Celia was going to\r
+marry immediately, it would be very pleasant to have a young fellow at\r
+table with him, at least for a time.\r
+\r
+But he went away without telling Dorothea what he had put into the\r
+letter, for she was engaged with her husband, and--in fact, these\r
+things were of no importance to her.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXI.\r
+\r
+ How will you know the pitch of that great bell\r
+ Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute\r
+ Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal listen close\r
+ Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill.\r
+ Then shall the huge bell tremble--then the mass\r
+ With myriad waves concurrent shall respond\r
+ In low soft unison.\r
+\r
+\r
+Lydgate that evening spoke to Miss Vincy of Mrs. Casaubon, and laid\r
+some emphasis on the strong feeling she appeared to have for that\r
+formal studious man thirty years older than herself.\r
+\r
+"Of course she is devoted to her husband," said Rosamond, implying a\r
+notion of necessary sequence which the scientific man regarded as the\r
+prettiest possible for a woman; but she was thinking at the same time\r
+that it was not so very melancholy to be mistress of Lowick Manor with\r
+a husband likely to die soon. "Do you think her very handsome?"\r
+\r
+"She certainly is handsome, but I have not thought about it," said\r
+Lydgate.\r
+\r
+"I suppose it would be unprofessional," said Rosamond, dimpling. "But\r
+how your practice is spreading! You were called in before to the\r
+Chettams, I think; and now, the Casaubons."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Lydgate, in a tone of compulsory admission. "But I don't\r
+really like attending such people so well as the poor. The cases are\r
+more monotonous, and one has to go through more fuss and listen more\r
+deferentially to nonsense."\r
+\r
+"Not more than in Middlemarch," said Rosamond. "And at least you go\r
+through wide corridors and have the scent of rose-leaves everywhere."\r
+\r
+"That is true, Mademoiselle de Montmorenci," said Lydgate, just bending\r
+his head to the table and lifting with his fourth finger her delicate\r
+handkerchief which lay at the mouth of her reticule, as if to enjoy its\r
+scent, while he looked at her with a smile.\r
+\r
+But this agreeable holiday freedom with which Lydgate hovered about the\r
+flower of Middlemarch, could not continue indefinitely. It was not\r
+more possible to find social isolation in that town than elsewhere, and\r
+two people persistently flirting could by no means escape from "the\r
+various entanglements, weights, blows, clashings, motions, by which\r
+things severally go on." Whatever Miss Vincy did must be remarked, and\r
+she was perhaps the more conspicuous to admirers and critics because\r
+just now Mrs. Vincy, after some struggle, had gone with Fred to stay a\r
+little while at Stone Court, there being no other way of at once\r
+gratifying old Featherstone and keeping watch against Mary Garth, who\r
+appeared a less tolerable daughter-in-law in proportion as Fred's\r
+illness disappeared.\r
+\r
+Aunt Bulstrode, for example, came a little oftener into Lowick Gate to\r
+see Rosamond, now she was alone. For Mrs. Bulstrode had a true\r
+sisterly feeling for her brother; always thinking that he might have\r
+married better, but wishing well to the children. Now Mrs. Bulstrode\r
+had a long-standing intimacy with Mrs. Plymdale. They had nearly the\r
+same preferences in silks, patterns for underclothing, china-ware, and\r
+clergymen; they confided their little troubles of health and household\r
+management to each other, and various little points of superiority on\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode's side, namely, more decided seriousness, more\r
+admiration for mind, and a house outside the town, sometimes served to\r
+give color to their conversation without dividing them--well-meaning\r
+women both, knowing very little of their own motives.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode, paying a morning visit to Mrs. Plymdale, happened to\r
+say that she could not stay longer, because she was going to see poor\r
+Rosamond.\r
+\r
+"Why do you say 'poor Rosamond'?" said Mrs. Plymdale, a round-eyed\r
+sharp little woman, like a tamed falcon.\r
+\r
+"She is so pretty, and has been brought up in such thoughtlessness.\r
+The mother, you know, had always that levity about her, which makes me\r
+anxious for the children."\r
+\r
+"Well, Harriet, if I am to speak my mind," said Mrs. Plymdale, with\r
+emphasis, "I must say, anybody would suppose you and Mr. Bulstrode\r
+would be delighted with what has happened, for you have done everything\r
+to put Mr. Lydgate forward."\r
+\r
+"Selina, what do you mean?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, in genuine surprise.\r
+\r
+"Not but what I am truly thankful for Ned's sake," said Mrs. Plymdale.\r
+"He could certainly better afford to keep such a wife than some people\r
+can; but I should wish him to look elsewhere. Still a mother has\r
+anxieties, and some young men would take to a bad life in consequence.\r
+Besides, if I was obliged to speak, I should say I was not fond of\r
+strangers coming into a town."\r
+\r
+"I don't know, Selina," said Mrs. Bulstrode, with a little emphasis in\r
+her turn. "Mr. Bulstrode was a stranger here at one time. Abraham and\r
+Moses were strangers in the land, and we are told to entertain\r
+strangers. And especially," she added, after a slight pause, "when\r
+they are unexceptionable."\r
+\r
+"I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet. I spoke as a\r
+mother."\r
+\r
+"Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say anything against a niece\r
+of mine marrying your son."\r
+\r
+"Oh, it is pride in Miss Vincy--I am sure it is nothing else," said\r
+Mrs. Plymdale, who had never before given all her confidence to\r
+"Harriet" on this subject. "No young man in Middlemarch was good\r
+enough for her: I have heard her mother say as much. That is not a\r
+Christian spirit, I think. But now, from all I hear, she has found a\r
+man as proud as herself."\r
+\r
+"You don't mean that there is anything between Rosamond and Mr.\r
+Lydgate?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, rather mortified at finding out her own\r
+ignorance.\r
+\r
+"Is it possible you don't know, Harriet?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I really never\r
+hear any. You see so many people that I don't see. Your circle is\r
+rather different from ours."\r
+\r
+"Well, but your own niece and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite--and\r
+yours too, I am sure, Harriet! I thought, at one time, you meant him\r
+for Kate, when she is a little older."\r
+\r
+"I don't believe there can be anything serious at present," said Mrs.\r
+Bulstrode. "My brother would certainly have told me."\r
+\r
+"Well, people have different ways, but I understand that nobody can see\r
+Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate together without taking them to be engaged.\r
+However, it is not my business. Shall I put up the pattern of mittens?"\r
+\r
+After this Mrs. Bulstrode drove to her niece with a mind newly\r
+weighted. She was herself handsomely dressed, but she noticed with a\r
+little more regret than usual that Rosamond, who was just come in and\r
+met her in walking-dress, was almost as expensively equipped. Mrs.\r
+Bulstrode was a feminine smaller edition of her brother, and had none\r
+of her husband's low-toned pallor. She had a good honest glance and\r
+used no circumlocution.\r
+\r
+"You are alone, I see, my dear," she said, as they entered the\r
+drawing-room together, looking round gravely. Rosamond felt sure that\r
+her aunt had something particular to say, and they sat down near each\r
+other. Nevertheless, the quilling inside Rosamond's bonnet was so\r
+charming that it was impossible not to desire the same kind of thing\r
+for Kate, and Mrs. Bulstrode's eyes, which were rather fine, rolled\r
+round that ample quilled circuit, while she spoke.\r
+\r
+"I have just heard something about you that has surprised me very much,\r
+Rosamond."\r
+\r
+"What is that, aunt?" Rosamond's eyes also were roaming over her\r
+aunt's large embroidered collar.\r
+\r
+"I can hardly believe it--that you should be engaged without my knowing\r
+it--without your father's telling me." Here Mrs. Bulstrode's eyes\r
+finally rested on Rosamond's, who blushed deeply, and said--\r
+\r
+"I am not engaged, aunt."\r
+\r
+"How is it that every one says so, then--that it is the town's talk?"\r
+\r
+"The town's talk is of very little consequence, I think," said\r
+Rosamond, inwardly gratified.\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, be more thoughtful; don't despise your neighbors so.\r
+Remember you are turned twenty-two now, and you will have no fortune:\r
+your father, I am sure, will not be able to spare you anything. Mr.\r
+Lydgate is very intellectual and clever; I know there is an attraction\r
+in that. I like talking to such men myself; and your uncle finds him\r
+very useful. But the profession is a poor one here. To be sure, this\r
+life is not everything; but it is seldom a medical man has true\r
+religious views--there is too much pride of intellect. And you are not\r
+fit to marry a poor man.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate is not a poor man, aunt. He has very high connections."\r
+\r
+"He told me himself he was poor."\r
+\r
+"That is because he is used to people who have a high style of living."\r
+\r
+"My dear Rosamond, _you_ must not think of living in high style."\r
+\r
+Rosamond looked down and played with her reticule. She was not a fiery\r
+young lady and had no sharp answers, but she meant to live as she\r
+pleased.\r
+\r
+"Then it is really true?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking very earnestly\r
+at her niece. "You are thinking of Mr. Lydgate--there is some\r
+understanding between you, though your father doesn't know. Be open,\r
+my dear Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate has really made you an offer?"\r
+\r
+Poor Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. She had been quite easy\r
+as to Lydgate's feeling and intention, but now when her aunt put this\r
+question she did not like being unable to say Yes. Her pride was hurt,\r
+but her habitual control of manner helped her.\r
+\r
+"Pray excuse me, aunt. I would rather not speak on the subject."\r
+\r
+"You would not give your heart to a man without a decided prospect, I\r
+trust, my dear. And think of the two excellent offers I know of that\r
+you have refused!--and one still within your reach, if you will not\r
+throw it away. I knew a very great beauty who married badly at last,\r
+by doing so. Mr. Ned Plymdale is a nice young man--some might think\r
+good-looking; and an only son; and a large business of that kind is\r
+better than a profession. Not that marrying is everything. I would\r
+have you seek first the kingdom of God. But a girl should keep her\r
+heart within her own power."\r
+\r
+"I should never give it to Mr. Ned Plymdale, if it were. I have\r
+already refused him. If I loved, I should love at once and without\r
+change," said Rosamond, with a great sense of being a romantic heroine,\r
+and playing the part prettily.\r
+\r
+"I see how it is, my dear," said Mrs. Bulstrode, in a melancholy voice,\r
+rising to go. "You have allowed your affections to be engaged without\r
+return."\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, aunt," said Rosamond, with emphasis.\r
+\r
+"Then you are quite confident that Mr. Lydgate has a serious attachment\r
+to you?"\r
+\r
+Rosamond's cheeks by this time were persistently burning, and she felt\r
+much mortification. She chose to be silent, and her aunt went away all\r
+the more convinced.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do what\r
+his wife bade him, and she now, without telling her reasons, desired\r
+him on the next opportunity to find out in conversation with Mr.\r
+Lydgate whether he had any intention of marrying soon. The result was\r
+a decided negative. Mr. Bulstrode, on being cross-questioned, showed\r
+that Lydgate had spoken as no man would who had any attachment that\r
+could issue in matrimony. Mrs. Bulstrode now felt that she had a\r
+serious duty before her, and she soon managed to arrange a tete-a-tete\r
+with Lydgate, in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy's\r
+health, and expressions of her sincere anxiety for her brother's large\r
+family, to general remarks on the dangers which lay before young people\r
+with regard to their settlement in life. Young men were often wild and\r
+disappointing, making little return for the money spent on them, and a\r
+girl was exposed to many circumstances which might interfere with her\r
+prospects.\r
+\r
+"Especially when she has great attractions, and her parents see much\r
+company," said Mrs. Bulstrode "Gentlemen pay her attention, and engross\r
+her all to themselves, for the mere pleasure of the moment, and that\r
+drives off others. I think it is a heavy responsibility, Mr. Lydgate,\r
+to interfere with the prospects of any girl." Here Mrs. Bulstrode fixed\r
+her eyes on him, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, if not of\r
+rebuke.\r
+\r
+"Clearly," said Lydgate, looking at her--perhaps even staring a little\r
+in return. "On the other hand, a man must be a great coxcomb to go\r
+about with a notion that he must not pay attention to a young lady lest\r
+she should fall in love with him, or lest others should think she must."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Mr. Lydgate, you know well what your advantages are. You know\r
+that our young men here cannot cope with you. Where you frequent a\r
+house it may militate very much against a girl's making a desirable\r
+settlement in life, and prevent her from accepting offers even if they\r
+are made."\r
+\r
+Lydgate was less flattered by his advantage over the Middlemarch\r
+Orlandos than he was annoyed by the perception of Mrs. Bulstrode's\r
+meaning. She felt that she had spoken as impressively as it was\r
+necessary to do, and that in using the superior word "militate" she had\r
+thrown a noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were still\r
+evident enough.\r
+\r
+Lydgate was fuming a little, pushed his hair back with one hand, felt\r
+curiously in his waistcoat-pocket with the other, and then stooped to\r
+beckon the tiny black spaniel, which had the insight to decline his\r
+hollow caresses. It would not have been decent to go away, because he\r
+had been dining with other guests, and had just taken tea. But Mrs.\r
+Bulstrode, having no doubt that she had been understood, turned the\r
+conversation.\r
+\r
+Solomon's Proverbs, I think, have omitted to say, that as the sore\r
+palate findeth grit, so an uneasy consciousness heareth innuendoes.\r
+The next day Mr. Farebrother, parting from Lydgate in the street,\r
+supposed that they should meet at Vincy's in the evening. Lydgate\r
+answered curtly, no--he had work to do--he must give up going out in\r
+the evening.\r
+\r
+"What! you are going to get lashed to the mast, eh, and are stopping\r
+your ears?" said the Vicar. "Well, if you don't mean to be won by the\r
+sirens, you are right to take precautions in time."\r
+\r
+A few days before, Lydgate would have taken no notice of these words as\r
+anything more than the Vicar's usual way of putting things. They\r
+seemed now to convey an innuendo which confirmed the impression that he\r
+had been making a fool of himself and behaving so as to be\r
+misunderstood: not, he believed, by Rosamond herself; she, he felt\r
+sure, took everything as lightly as he intended it. She had an\r
+exquisite tact and insight in relation to all points of manners; but\r
+the people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies. However,\r
+the mistake should go no farther. He resolved--and kept his\r
+resolution--that he would not go to Mr. Vincy's except on business.\r
+\r
+Rosamond became very unhappy. The uneasiness first stirred by her\r
+aunt's questions grew and grew till at the end of ten days that she had\r
+not seen Lydgate, it grew into terror at the blank that might possibly\r
+come--into foreboding of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply\r
+wipes out the hopes of mortals. The world would have a new dreariness\r
+for her, as a wilderness that a magician's spells had turned for a\r
+little while into a garden. She felt that she was beginning to know\r
+the pang of disappointed love, and that no other man could be the\r
+occasion of such delightful aerial building as she had been enjoying\r
+for the last six months. Poor Rosamond lost her appetite and felt as\r
+forlorn as Ariadne--as a charming stage Ariadne left behind with all\r
+her boxes full of costumes and no hope of a coach.\r
+\r
+There are many wonderful mixtures in the world which are all alike\r
+called love, and claim the privileges of a sublime rage which is an\r
+apology for everything (in literature and the drama). Happily Rosamond\r
+did not think of committing any desperate act: she plaited her fair\r
+hair as beautifully as usual, and kept herself proudly calm. Her most\r
+cheerful supposition was that her aunt Bulstrode had interfered in some\r
+way to hinder Lydgate's visits: everything was better than a\r
+spontaneous indifference in him. Any one who imagines ten days too\r
+short a time--not for falling into leanness, lightness, or other\r
+measurable effects of passion, but--for the whole spiritual circuit of\r
+alarmed conjecture and disappointment, is ignorant of what can go on in\r
+the elegant leisure of a young lady's mind.\r
+\r
+On the eleventh day, however, Lydgate when leaving Stone Court was\r
+requested by Mrs. Vincy to let her husband know that there was a marked\r
+change in Mr. Featherstone's health, and that she wished him to come to\r
+Stone Court on that day. Now Lydgate might have called at the\r
+warehouse, or might have written a message on a leaf of his pocket-book\r
+and left it at the door. Yet these simple devices apparently did not\r
+occur to him, from which we may conclude that he had no strong\r
+objection to calling at the house at an hour when Mr. Vincy was not at\r
+home, and leaving the message with Miss Vincy. A man may, from various\r
+motives, decline to give his company, but perhaps not even a sage would\r
+be gratified that nobody missed him. It would be a graceful, easy way\r
+of piecing on the new habits to the old, to have a few playful words\r
+with Rosamond about his resistance to dissipation, and his firm resolve\r
+to take long fasts even from sweet sounds. It must be confessed, also,\r
+that momentary speculations as to all the possible grounds for Mrs.\r
+Bulstrode's hints had managed to get woven like slight clinging hairs\r
+into the more substantial web of his thoughts.\r
+\r
+Miss Vincy was alone, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in that\r
+he felt a corresponding embarrassment, and instead of any playfulness,\r
+he began at once to speak of his reason for calling, and to beg her,\r
+almost formally, to deliver the message to her father. Rosamond, who\r
+at the first moment felt as if her happiness were returning, was keenly\r
+hurt by Lydgate's manner; her blush had departed, and she assented\r
+coldly, without adding an unnecessary word, some trivial chain-work\r
+which she had in her hands enabling her to avoid looking at Lydgate\r
+higher than his chin. In all failures, the beginning is certainly the\r
+half of the whole. After sitting two long moments while he moved his\r
+whip and could say nothing, Lydgate rose to go, and Rosamond, made\r
+nervous by her struggle between mortification and the wish not to\r
+betray it, dropped her chain as if startled, and rose too,\r
+mechanically. Lydgate instantaneously stooped to pick up the chain.\r
+When he rose he was very near to a lovely little face set on a fair\r
+long neck which he had been used to see turning about under the most\r
+perfect management of self-contented grace. But as he raised his eyes\r
+now he saw a certain helpless quivering which touched him quite newly,\r
+and made him look at Rosamond with a questioning flash. At this moment\r
+she was as natural as she had ever been when she was five years old:\r
+she felt that her tears had risen, and it was no use to try to do\r
+anything else than let them stay like water on a blue flower or let\r
+them fall over her cheeks, even as they would.\r
+\r
+That moment of naturalness was the crystallizing feather-touch: it\r
+shook flirtation into love. Remember that the ambitious man who was\r
+looking at those Forget-me-nots under the water was very warm-hearted\r
+and rash. He did not know where the chain went; an idea had thrilled\r
+through the recesses within him which had a miraculous effect in\r
+raising the power of passionate love lying buried there in no sealed\r
+sepulchre, but under the lightest, easily pierced mould. His words\r
+were quite abrupt and awkward; but the tone made them sound like an\r
+ardent, appealing avowal.\r
+\r
+"What is the matter? you are distressed. Tell me, pray."\r
+\r
+Rosamond had never been spoken to in such tones before. I am not sure\r
+that she knew what the words were: but she looked at Lydgate and the\r
+tears fell over her cheeks. There could have been no more complete\r
+answer than that silence, and Lydgate, forgetting everything else,\r
+completely mastered by the outrush of tenderness at the sudden belief\r
+that this sweet young creature depended on him for her joy, actually\r
+put his arms round her, folding her gently and protectingly--he was\r
+used to being gentle with the weak and suffering--and kissed each of\r
+the two large tears. This was a strange way of arriving at an\r
+understanding, but it was a short way. Rosamond was not angry, but she\r
+moved backward a little in timid happiness, and Lydgate could now sit\r
+near her and speak less incompletely. Rosamond had to make her little\r
+confession, and he poured out words of gratitude and tenderness with\r
+impulsive lavishment. In half an hour he left the house an engaged\r
+man, whose soul was not his own, but the woman's to whom he had bound\r
+himself.\r
+\r
+He came again in the evening to speak with Mr. Vincy, who, just\r
+returned from Stone Court, was feeling sure that it would not be long\r
+before he heard of Mr. Featherstone's demise. The felicitous word\r
+"demise," which had seasonably occurred to him, had raised his spirits\r
+even above their usual evening pitch. The right word is always a\r
+power, and communicates its definiteness to our action. Considered as\r
+a demise, old Featherstone's death assumed a merely legal aspect, so\r
+that Mr. Vincy could tap his snuff-box over it and be jovial, without\r
+even an intermittent affectation of solemnity; and Mr. Vincy hated both\r
+solemnity and affectation. Who was ever awe struck about a testator,\r
+or sang a hymn on the title to real property? Mr. Vincy was inclined\r
+to take a jovial view of all things that evening: he even observed to\r
+Lydgate that Fred had got the family constitution after all, and would\r
+soon be as fine a fellow as ever again; and when his approbation of\r
+Rosamond's engagement was asked for, he gave it with astonishing\r
+facility, passing at once to general remarks on the desirableness of\r
+matrimony for young men and maidens, and apparently deducing from the\r
+whole the appropriateness of a little more punch.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXII.\r
+\r
+ "They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk."\r
+ --SHAKESPEARE: Tempest.\r
+\r
+\r
+The triumphant confidence of the Mayor founded on Mr. Featherstone's\r
+insistent demand that Fred and his mother should not leave him, was a\r
+feeble emotion compared with all that was agitating the breasts of the\r
+old man's blood-relations, who naturally manifested more their sense of\r
+the family tie and were more visibly numerous now that he had become\r
+bedridden. Naturally: for when "poor Peter" had occupied his arm-chair\r
+in the wainscoted parlor, no assiduous beetles for whom the cook\r
+prepares boiling water could have been less welcome on a hearth which\r
+they had reasons for preferring, than those persons whose Featherstone\r
+blood was ill-nourished, not from penuriousness on their part, but from\r
+poverty. Brother Solomon and Sister Jane were rich, and the family\r
+candor and total abstinence from false politeness with which they were\r
+always received seemed to them no argument that their brother in the\r
+solemn act of making his will would overlook the superior claims of\r
+wealth. Themselves at least he had never been unnatural enough to\r
+banish from his house, and it seemed hardly eccentric that he should\r
+have kept away Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and the rest, who had no\r
+shadow of such claims. They knew Peter's maxim, that money was a good\r
+egg, and should be laid in a warm nest.\r
+\r
+But Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and all the needy exiles, held a\r
+different point of view. Probabilities are as various as the faces to\r
+be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form is there,\r
+from Jupiter to Judy, if you only look with creative inclination. To\r
+the poorer and least favored it seemed likely that since Peter had done\r
+nothing for them in his life, he would remember them at the last.\r
+Jonah argued that men liked to make a surprise of their wills, while\r
+Martha said that nobody need be surprised if he left the best part of\r
+his money to those who least expected it. Also it was not to be\r
+thought but that an own brother "lying there" with dropsy in his legs\r
+must come to feel that blood was thicker than water, and if he didn't\r
+alter his will, he might have money by him. At any rate some\r
+blood-relations should be on the premises and on the watch against\r
+those who were hardly relations at all. Such things had been known as\r
+forged wills and disputed wills, which seemed to have the golden-hazy\r
+advantage of somehow enabling non-legatees to live out of them. Again,\r
+those who were no blood-relations might be caught making away with\r
+things--and poor Peter "lying there" helpless! Somebody should be on\r
+the watch. But in this conclusion they were at one with Solomon and\r
+Jane; also, some nephews, nieces, and cousins, arguing with still\r
+greater subtilty as to what might be done by a man able to "will away"\r
+his property and give himself large treats of oddity, felt in a\r
+handsome sort of way that there was a family interest to be attended\r
+to, and thought of Stone Court as a place which it would be nothing but\r
+right for them to visit. Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs. Cranch, living\r
+with some wheeziness in the Chalky Flats, could not undertake the\r
+journey; but her son, as being poor Peter's own nephew, could represent\r
+her advantageously, and watch lest his uncle Jonah should make an\r
+unfair use of the improbable things which seemed likely to happen. In\r
+fact there was a general sense running in the Featherstone blood that\r
+everybody must watch everybody else, and that it would be well for\r
+everybody else to reflect that the Almighty was watching him.\r
+\r
+Thus Stone Court continually saw one or other blood-relation alighting\r
+or departing, and Mary Garth had the unpleasant task of carrying their\r
+messages to Mr. Featherstone, who would see none of them, and sent her\r
+down with the still more unpleasant task of telling them so. As\r
+manager of the household she felt bound to ask them in good provincial\r
+fashion to stay and eat; but she chose to consult Mrs. Vincy on the\r
+point of extra down-stairs consumption now that Mr. Featherstone was\r
+laid up.\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, you must do things handsomely where there's last illness\r
+and a property. God knows, I don't grudge them every ham in the\r
+house--only, save the best for the funeral. Have some stuffed veal\r
+always, and a fine cheese in cut. You must expect to keep open house\r
+in these last illnesses," said liberal Mrs. Vincy, once more of\r
+cheerful note and bright plumage.\r
+\r
+But some of the visitors alighted and did not depart after the handsome\r
+treating to veal and ham. Brother Jonah, for example (there are such\r
+unpleasant people in most families; perhaps even in the highest\r
+aristocracy there are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt and\r
+bloated at greater expense)--Brother Jonah, I say, having come down in\r
+the world, was mainly supported by a calling which he was modest enough\r
+not to boast of, though it was much better than swindling either on\r
+exchange or turf, but which did not require his presence at Brassing so\r
+long as he had a good corner to sit in and a supply of food. He chose\r
+the kitchen-corner, partly because he liked it best, and partly because\r
+he did not want to sit with Solomon, concerning whom he had a strong\r
+brotherly opinion. Seated in a famous arm-chair and in his best suit,\r
+constantly within sight of good cheer, he had a comfortable\r
+consciousness of being on the premises, mingled with fleeting\r
+suggestions of Sunday and the bar at the Green Man; and he informed\r
+Mary Garth that he should not go out of reach of his brother Peter\r
+while that poor fellow was above ground. The troublesome ones in a\r
+family are usually either the wits or the idiots. Jonah was the wit\r
+among the Featherstones, and joked with the maid-servants when they\r
+came about the hearth, but seemed to consider Miss Garth a suspicious\r
+character, and followed her with cold eyes.\r
+\r
+Mary would have borne this one pair of eyes with comparative ease, but\r
+unfortunately there was young Cranch, who, having come all the way from\r
+the Chalky Flats to represent his mother and watch his uncle Jonah,\r
+also felt it his duty to stay and to sit chiefly in the kitchen to give\r
+his uncle company. Young Cranch was not exactly the balancing point\r
+between the wit and the idiot,--verging slightly towards the latter\r
+type, and squinting so as to leave everything in doubt about his\r
+sentiments except that they were not of a forcible character. When\r
+Mary Garth entered the kitchen and Mr. Jonah Featherstone began to\r
+follow her with his cold detective eyes, young Cranch turning his head\r
+in the same direction seemed to insist on it that she should remark how\r
+he was squinting, as if he did it with design, like the gypsies when\r
+Borrow read the New Testament to them. This was rather too much for\r
+poor Mary; sometimes it made her bilious, sometimes it upset her\r
+gravity. One day that she had an opportunity she could not resist\r
+describing the kitchen scene to Fred, who would not be hindered from\r
+immediately going to see it, affecting simply to pass through. But no\r
+sooner did he face the four eyes than he had to rush through the\r
+nearest door which happened to lead to the dairy, and there under the\r
+high roof and among the pans he gave way to laughter which made a\r
+hollow resonance perfectly audible in the kitchen. He fled by another\r
+doorway, but Mr. Jonah, who had not before seen Fred's white\r
+complexion, long legs, and pinched delicacy of face, prepared many\r
+sarcasms in which these points of appearance were wittily combined with\r
+the lowest moral attributes.\r
+\r
+"Why, Tom, _you_ don't wear such gentlemanly trousers--you haven't got\r
+half such fine long legs," said Jonah to his nephew, winking at the\r
+same time, to imply that there was something more in these statements\r
+than their undeniableness. Tom looked at his legs, but left it\r
+uncertain whether he preferred his moral advantages to a more vicious\r
+length of limb and reprehensible gentility of trouser.\r
+\r
+In the large wainscoted parlor too there were constantly pairs of eyes\r
+on the watch, and own relatives eager to be "sitters-up." Many came,\r
+lunched, and departed, but Brother Solomon and the lady who had been\r
+Jane Featherstone for twenty-five years before she was Mrs. Waule found\r
+it good to be there every day for hours, without other calculable\r
+occupation than that of observing the cunning Mary Garth (who was so\r
+deep that she could be found out in nothing) and giving occasional dry\r
+wrinkly indications of crying--as if capable of torrents in a wetter\r
+season--at the thought that they were not allowed to go into Mr.\r
+Featherstone's room. For the old man's dislike of his own family\r
+seemed to get stronger as he got less able to amuse himself by saying\r
+biting things to them. Too languid to sting, he had the more venom\r
+refluent in his blood.\r
+\r
+Not fully believing the message sent through Mary Garth, they had\r
+presented themselves together within the door of the bedroom, both in\r
+black--Mrs. Waule having a white handkerchief partially unfolded in her\r
+hand--and both with faces in a sort of half-mourning purple; while Mrs.\r
+Vincy with her pink cheeks and pink ribbons flying was actually\r
+administering a cordial to their own brother, and the\r
+light-complexioned Fred, his short hair curling as might be expected in\r
+a gambler's, was lolling at his ease in a large chair.\r
+\r
+Old Featherstone no sooner caught sight of these funereal figures\r
+appearing in spite of his orders than rage came to strengthen him more\r
+successfully than the cordial. He was propped up on a bed-rest, and\r
+always had his gold-headed stick lying by him. He seized it now and\r
+swept it backwards and forwards in as large an area as he could,\r
+apparently to ban these ugly spectres, crying in a hoarse sort of\r
+screech--\r
+\r
+"Back, back, Mrs. Waule! Back, Solomon!"\r
+\r
+"Oh, Brother. Peter," Mrs. Waule began--but Solomon put his hand\r
+before her repressingly. He was a large-cheeked man, nearly seventy,\r
+with small furtive eyes, and was not only of much blander temper but\r
+thought himself much deeper than his brother Peter; indeed not likely\r
+to be deceived in any of his fellow-men, inasmuch as they could not\r
+well be more greedy and deceitful than he suspected them of being.\r
+Even the invisible powers, he thought, were likely to be soothed by a\r
+bland parenthesis here and there--coming from a man of property, who\r
+might have been as impious as others.\r
+\r
+"Brother Peter," he said, in a wheedling yet gravely official tone,\r
+"It's nothing but right I should speak to you about the Three Crofts\r
+and the Manganese. The Almighty knows what I've got on my mind--"\r
+\r
+"Then he knows more than I want to know," said Peter, laying down his\r
+stick with a show of truce which had a threat in it too, for he\r
+reversed the stick so as to make the gold handle a club in case of\r
+closer fighting, and looked hard at Solomon's bald head.\r
+\r
+"There's things you might repent of, Brother, for want of speaking to\r
+me," said Solomon, not advancing, however. "I could sit up with you\r
+to-night, and Jane with me, willingly, and you might take your own time\r
+to speak, or let me speak."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I shall take my own time--you needn't offer me yours," said Peter.\r
+\r
+"But you can't take your own time to die in, Brother," began Mrs.\r
+Waule, with her usual woolly tone. "And when you lie speechless you\r
+may be tired of having strangers about you, and you may think of me and\r
+my children"--but here her voice broke under the touching thought which\r
+she was attributing to her speechless brother; the mention of ourselves\r
+being naturally affecting.\r
+\r
+"No, I shan't," said old Featherstone, contradictiously. "I shan't\r
+think of any of you. I've made my will, I tell you, I've made my\r
+will." Here he turned his head towards Mrs. Vincy, and swallowed some\r
+more of his cordial.\r
+\r
+"Some people would be ashamed to fill up a place belonging by rights to\r
+others," said Mrs. Waule, turning her narrow eyes in the same direction.\r
+\r
+"Oh, sister," said Solomon, with ironical softness, "you and me are not\r
+fine, and handsome, and clever enough: we must be humble and let smart\r
+people push themselves before us."\r
+\r
+Fred's spirit could not bear this: rising and looking at Mr.\r
+Featherstone, he said, "Shall my mother and I leave the room, sir, that\r
+you may be alone with your friends?"\r
+\r
+"Sit down, I tell you," said old Featherstone, snappishly. "Stop where\r
+you are. Good-by, Solomon," he added, trying to wield his stick again,\r
+but failing now that he had reversed the handle. "Good-by, Mrs. Waule.\r
+Don't you come again."\r
+\r
+"I shall be down-stairs, Brother, whether or no," said Solomon. "I\r
+shall do my duty, and it remains to be seen what the Almighty will\r
+allow."\r
+\r
+"Yes, in property going out of families," said Mrs. Waule, in\r
+continuation,--"and where there's steady young men to carry on. But I\r
+pity them who are not such, and I pity their mothers. Good-by, Brother\r
+Peter."\r
+\r
+"Remember, I'm the eldest after you, Brother, and prospered from the\r
+first, just as you did, and have got land already by the name of\r
+Featherstone," said Solomon, relying much on that reflection, as one\r
+which might be suggested in the watches of the night. "But I bid you\r
+good-by for the present."\r
+\r
+Their exit was hastened by their seeing old Mr. Featherstone pull his\r
+wig on each side and shut his eyes with his mouth-widening grimace, as\r
+if he were determined to be deaf and blind.\r
+\r
+None the less they came to Stone Court daily and sat below at the post\r
+of duty, sometimes carrying on a slow dialogue in an undertone in which\r
+the observation and response were so far apart, that any one hearing\r
+them might have imagined himself listening to speaking automata, in\r
+some doubt whether the ingenious mechanism would really work, or wind\r
+itself up for a long time in order to stick and be silent. Solomon and\r
+Jane would have been sorry to be quick: what that led to might be seen\r
+on the other side of the wall in the person of Brother Jonah.\r
+\r
+But their watch in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the\r
+presence of other guests from far or near. Now that Peter Featherstone\r
+was up-stairs, his property could be discussed with all that local\r
+enlightenment to be found on the spot: some rural and Middlemarch\r
+neighbors expressed much agreement with the family and sympathy with\r
+their interest against the Vincys, and feminine visitors were even\r
+moved to tears, in conversation with Mrs. Waule, when they recalled the\r
+fact that they themselves had been disappointed in times past by\r
+codicils and marriages for spite on the part of ungrateful elderly\r
+gentlemen, who, it might have been supposed, had been spared for\r
+something better. Such conversation paused suddenly, like an organ\r
+when the bellows are let drop, if Mary Garth came into the room; and\r
+all eyes were turned on her as a possible legatee, or one who might get\r
+access to iron chests.\r
+\r
+But the younger men who were relatives or connections of the family,\r
+were disposed to admire her in this problematic light, as a girl who\r
+showed much conduct, and who among all the chances that were flying\r
+might turn out to be at least a moderate prize. Hence she had her\r
+share of compliments and polite attentions.\r
+\r
+Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, a distinguished bachelor and\r
+auctioneer of those parts, much concerned in the sale of land and\r
+cattle: a public character, indeed, whose name was seen on widely\r
+distributed placards, and who might reasonably be sorry for those who\r
+did not know of him. He was second cousin to Peter Featherstone, and\r
+had been treated by him with more amenity than any other relative,\r
+being useful in matters of business; and in that programme of his\r
+funeral which the old man had himself dictated, he had been named as a\r
+Bearer. There was no odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull--nothing\r
+more than a sincere sense of his own merit, which, he was aware, in\r
+case of rivalry might tell against competitors; so that if Peter\r
+Featherstone, who so far as he, Trumbull, was concerned, had\r
+behaved like as good a soul as ever breathed, should have done anything\r
+handsome by him, all he could say was, that he had never fished and\r
+fawned, but had advised him to the best of his experience, which now\r
+extended over twenty years from the time of his apprenticeship at\r
+fifteen, and was likely to yield a knowledge of no surreptitious kind.\r
+His admiration was far from being confined to himself, but was\r
+accustomed professionally as well as privately to delight in estimating\r
+things at a high rate. He was an amateur of superior phrases, and\r
+never used poor language without immediately correcting himself--which\r
+was fortunate, as he was rather loud, and given to predominate,\r
+standing or walking about frequently, pulling down his waistcoat with\r
+the air of a man who is very much of his own opinion, trimming himself\r
+rapidly with his fore-finger, and marking each new series in these\r
+movements by a busy play with his large seals. There was occasionally\r
+a little fierceness in his demeanor, but it was directed chiefly\r
+against false opinion, of which there is so much to correct in the\r
+world that a man of some reading and experience necessarily has his\r
+patience tried. He felt that the Featherstone family generally was of\r
+limited understanding, but being a man of the world and a public\r
+character, took everything as a matter of course, and even went to\r
+converse with Mr. Jonah and young Cranch in the kitchen, not doubting\r
+that he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questions\r
+concerning the Chalky Flats. If anybody had observed that Mr. Borthrop\r
+Trumbull, being an auctioneer, was bound to know the nature of\r
+everything, he would have smiled and trimmed himself silently with the\r
+sense that he came pretty near that. On the whole, in an auctioneering\r
+way, he was an honorable man, not ashamed of his business, and feeling\r
+that "the celebrated Peel, now Sir Robert," if introduced to him, would\r
+not fail to recognize his importance.\r
+\r
+"I don't mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of that ale,\r
+Miss Garth, if you will allow me," he said, coming into the parlor at\r
+half-past eleven, after having had the exceptional privilege of seeing\r
+old Featherstone, and standing with his back to the fire between Mrs.\r
+Waule and Solomon.\r
+\r
+"It's not necessary for you to go out;--let me ring the bell."\r
+\r
+"Thank you," said Mary, "I have an errand."\r
+\r
+"Well, Mr. Trumbull, you're highly favored," said Mrs. Waule.\r
+\r
+"What! seeing the old man?" said the auctioneer, playing with his seals\r
+dispassionately. "Ah, you see he has relied on me considerably." Here\r
+he pressed his lips together, and frowned meditatively.\r
+\r
+"Might anybody ask what their brother has been saying?" said Solomon,\r
+in a soft tone of humility, in which he had a sense of luxurious\r
+cunning, he being a rich man and not in need of it.\r
+\r
+"Oh yes, anybody may ask," said Mr. Trumbull, with loud and\r
+good-humored though cutting sarcasm. "Anybody may interrogate. Any\r
+one may give their remarks an interrogative turn," he continued, his\r
+sonorousness rising with his style. "This is constantly done by good\r
+speakers, even when they anticipate no answer. It is what we call a\r
+figure of speech--speech at a high figure, as one may say." The\r
+eloquent auctioneer smiled at his own ingenuity.\r
+\r
+"I shouldn't be sorry to hear he'd remembered you, Mr. Trumbull," said\r
+Solomon. "I never was against the deserving. It's the undeserving I'm\r
+against."\r
+\r
+"Ah, there it is, you see, there it is," said Mr. Trumbull,\r
+significantly. "It can't be denied that undeserving people have been\r
+legatees, and even residuary legatees. It is so, with testamentary\r
+dispositions." Again he pursed up his lips and frowned a little.\r
+\r
+"Do you mean to say for certain, Mr. Trumbull, that my brother has left\r
+his land away from our family?" said Mrs. Waule, on whom, as an\r
+unhopeful woman, those long words had a depressing effect.\r
+\r
+"A man might as well turn his land into charity land at once as leave\r
+it to some people," observed Solomon, his sister's question having\r
+drawn no answer.\r
+\r
+"What, Blue-Coat land?" said Mrs. Waule, again. "Oh, Mr. Trumbull, you\r
+never can mean to say that. It would be flying in the face of the\r
+Almighty that's prospered him."\r
+\r
+While Mrs. Waule was speaking, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull walked away from\r
+the fireplace towards the window, patrolling with his fore-finger round\r
+the inside of his stock, then along his whiskers and the curves of his\r
+hair. He now walked to Miss Garth's work-table, opened a book which\r
+lay there and read the title aloud with pompous emphasis as if he were\r
+offering it for sale:\r
+\r
+"'Anne of Geierstein' (pronounced Jeersteen) or the 'Maiden of the\r
+Mist, by the author of Waverley.'" Then turning the page, he began\r
+sonorously--"The course of four centuries has well-nigh elapsed since\r
+the series of events which are related in the following chapters took\r
+place on the Continent." He pronounced the last truly admirable word\r
+with the accent on the last syllable, not as unaware of vulgar usage,\r
+but feeling that this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which\r
+his reading had given to the whole.\r
+\r
+And now the servant came in with the tray, so that the moments for\r
+answering Mrs. Waule's question had gone by safely, while she and\r
+Solomon, watching Mr. Trumbull's movements, were thinking that high\r
+learning interfered sadly with serious affairs. Mr. Borthrop Trumbull\r
+really knew nothing about old Featherstone's will; but he could hardly\r
+have been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had been arrested\r
+for misprision of treason.\r
+\r
+"I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale," he said,\r
+reassuringly. "As a man with public business, I take a snack when I\r
+can. I will back this ham," he added, after swallowing some morsels\r
+with alarming haste, "against any ham in the three kingdoms. In my\r
+opinion it is better than the hams at Freshitt Hall--and I think I am\r
+a tolerable judge."\r
+\r
+"Some don't like so much sugar in their hams," said Mrs. Waule. "But\r
+my poor brother would always have sugar."\r
+\r
+"If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, God\r
+bless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy in that quality, I\r
+know. There is some gratification to a gentleman"--here Mr.\r
+Trumbull's voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance--"in having this\r
+kind of ham set on his table."\r
+\r
+He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew his\r
+chair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the inner\r
+side of his legs, which he stroked approvingly--Mr. Trumbull having\r
+all those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the\r
+predominant races of the north.\r
+\r
+"You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth," he observed,\r
+when Mary re-entered. "It is by the author of 'Waverley': that is Sir\r
+Walter Scott. I have bought one of his works myself--a very nice\r
+thing, a very superior publication, entitled 'Ivanhoe.' You will not\r
+get any writer to beat him in a hurry, I think--he will not, in my\r
+opinion, be speedily surpassed. I have just been reading a portion at\r
+the commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen.' It commences well." (Things\r
+never began with Mr. Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both in\r
+private life and on his handbills.) "You are a reader, I see. Do you\r
+subscribe to our Middlemarch library?"\r
+\r
+"No," said Mary. "Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book."\r
+\r
+"I am a great bookman myself," returned Mr. Trumbull. "I have no less\r
+than two hundred volumes in calf, and I flatter myself they are well\r
+selected. Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck,\r
+and others. I shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention,\r
+Miss Garth."\r
+\r
+"I am much obliged," said Mary, hastening away again, "but I have\r
+little time for reading."\r
+\r
+"I should say my brother has done something for _her_ in his will,"\r
+said Mr. Solomon, in a very low undertone, when she had shut the door\r
+behind her, pointing with his head towards the absent Mary.\r
+\r
+"His first wife was a poor match for him, though," said Mrs. Waule.\r
+"She brought him nothing: and this young woman is only her niece,--and\r
+very proud. And my brother has always paid her wage."\r
+\r
+"A sensible girl though, in my opinion," said Mr. Trumbull, finishing\r
+his ale and starting up with an emphatic adjustment of his waistcoat.\r
+"I have observed her when she has been mixing medicine in drops. She\r
+minds what she is doing, sir. That is a great point in a woman, and a\r
+great point for our friend up-stairs, poor dear old soul. A man whose\r
+life is of any value should think of his wife as a nurse: that is what\r
+I should do, if I married; and I believe I have lived single long\r
+enough not to make a mistake in that line. Some men must marry to\r
+elevate themselves a little, but when I am in need of that, I hope some\r
+one will tell me so--I hope some individual will apprise me of the\r
+fact. I wish you good morning, Mrs. Waule. Good morning, Mr. Solomon.\r
+I trust we shall meet under less melancholy auspices."\r
+\r
+When Mr. Trumbull had departed with a fine bow, Solomon, leaning\r
+forward, observed to his sister, "You may depend, Jane, my brother has\r
+left that girl a lumping sum."\r
+\r
+"Anybody would think so, from the way Mr. Trumbull talks," said Jane.\r
+Then, after a pause, "He talks as if my daughters wasn't to be trusted\r
+to give drops."\r
+\r
+"Auctioneers talk wild," said Solomon. "Not but what Trumbull has made\r
+money."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXIII.\r
+\r
+ "Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;\r
+ And let us all to meditation."\r
+ --2 Henry VI.\r
+\r
+\r
+That night after twelve o'clock Mary Garth relieved the watch in Mr.\r
+Featherstone's room, and sat there alone through the small hours. She\r
+often chose this task, in which she found some pleasure,\r
+notwithstanding the old man's testiness whenever he demanded her\r
+attentions. There were intervals in which she could sit perfectly\r
+still, enjoying the outer stillness and the subdued light. The red\r
+fire with its gently audible movement seemed like a solemn existence\r
+calmly independent of the petty passions, the imbecile desires, the\r
+straining after worthless uncertainties, which were daily moving her\r
+contempt. Mary was fond of her own thoughts, and could amuse herself\r
+well sitting in twilight with her hands in her lap; for, having early\r
+had strong reason to believe that things were not likely to be arranged\r
+for her peculiar satisfaction, she wasted no time in astonishment and\r
+annoyance at that fact. And she had already come to take life very\r
+much as a comedy in which she had a proud, nay, a generous resolution\r
+not to act the mean or treacherous part. Mary might have become\r
+cynical if she had not had parents whom she honored, and a well of\r
+affectionate gratitude within her, which was all the fuller because she\r
+had learned to make no unreasonable claims.\r
+\r
+She sat to-night revolving, as she was wont, the scenes of the day, her\r
+lips often curling with amusement at the oddities to which her fancy\r
+added fresh drollery: people were so ridiculous with their illusions,\r
+carrying their fool's caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaque\r
+while everybody else's were transparent, making themselves exceptions\r
+to everything, as if when all the world looked yellow under a lamp they\r
+alone were rosy. Yet there were some illusions under Mary's eyes which\r
+were not quite comic to her. She was secretly convinced, though she\r
+had no other grounds than her close observation of old Featherstone's\r
+nature, that in spite of his fondness for having the Vincys about him,\r
+they were as likely to be disappointed as any of the relations whom he\r
+kept at a distance. She had a good deal of disdain for Mrs. Vincy's\r
+evident alarm lest she and Fred should be alone together, but it did\r
+not hinder her from thinking anxiously of the way in which Fred would\r
+be affected, if it should turn out that his uncle had left him as poor\r
+as ever. She could make a butt of Fred when he was present, but she\r
+did not enjoy his follies when he was absent.\r
+\r
+Yet she liked her thoughts: a vigorous young mind not overbalanced by\r
+passion, finds a good in making acquaintance with life, and watches its\r
+own powers with interest. Mary had plenty of merriment within.\r
+\r
+Her thought was not veined by any solemnity or pathos about the old man\r
+on the bed: such sentiments are easier to affect than to feel about an\r
+aged creature whose life is not visibly anything but a remnant of\r
+vices. She had always seen the most disagreeable side of Mr.\r
+Featherstone: he was not proud of her, and she was only useful to him.\r
+To be anxious about a soul that is always snapping at you must be left\r
+to the saints of the earth; and Mary was not one of them. She had\r
+never returned him a harsh word, and had waited on him faithfully: that\r
+was her utmost. Old Featherstone himself was not in the least anxious\r
+about his soul, and had declined to see Mr. Tucker on the subject.\r
+\r
+To-night he had not snapped, and for the first hour or two he lay\r
+remarkably still, until at last Mary heard him rattling his bunch of\r
+keys against the tin box which he always kept in the bed beside him.\r
+About three o'clock he said, with remarkable distinctness, "Missy, come\r
+here!"\r
+\r
+Mary obeyed, and found that he had already drawn the tin box from under\r
+the clothes, though he usually asked to have this done for him; and he\r
+had selected the key. He now unlocked the box, and, drawing from it\r
+another key, looked straight at her with eyes that seemed to have\r
+recovered all their sharpness and said, "How many of 'em are in the\r
+house?"\r
+\r
+"You mean of your own relations, sir," said Mary, well used to the old\r
+man's way of speech. He nodded slightly and she went on.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Jonah Featherstone and young Cranch are sleeping here."\r
+\r
+"Oh ay, they stick, do they? and the rest--they come every day, I'll\r
+warrant--Solomon and Jane, and all the young uns? They come peeping,\r
+and counting and casting up?"\r
+\r
+"Not all of them every day. Mr. Solomon and Mrs. Waule are here every\r
+day, and the others come often."\r
+\r
+The old man listened with a grimace while she spoke, and then said,\r
+relaxing his face, "The more fools they. You hearken, missy. It's\r
+three o'clock in the morning, and I've got all my faculties as well as\r
+ever I had in my life. I know all my property, and where the money's\r
+put out, and everything. And I've made everything ready to change my\r
+mind, and do as I like at the last. Do you hear, missy? I've got my\r
+faculties."\r
+\r
+"Well, sir?" said Mary, quietly.\r
+\r
+He now lowered his tone with an air of deeper cunning. "I've made two\r
+wills, and I'm going to burn one. Now you do as I tell you. This is\r
+the key of my iron chest, in the closet there. You push well at the\r
+side of the brass plate at the top, till it goes like a bolt: then you\r
+can put the key in the front lock and turn it. See and do that; and\r
+take out the topmost paper--Last Will and Testament--big printed."\r
+\r
+"No, sir," said Mary, in a firm voice, "I cannot do that."\r
+\r
+"Not do it? I tell you, you must," said the old man, his voice\r
+beginning to shake under the shock of this resistance.\r
+\r
+"I cannot touch your iron chest or your will. I must refuse to do\r
+anything that might lay me open to suspicion."\r
+\r
+"I tell you, I'm in my right mind. Shan't I do as I like at the last?\r
+I made two wills on purpose. Take the key, I say."\r
+\r
+"No, sir, I will not," said Mary, more resolutely still. Her repulsion\r
+was getting stronger.\r
+\r
+"I tell you, there's no time to lose."\r
+\r
+"I cannot help that, sir. I will not let the close of your life soil\r
+the beginning of mine. I will not touch your iron chest or your will."\r
+She moved to a little distance from the bedside.\r
+\r
+The old man paused with a blank stare for a little while, holding the\r
+one key erect on the ring; then with an agitated jerk he began to work\r
+with his bony left hand at emptying the tin box before him.\r
+\r
+"Missy," he began to say, hurriedly, "look here! take the money--the\r
+notes and gold--look here--take it--you shall have it all--do as I\r
+tell you."\r
+\r
+He made an effort to stretch out the key towards her as far as\r
+possible, and Mary again retreated.\r
+\r
+"I will not touch your key or your money, sir. Pray don't ask me to do\r
+it again. If you do, I must go and call your brother."\r
+\r
+He let his hand fall, and for the first time in her life Mary saw old\r
+Peter Featherstone begin to cry childishly. She said, in as gentle a\r
+tone as she could command, "Pray put up your money, sir;" and then went\r
+away to her seat by the fire, hoping this would help to convince him\r
+that it was useless to say more. Presently he rallied and said\r
+eagerly--\r
+\r
+"Look here, then. Call the young chap. Call Fred Vincy."\r
+\r
+Mary's heart began to beat more quickly. Various ideas rushed through\r
+her mind as to what the burning of a second will might imply. She had\r
+to make a difficult decision in a hurry.\r
+\r
+"I will call him, if you will let me call Mr. Jonah and others with\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"Nobody else, I say. The young chap. I shall do as I like."\r
+\r
+"Wait till broad daylight, sir, when every one is stirring. Or let me\r
+call Simmons now, to go and fetch the lawyer? He can be here in less\r
+than two hours."\r
+\r
+"Lawyer? What do I want with the lawyer? Nobody shall know--I say,\r
+nobody shall know. I shall do as I like."\r
+\r
+"Let me call some one else, sir," said Mary, persuasively. She did not\r
+like her position--alone with the old man, who seemed to show a strange\r
+flaring of nervous energy which enabled him to speak again and again\r
+without falling into his usual cough; yet she desired not to push\r
+unnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. "Let me, pray,\r
+call some one else."\r
+\r
+"You let me alone, I say. Look here, missy. Take the money. You'll\r
+never have the chance again. It's pretty nigh two hundred--there's\r
+more in the box, and nobody knows how much there was. Take it and do\r
+as I tell you."\r
+\r
+Mary, standing by the fire, saw its red light falling on the old man,\r
+propped up on his pillows and bed-rest, with his bony hand holding out\r
+the key, and the money lying on the quilt before him. She never forgot\r
+that vision of a man wanting to do as he liked at the last. But the\r
+way in which he had put the offer of the money urged her to speak with\r
+harder resolution than ever.\r
+\r
+"It is of no use, sir. I will not do it. Put up your money. I will\r
+not touch your money. I will do anything else I can to comfort you;\r
+but I will not touch your keys or your money."\r
+\r
+"Anything else anything else!" said old Featherstone, with hoarse rage,\r
+which, as if in a nightmare, tried to be loud, and yet was only just\r
+audible. "I want nothing else. You come here--you come here."\r
+\r
+Mary approached him cautiously, knowing him too well. She saw him\r
+dropping his keys and trying to grasp his stick, while he looked at her\r
+like an aged hyena, the muscles of his face getting distorted with the\r
+effort of his hand. She paused at a safe distance.\r
+\r
+"Let me give you some cordial," she said, quietly, "and try to compose\r
+yourself. You will perhaps go to sleep. And to-morrow by daylight you\r
+can do as you like."\r
+\r
+He lifted the stick, in spite of her being beyond his reach, and threw\r
+it with a hard effort which was but impotence. It fell, slipping over\r
+the foot of the bed. Mary let it lie, and retreated to her chair by\r
+the fire. By-and-by she would go to him with the cordial. Fatigue\r
+would make him passive. It was getting towards the chillest moment of\r
+the morning, the fire had got low, and she could see through the chink\r
+between the moreen window-curtains the light whitened by the blind.\r
+Having put some wood on the fire and thrown a shawl over her, she sat\r
+down, hoping that Mr. Featherstone might now fall asleep. If she went\r
+near him the irritation might be kept up. He had said nothing after\r
+throwing the stick, but she had seen him taking his keys again and\r
+laying his right hand on the money. He did not put it up, however, and\r
+she thought that he was dropping off to sleep.\r
+\r
+But Mary herself began to be more agitated by the remembrance of what\r
+she had gone through, than she had been by the reality--questioning\r
+those acts of hers which had come imperatively and excluded all\r
+question in the critical moment.\r
+\r
+Presently the dry wood sent out a flame which illuminated every\r
+crevice, and Mary saw that the old man was lying quietly with his head\r
+turned a little on one side. She went towards him with inaudible\r
+steps, and thought that his face looked strangely motionless; but the\r
+next moment the movement of the flame communicating itself to all\r
+objects made her uncertain. The violent beating of her heart rendered\r
+her perceptions so doubtful that even when she touched him and listened\r
+for his breathing, she could not trust her conclusions. She went to\r
+the window and gently propped aside the curtain and blind, so that the\r
+still light of the sky fell on the bed.\r
+\r
+The next moment she ran to the bell and rang it energetically. In a\r
+very little while there was no longer any doubt that Peter Featherstone\r
+was dead, with his right hand clasping the keys, and his left hand\r
+lying on the heap of notes and gold.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK IV.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+THREE LOVE PROBLEMS.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXIV.\r
+\r
+ 1st Gent. Such men as this are feathers, chips, and straws.\r
+ Carry no weight, no force.\r
+ 2d Gent. But levity\r
+ Is causal too, and makes the sum of weight.\r
+ For power finds its place in lack of power;\r
+ Advance is cession, and the driven ship\r
+ May run aground because the helmsman's thought\r
+ Lacked force to balance opposites."\r
+\r
+\r
+It was on a morning of May that Peter Featherstone was buried. In the\r
+prosaic neighborhood of Middlemarch, May was not always warm and sunny,\r
+and on this particular morning a chill wind was blowing the blossoms\r
+from the surrounding gardens on to the green mounds of Lowick\r
+churchyard. Swiftly moving clouds only now and then allowed a gleam to\r
+light up any object, whether ugly or beautiful, that happened to stand\r
+within its golden shower. In the churchyard the objects were\r
+remarkably various, for there was a little country crowd waiting to see\r
+the funeral. The news had spread that it was to be a "big burying;"\r
+the old gentleman had left written directions about everything and\r
+meant to have a funeral "beyond his betters." This was true; for old\r
+Featherstone had not been a Harpagon whose passions had all been\r
+devoured by the ever-lean and ever-hungry passion of saving, and who\r
+would drive a bargain with his undertaker beforehand. He loved money,\r
+but he also loved to spend it in gratifying his peculiar tastes, and\r
+perhaps he loved it best of all as a means of making others feel his\r
+power more or less uncomfortably. If any one will here contend that\r
+there must have been traits of goodness in old Featherstone, I will not\r
+presume to deny this; but I must observe that goodness is of a modest\r
+nature, easily discouraged, and when much privacy, elbowed in early\r
+life by unabashed vices, is apt to retire into extreme privacy, so that\r
+it is more easily believed in by those who construct a selfish old\r
+gentleman theoretically, than by those who form the narrower judgments\r
+based on his personal acquaintance. In any case, he had been bent on\r
+having a handsome funeral, and on having persons "bid" to it who would\r
+rather have stayed at home. He had even desired that female relatives\r
+should follow him to the grave, and poor sister Martha had taken a\r
+difficult journey for this purpose from the Chalky Flats. She and Jane\r
+would have been altogether cheered (in a tearful manner) by this sign\r
+that a brother who disliked seeing them while he was living had been\r
+prospectively fond of their presence when he should have become a\r
+testator, if the sign had not been made equivocal by being extended to\r
+Mrs. Vincy, whose expense in handsome crape seemed to imply the most\r
+presumptuous hopes, aggravated by a bloom of complexion which told\r
+pretty plainly that she was not a blood-relation, but of that generally\r
+objectionable class called wife's kin.\r
+\r
+We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the\r
+brood of desire; and poor old Featherstone, who laughed much at the way\r
+in which others cajoled themselves, did not escape the fellowship of\r
+illusion. In writing the programme for his burial he certainly did not\r
+make clear to himself that his pleasure in the little drama of which it\r
+formed a part was confined to anticipation. In chuckling over the\r
+vexations he could inflict by the rigid clutch of his dead hand, he\r
+inevitably mingled his consciousness with that livid stagnant presence,\r
+and so far as he was preoccupied with a future life, it was with one of\r
+gratification inside his coffin. Thus old Featherstone was\r
+imaginative, after his fashion.\r
+\r
+However, the three mourning-coaches were filled according to the\r
+written orders of the deceased. There were pall-bearers on horseback,\r
+with the richest scarfs and hatbands, and even the under-bearers had\r
+trappings of woe which were of a good well-priced quality. The black\r
+procession, when dismounted, looked the larger for the smallness of the\r
+churchyard; the heavy human faces and the black draperies shivering in\r
+the wind seemed to tell of a world strangely incongruous with the\r
+lightly dropping blossoms and the gleams of sunshine on the daisies.\r
+The clergyman who met the procession was Mr. Cadwallader--also\r
+according to the request of Peter Featherstone, prompted as usual by\r
+peculiar reasons. Having a contempt for curates, whom he always called\r
+understrappers, he was resolved to be buried by a beneficed clergyman.\r
+Mr. Casaubon was out of the question, not merely because he declined\r
+duty of this sort, but because Featherstone had an especial dislike to\r
+him as the rector of his own parish, who had a lien on the land in the\r
+shape of tithe, also as the deliverer of morning sermons, which the old\r
+man, being in his pew and not at all sleepy, had been obliged to sit\r
+through with an inward snarl. He had an objection to a parson stuck up\r
+above his head preaching to him. But his relations with Mr.\r
+Cadwallader had been of a different kind: the trout-stream which ran\r
+through Mr. Casaubon's land took its course through Featherstone's\r
+also, so that Mr. Cadwallader was a parson who had had to ask a favor\r
+instead of preaching. Moreover, he was one of the high gentry living\r
+four miles away from Lowick, and was thus exalted to an equal sky with\r
+the sheriff of the county and other dignities vaguely regarded as\r
+necessary to the system of things. There would be a satisfaction in\r
+being buried by Mr. Cadwallader, whose very name offered a fine\r
+opportunity for pronouncing wrongly if you liked.\r
+\r
+This distinction conferred on the Rector of Tipton and Freshitt was the\r
+reason why Mrs. Cadwallader made one of the group that watched old\r
+Featherstone's funeral from an upper window of the manor. She was not\r
+fond of visiting that house, but she liked, as she said, to see\r
+collections of strange animals such as there would be at this funeral;\r
+and she had persuaded Sir James and the young Lady Chettam to drive the\r
+Rector and herself to Lowick in order that the visit might be\r
+altogether pleasant.\r
+\r
+"I will go anywhere with you, Mrs. Cadwallader," Celia had said; "but I\r
+don't like funerals."\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, when you have a clergyman in your family you must\r
+accommodate your tastes: I did that very early. When I married\r
+Humphrey I made up my mind to like sermons, and I set out by liking the\r
+end very much. That soon spread to the middle and the beginning,\r
+because I couldn't have the end without them."\r
+\r
+"No, to be sure not," said the Dowager Lady Chettam, with stately\r
+emphasis.\r
+\r
+The upper window from which the funeral could be well seen was in the\r
+room occupied by Mr. Casaubon when he had been forbidden to work; but\r
+he had resumed nearly his habitual style of life now in spite of\r
+warnings and prescriptions, and after politely welcoming Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader had slipped again into the library to chew a cud of erudite\r
+mistake about Cush and Mizraim.\r
+\r
+But for her visitors Dorothea too might have been shut up in the\r
+library, and would not have witnessed this scene of old Featherstone's\r
+funeral, which, aloof as it seemed to be from the tenor of her life,\r
+always afterwards came back to her at the touch of certain sensitive\r
+points in memory, just as the vision of St. Peter's at Rome was inwoven\r
+with moods of despondency. Scenes which make vital changes in our\r
+neighbors' lot are but the background of our own, yet, like a\r
+particular aspect of the fields and trees, they become associated for\r
+us with the epochs of our own history, and make a part of that unity\r
+which lies in the selection of our keenest consciousness.\r
+\r
+The dream-like association of something alien and ill-understood with\r
+the deepest secrets of her experience seemed to mirror that sense of\r
+loneliness which was due to the very ardor of Dorothea's nature. The\r
+country gentry of old time lived in a rarefied social air: dotted apart\r
+on their stations up the mountain they looked down with imperfect\r
+discrimination on the belts of thicker life below. And Dorothea was\r
+not at ease in the perspective and chilliness of that height.\r
+\r
+"I shall not look any more," said Celia, after the train had entered\r
+the church, placing herself a little behind her husband's elbow so that\r
+she could slyly touch his coat with her cheek. "I dare say Dodo likes\r
+it: she is fond of melancholy things and ugly people."\r
+\r
+"I am fond of knowing something about the people I live among," said\r
+Dorothea, who had been watching everything with the interest of a monk\r
+on his holiday tour. "It seems to me we know nothing of our neighbors,\r
+unless they are cottagers. One is constantly wondering what sort of\r
+lives other people lead, and how they take things. I am quite obliged\r
+to Mrs. Cadwallader for coming and calling me out of the library."\r
+\r
+"Quite right to feel obliged to me," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Your rich\r
+Lowick farmers are as curious as any buffaloes or bisons, and I dare\r
+say you don't half see them at church. They are quite different from\r
+your uncle's tenants or Sir James's--monsters--farmers without\r
+landlords--one can't tell how to class them."\r
+\r
+"Most of these followers are not Lowick people," said Sir James; "I\r
+suppose they are legatees from a distance, or from Middlemarch.\r
+Lovegood tells me the old fellow has left a good deal of money as well\r
+as land."\r
+\r
+"Think of that now! when so many younger sons can't dine at their own\r
+expense," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Ah," turning round at the sound of\r
+the opening door, "here is Mr. Brooke. I felt that we were incomplete\r
+before, and here is the explanation. You are come to see this odd\r
+funeral, of course?"\r
+\r
+"No, I came to look after Casaubon--to see how he goes on, you know.\r
+And to bring a little news--a little news, my dear," said Mr. Brooke,\r
+nodding at Dorothea as she came towards him. "I looked into the\r
+library, and I saw Casaubon over his books. I told him it wouldn't do:\r
+I said, 'This will never do, you know: think of your wife, Casaubon.'\r
+And he promised me to come up. I didn't tell him my news: I said, he\r
+must come up."\r
+\r
+"Ah, now they are coming out of church," Mrs. Cadwallader exclaimed.\r
+"Dear me, what a wonderfully mixed set! Mr. Lydgate as doctor, I\r
+suppose. But that is really a good looking woman, and the fair young\r
+man must be her son. Who are they, Sir James, do you know?"\r
+\r
+"I see Vincy, the Mayor of Middlemarch; they are probably his wife and\r
+son," said Sir James, looking interrogatively at Mr. Brooke, who nodded\r
+and said--\r
+\r
+"Yes, a very decent family--a very good fellow is Vincy; a credit to\r
+the manufacturing interest. You have seen him at my house, you know."\r
+\r
+"Ah, yes: one of your secret committee," said Mrs. Cadwallader,\r
+provokingly.\r
+\r
+"A coursing fellow, though," said Sir James, with a fox-hunter's\r
+disgust.\r
+\r
+"And one of those who suck the life out of the wretched handloom\r
+weavers in Tipton and Freshitt. That is how his family look so fair\r
+and sleek," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Those dark, purple-faced people\r
+are an excellent foil. Dear me, they are like a set of jugs! Do look\r
+at Humphrey: one might fancy him an ugly archangel towering above them\r
+in his white surplice."\r
+\r
+"It's a solemn thing, though, a funeral," said Mr. Brooke, "if you take\r
+it in that light, you know."\r
+\r
+"But I am not taking it in that light. I can't wear my solemnity too\r
+often, else it will go to rags. It was time the old man died, and none\r
+of these people are sorry."\r
+\r
+"How piteous!" said Dorothea. "This funeral seems to me the most\r
+dismal thing I ever saw. It is a blot on the morning I cannot bear to\r
+think that any one should die and leave no love behind."\r
+\r
+She was going to say more, but she saw her husband enter and seat\r
+himself a little in the background. The difference his presence made\r
+to her was not always a happy one: she felt that he often inwardly\r
+objected to her speech.\r
+\r
+"Positively," exclaimed Mrs. Cadwallader, "there is a new face come out\r
+from behind that broad man queerer than any of them: a little round\r
+head with bulging eyes--a sort of frog-face--do look. He must be of\r
+another blood, I think."\r
+\r
+"Let me see!" said Celia, with awakened curiosity, standing behind Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader and leaning forward over her head. "Oh, what an odd face!"\r
+Then with a quick change to another sort of surprised expression, she\r
+added, "Why, Dodo, you never told me that Mr. Ladislaw was come again!"\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt a shock of alarm: every one noticed her sudden paleness\r
+as she looked up immediately at her uncle, while Mr. Casaubon looked at\r
+her.\r
+\r
+"He came with me, you know; he is my guest--puts up with me at the\r
+Grange," said Mr. Brooke, in his easiest tone, nodding at Dorothea, as\r
+if the announcement were just what she might have expected. "And we\r
+have brought the picture at the top of the carriage. I knew you would\r
+be pleased with the surprise, Casaubon. There you are to the very\r
+life--as Aquinas, you know. Quite the right sort of thing. And you\r
+will hear young Ladislaw talk about it. He talks uncommonly\r
+well--points out this, that, and the other--knows art and everything of\r
+that kind--companionable, you know--is up with you in any track--what\r
+I've been wanting a long while."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon bowed with cold politeness, mastering his irritation, but\r
+only so far as to be silent. He remembered Will's letter quite as well\r
+as Dorothea did; he had noticed that it was not among the letters which\r
+had been reserved for him on his recovery, and secretly concluding that\r
+Dorothea had sent word to Will not to come to Lowick, he had shrunk\r
+with proud sensitiveness from ever recurring to the subject. He now\r
+inferred that she had asked her uncle to invite Will to the Grange; and\r
+she felt it impossible at that moment to enter into any explanation.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader's eyes, diverted from the churchyard, saw a good deal\r
+of dumb show which was not so intelligible to her as she could have\r
+desired, and could not repress the question, "Who is Mr. Ladislaw?"\r
+\r
+"A young relative of Mr. Casaubon's," said Sir James, promptly. His\r
+good-nature often made him quick and clear-seeing in personal matters,\r
+and he had divined from Dorothea's glance at her husband that there was\r
+some alarm in her mind.\r
+\r
+"A very nice young fellow--Casaubon has done everything for him,"\r
+explained Mr. Brooke. "He repays your expense in him, Casaubon," he\r
+went on, nodding encouragingly. "I hope he will stay with me a long\r
+while and we shall make something of my documents. I have plenty of\r
+ideas and facts, you know, and I can see he is just the man to put them\r
+into shape--remembers what the right quotations are, omne tulit\r
+punctum, and that sort of thing--gives subjects a kind of turn. I\r
+invited him some time ago when you were ill, Casaubon; Dorothea said\r
+you couldn't have anybody in the house, you know, and she asked me to\r
+write."\r
+\r
+Poor Dorothea felt that every word of her uncle's was about as pleasant\r
+as a grain of sand in the eye to Mr. Casaubon. It would be altogether\r
+unfitting now to explain that she had not wished her uncle to invite\r
+Will Ladislaw. She could not in the least make clear to herself the\r
+reasons for her husband's dislike to his presence--a dislike painfully\r
+impressed on her by the scene in the library; but she felt the\r
+unbecomingness of saying anything that might convey a notion of it to\r
+others. Mr. Casaubon, indeed, had not thoroughly represented those\r
+mixed reasons to himself; irritated feeling with him, as with all of\r
+us, seeking rather for justification than for self-knowledge. But he\r
+wished to repress outward signs, and only Dorothea could discern the\r
+changes in her husband's face before he observed with more of dignified\r
+bending and sing-song than usual--\r
+\r
+"You are exceedingly hospitable, my dear sir; and I owe you\r
+acknowledgments for exercising your hospitality towards a relative of\r
+mine."\r
+\r
+The funeral was ended now, and the churchyard was being cleared.\r
+\r
+"Now you can see him, Mrs. Cadwallader," said Celia. "He is just like\r
+a miniature of Mr. Casaubon's aunt that hangs in Dorothea's\r
+boudoir--quite nice-looking."\r
+\r
+"A very pretty sprig," said Mrs. Cadwallader, dryly. "What is your\r
+nephew to be, Mr. Casaubon?"\r
+\r
+"Pardon me, he is not my nephew. He is my cousin."\r
+\r
+"Well, you know," interposed Mr. Brooke, "he is trying his wings. He\r
+is just the sort of young fellow to rise. I should be glad to give him\r
+an opportunity. He would make a good secretary, now, like Hobbes,\r
+Milton, Swift--that sort of man."\r
+\r
+"I understand," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "One who can write speeches."\r
+\r
+"I'll fetch him in now, eh, Casaubon?" said Mr. Brooke. "He wouldn't\r
+come in till I had announced him, you know. And we'll go down and look\r
+at the picture. There you are to the life: a deep subtle sort of\r
+thinker with his fore-finger on the page, while Saint Bonaventure or\r
+somebody else, rather fat and florid, is looking up at the Trinity.\r
+Everything is symbolical, you know--the higher style of art: I like\r
+that up to a certain point, but not too far--it's rather straining to\r
+keep up with, you know. But you are at home in that, Casaubon. And\r
+your painter's flesh is good--solidity, transparency, everything of\r
+that sort. I went into that a great deal at one time. However, I'll\r
+go and fetch Ladislaw."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXV.\r
+\r
+ "Non, je ne comprends pas de plus charmant plaisir\r
+ Que de voir d'heritiers une troupe affligee\r
+ Le maintien interdit, et la mine allongee,\r
+ Lire un long testament ou pales, etonnes\r
+ On leur laisse un bonsoir avec un pied de nez.\r
+ Pour voir au naturel leur tristesse profonde\r
+ Je reviendrais, je crois, expres de l'autre monde."\r
+ --REGNARD: Le Legataire Universel.\r
+\r
+\r
+When the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may imagine that allied\r
+species made much private remark on each other, and were tempted to\r
+think that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were\r
+eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. (I fear the\r
+part played by the vultures on that occasion would be too painful for\r
+art to represent, those birds being disadvantageously naked about the\r
+gullet, and apparently without rites and ceremonies.)\r
+\r
+The same sort of temptation befell the Christian Carnivora who formed\r
+Peter Featherstone's funeral procession; most of them having their\r
+minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the\r
+most of. The long-recognized blood-relations and connections by\r
+marriage made already a goodly number, which, multiplied by\r
+possibilities, presented a fine range for jealous conjecture and\r
+pathetic hopefulness. Jealousy of the Vincys had created a fellowship\r
+in hostility among all persons of the Featherstone blood, so that in\r
+the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to\r
+have more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy\r
+should have the land was necessarily dominant, though it left abundant\r
+feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained\r
+towards Mary Garth. Solomon found time to reflect that Jonah was\r
+undeserving, and Jonah to abuse Solomon as greedy; Jane, the elder\r
+sister, held that Martha's children ought not to expect so much as the\r
+young Waules; and Martha, more lax on the subject of primogeniture, was\r
+sorry to think that Jane was so "having." These nearest of kin were\r
+naturally impressed with the unreasonableness of expectations in\r
+cousins and second cousins, and used their arithmetic in reckoning the\r
+large sums that small legacies might mount to, if there were too many\r
+of them. Two cousins were present to hear the will, and a second\r
+cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. This second cousin was a Middlemarch\r
+mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates. The two cousins\r
+were elderly men from Brassing, one of them conscious of claims on the\r
+score of inconvenient expense sustained by him in presents of oysters\r
+and other eatables to his rich cousin Peter; the other entirely\r
+saturnine, leaning his hands and chin on a stick, and conscious of\r
+claims based on no narrow performance but on merit generally: both\r
+blameless citizens of Brassing, who wished that Jonah Featherstone did\r
+not live there. The wit of a family is usually best received among\r
+strangers.\r
+\r
+"Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred--_that_ you may\r
+depend,--I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him," said Solomon,\r
+musing aloud with his sisters, the evening before the funeral.\r
+\r
+"Dear, dear!" said poor sister Martha, whose imagination of hundreds\r
+had been habitually narrowed to the amount of her unpaid rent.\r
+\r
+But in the morning all the ordinary currents of conjecture were\r
+disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among\r
+them as if from the moon. This was the stranger described by Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three and thirty,\r
+whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and hair\r
+sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge\r
+of the eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian unchangeableness\r
+of expression. Here, clearly, was a new legatee; else why was he\r
+bidden as a mourner? Here were new possibilities, raising a new\r
+uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches. We\r
+are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has existed\r
+very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while we\r
+have been making up our world entirely without it. No one had seen\r
+this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, and she knew\r
+nothing more of him than that he had twice been to Stone Court when Mr.\r
+Featherstone was down-stairs, and had sat alone with him for several\r
+hours. She had found an opportunity of mentioning this to her father,\r
+and perhaps Caleb's were the only eyes, except the lawyer's, which\r
+examined the stranger with more of inquiry than of disgust or\r
+suspicion. Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity,\r
+was interested in the verification of his own guesses, and the calmness\r
+with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent\r
+glances much as if he were valuing a tree, made a fine contrast with\r
+the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner,\r
+whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and\r
+took his seat near the door to make part of the audience when the will\r
+should be read. Just then Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone\r
+up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs. Waule,\r
+seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had\r
+the spirit to move next to that great authority, who was handling his\r
+watch-seals and trimming his outlines with a determination not to show\r
+anything so compromising to a man of ability as wonder or surprise.\r
+\r
+"I suppose you know everything about what my poor brother's done, Mr.\r
+Trumbull," said Mrs. Waule, in the lowest of her woolly tones, while\r
+she turned her crape-shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbull's ear.\r
+\r
+"My good lady, whatever was told me was told in confidence," said the\r
+auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret.\r
+\r
+"Them who've made sure of their good-luck may be disappointed yet,"\r
+Mrs. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication.\r
+\r
+"Hopes are often delusive," said Mr. Trumbull, still in confidence.\r
+\r
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Waule, looking across at the Vincys, and then moving\r
+back to the side of her sister Martha.\r
+\r
+"It's wonderful how close poor Peter was," she said, in the same\r
+undertones. "We none of us know what he might have had on his mind. I\r
+only hope and trust he wasn't a worse liver than we think of, Martha."\r
+\r
+Poor Mrs. Cranch was bulky, and, breathing asthmatically, had the\r
+additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving\r
+them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to\r
+sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.\r
+\r
+"I never _was_ covetous, Jane," she replied; "but I have six children\r
+and have buried three, and I didn't marry into money. The eldest, that\r
+sits there, is but nineteen--so I leave you to guess. And stock always\r
+short, and land most awkward. But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's\r
+been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the\r
+other childless after twice marrying--anybody might think!"\r
+\r
+Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg, and\r
+had taken out his snuff-box and tapped it, but had put it again\r
+unopened as an indulgence which, however clarifying to the judgment,\r
+was unsuited to the occasion. "I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had\r
+better feelings than any of us gave him credit for," he observed, in\r
+the ear of his wife. "This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it\r
+looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they\r
+are humble, not to be ashamed of them. I should be all the better\r
+pleased if he'd left lots of small legacies. They may be uncommonly\r
+useful to fellows in a small way."\r
+\r
+"Everything is as handsome as could be, crape and silk and everything,"\r
+said Mrs. Vincy, contentedly.\r
+\r
+But I am sorry to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing\r
+a laugh, which would have been more unsuitable than his father's\r
+snuff-box. Fred had overheard Mr. Jonah suggesting something about a\r
+"love-child," and with this thought in his mind, the stranger's face,\r
+which happened to be opposite him, affected him too ludicrously. Mary\r
+Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings of his mouth, and his\r
+recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to\r
+change seats with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner. Fred was\r
+feeling as good-naturedly as possible towards everybody, including\r
+Rigg; and having some relenting towards all these people who were less\r
+lucky than he was aware of being himself, he would not for the world\r
+have behaved amiss; still, it was particularly easy to laugh.\r
+\r
+But the entrance of the lawyer and the two brothers drew every one's\r
+attention. The lawyer was Mr. Standish, and he had come to Stone Court\r
+this morning believing that he knew thoroughly well who would be\r
+pleased and who disappointed before the day was over. The will he\r
+expected to read was the last of three which he had drawn up for Mr.\r
+Featherstone. Mr. Standish was not a man who varied his manners: he\r
+behaved with the same deep-voiced, off-hand civility to everybody, as\r
+if he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop,\r
+which would be "very fine, by God!" of the last bulletins concerning\r
+the King, and of the Duke of Clarence, who was a sailor every inch of\r
+him, and just the man to rule over an island like Britain.\r
+\r
+Old Featherstone had often reflected as he sat looking at the fire that\r
+Standish would be surprised some day: it is true that if he had done as\r
+he liked at the last, and burnt the will drawn up by another lawyer, he\r
+would not have secured that minor end; still he had had his pleasure in\r
+ruminating on it. And certainly Mr. Standish was surprised, but not at\r
+all sorry; on the contrary, he rather enjoyed the zest of a little\r
+curiosity in his own mind, which the discovery of a second will added\r
+to the prospective amazement on the part of the Featherstone family.\r
+\r
+As to the sentiments of Solomon and Jonah, they were held in utter\r
+suspense: it seemed to them that the old will would have a certain\r
+validity, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's\r
+former and latter intentions as to create endless "lawing" before\r
+anybody came by their own--an inconvenience which would have at least\r
+the advantage of going all round. Hence the brothers showed a\r
+thoroughly neutral gravity as they re-entered with Mr. Standish; but\r
+Solomon took out his white handkerchief again with a sense that in any\r
+case there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals, however\r
+dry, was customarily served up in lawn.\r
+\r
+Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this\r
+moment was Mary Garth, in the consciousness that it was she who had\r
+virtually determined the production of this second will, which might\r
+have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present. No soul\r
+except herself knew what had passed on that final night.\r
+\r
+"The will I hold in my hand," said Mr. Standish, who, seated at the\r
+table in the middle of the room, took his time about everything,\r
+including the coughs with which he showed a disposition to clear his\r
+voice, "was drawn up by myself and executed by our deceased friend on\r
+the 9th of August, 1825. But I find that there is a subsequent\r
+instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826,\r
+hardly a year later than the previous one. And there is farther, I\r
+see"--Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his\r
+spectacles--"a codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1, 1828."\r
+\r
+"Dear, dear!" said sister Martha, not meaning to be audible, but driven\r
+to some articulation under this pressure of dates.\r
+\r
+"I shall begin by reading the earlier will," continued Mr. Standish,\r
+"since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was\r
+the intention of deceased."\r
+\r
+The preamble was felt to be rather long, and several besides Solomon\r
+shook their heads pathetically, looking on the ground: all eyes avoided\r
+meeting other eyes, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the\r
+table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's.\r
+When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, it was\r
+safe for her to look at them. And at the sound of the first "give and\r
+bequeath" she could see all complexions changing subtly, as if some\r
+faint vibration were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg. He\r
+sat in unaltered calm, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more\r
+important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests\r
+which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. Fred\r
+blushed, and Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box\r
+in his hand, though he kept it closed.\r
+\r
+The small bequests came first, and even the recollection that there was\r
+another will and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could\r
+not quell the rising disgust and indignation. One likes to be done\r
+well by in every tense, past, present, and future. And here was Peter\r
+capable five years ago of leaving only two hundred apiece to his own\r
+brothers and sisters, and only a hundred apiece to his own nephews and\r
+nieces: the Garths were not mentioned, but Mrs. Vincy and Rosamond were\r
+each to have a hundred. Mr. Trumbull was to have the gold-headed cane\r
+and fifty pounds; the other second cousins and the cousins present were\r
+each to have the like handsome sum, which, as the saturnine cousin\r
+observed, was a sort of legacy that left a man nowhere; and there was\r
+much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not\r
+present--problematical, and, it was to be feared, low connections.\r
+Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of.\r
+Where then had Peter meant the rest of the money to go--and where the\r
+land? and what was revoked and what not revoked--and was the revocation\r
+for better or for worse? All emotion must be conditional, and might turn\r
+out to be the wrong thing. The men were strong enough to bear up and\r
+keep quiet under this confused suspense; some letting their lower lip\r
+fall, others pursing it up, according to the habit of their muscles.\r
+But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry;\r
+poor Mrs. Cranch being half moved with the consolation of getting any\r
+hundreds at all without working for them, and half aware that her share\r
+was scanty; whereas Mrs. Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the\r
+sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else\r
+was to have much. The general expectation now was that the "much"\r
+would fall to Fred Vincy, but the Vincys themselves were surprised when\r
+ten thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to be\r
+bequeathed to him:--was the land coming too? Fred bit his lips: it was\r
+difficult to help smiling, and Mrs. Vincy felt herself the happiest of\r
+women--possible revocation shrinking out of sight in this dazzling\r
+vision.\r
+\r
+There was still a residue of personal property as well as the land, but\r
+the whole was left to one person, and that person was--O\r
+possibilities! O expectations founded on the favor of "close" old\r
+gentlemen! O endless vocatives that would still leave expression\r
+slipping helpless from the measurement of mortal folly!--that\r
+residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, who was also sole executor, and who\r
+was to take thenceforth the name of Featherstone.\r
+\r
+There was a rustling which seemed like a shudder running round the\r
+room. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced\r
+no surprise.\r
+\r
+"A most singular testamentary disposition!" exclaimed Mr. Trumbull,\r
+preferring for once that he should be considered ignorant in the past.\r
+"But there is a second will--there is a further document. We have not\r
+yet heard the final wishes of the deceased."\r
+\r
+Mary Garth was feeling that what they had yet to hear were not the\r
+final wishes. The second will revoked everything except the legacies\r
+to the low persons before mentioned (some alterations in these being\r
+the occasion of the codicil), and the bequest of all the land lying in\r
+Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua\r
+Rigg. The residue of the property was to be devoted to the erection\r
+and endowment of almshouses for old men, to be called Featherstone's\r
+Alms-Houses, and to be built on a piece of land near Middlemarch\r
+already bought for the purpose by the testator, he wishing--so the\r
+document declared--to please God Almighty. Nobody present had a\r
+farthing; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-headed cane. It took some time\r
+for the company to recover the power of expression. Mary dared not\r
+look at Fred.\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy was the first to speak--after using his snuff-box\r
+energetically--and he spoke with loud indignation. "The most\r
+unaccountable will I ever heard! I should say he was not in his right\r
+mind when he made it. I should say this last will was void," added Mr.\r
+Vincy, feeling that this expression put the thing in the true light.\r
+"Eh Standish?"\r
+\r
+"Our deceased friend always knew what he was about, I think," said Mr.\r
+Standish. "Everything is quite regular. Here is a letter from\r
+Clemmens of Brassing tied with the will. He drew it up. A very\r
+respectable solicitor."\r
+\r
+"I never noticed any alienation of mind--any aberration of intellect in\r
+the late Mr. Featherstone," said Borthrop Trumbull, "but I call this\r
+will eccentric. I was always willingly of service to the old soul; and\r
+he intimated pretty plainly a sense of obligation which would show\r
+itself in his will. The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an\r
+acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations."\r
+\r
+"There's nothing very surprising in the matter that I can see," said\r
+Caleb Garth. "Anybody might have had more reason for wondering if the\r
+will had been what you might expect from an open-minded straightforward\r
+man. For my part, I wish there was no such thing as a will."\r
+\r
+"That's a strange sentiment to come from a Christian man, by God!" said\r
+the lawyer. "I should like to know how you will back that up, Garth!"\r
+\r
+"Oh," said Caleb, leaning forward, adjusting his finger-tips with\r
+nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. It always seemed to him\r
+that words were the hardest part of "business."\r
+\r
+But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard. "Well, he always\r
+was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter. But this will cuts out\r
+everything. If I'd known, a wagon and six horses shouldn't have drawn\r
+me from Brassing. I'll put a white hat and drab coat on to-morrow."\r
+\r
+"Dear, dear," wept Mrs. Cranch, "and we've been at the expense of\r
+travelling, and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! It's the\r
+first time I ever heard my brother Peter was so wishful to please God\r
+Almighty; but if I was to be struck helpless I must say it's hard--I\r
+can think no other."\r
+\r
+"It'll do him no good where he's gone, that's my belief," said Solomon,\r
+with a bitterness which was remarkably genuine, though his tone could\r
+not help being sly. "Peter was a bad liver, and almshouses won't cover\r
+it, when he's had the impudence to show it at the last."\r
+\r
+"And all the while had got his own lawful family--brothers and sisters\r
+and nephews and nieces--and has sat in church with 'em whenever he\r
+thought well to come," said Mrs. Waule. "And might have left his\r
+property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance\r
+or unsteadiness in no manner of way--and not so poor but what they\r
+could have saved every penny and made more of it. And me--the trouble\r
+I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly--and him\r
+with things on his mind all the while that might make anybody's flesh\r
+creep. But if the Almighty's allowed it, he means to punish him for\r
+it. Brother Solomon, I shall be going, if you'll drive me."\r
+\r
+"I've no desire to put my foot on the premises again," said Solomon.\r
+"I've got land of my own and property of my own to will away."\r
+\r
+"It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world," said Jonah. "It never\r
+answers to have a bit of spirit in you. You'd better be a dog in the\r
+manger. But those above ground might learn a lesson. One fool's will\r
+is enough in a family."\r
+\r
+"There's more ways than one of being a fool," said Solomon. "I shan't\r
+leave my money to be poured down the sink, and I shan't leave it to\r
+foundlings from Africay. I like Featherstones that were brewed such,\r
+and not turned Featherstones with sticking the name on 'em."\r
+\r
+Solomon addressed these remarks in a loud aside to Mrs. Waule as he\r
+rose to accompany her. Brother Jonah felt himself capable of much more\r
+stinging wit than this, but he reflected that there was no use in\r
+offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, until you were certain\r
+that he was quite without intentions of hospitality towards witty men\r
+whose name he was about to bear.\r
+\r
+Mr. Joshua Rigg, in fact, appeared to trouble himself little about any\r
+innuendoes, but showed a notable change of manner, walking coolly up to\r
+Mr. Standish and putting business questions with much coolness. He had\r
+a high chirping voice and a vile accent. Fred, whom he no longer moved\r
+to laughter, thought him the lowest monster he had ever seen. But Fred\r
+was feeling rather sick. The Middlemarch mercer waited for an\r
+opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no knowing\r
+how many pairs of legs the new proprietor might require hose for, and\r
+profits were more to be relied on than legacies. Also, the mercer, as\r
+a second cousin, was dispassionate enough to feel curiosity.\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy, after his one outburst, had remained proudly silent, though\r
+too much preoccupied with unpleasant feelings to think of moving, till\r
+he observed that his wife had gone to Fred's side and was crying\r
+silently while she held her darling's hand. He rose immediately, and\r
+turning his back on the company while he said to her in an\r
+undertone,--"Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my\r
+dear, before these people," he added in his usual loud voice--"Go and\r
+order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste."\r
+\r
+Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her\r
+father. She met Fred in the hall, and now for the first time had the\r
+courage to look at him. He had that withered sort of paleness which\r
+will sometimes come on young faces, and his hand was very cold when she\r
+shook it. Mary too was agitated; she was conscious that fatally,\r
+without will of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to\r
+Fred's lot.\r
+\r
+"Good-by," she said, with affectionate sadness. "Be brave, Fred. I do\r
+believe you are better without the money. What was the good of it to\r
+Mr. Featherstone?"\r
+\r
+"That's all very fine," said Fred, pettishly. "What is a fellow to do?\r
+I must go into the Church now." (He knew that this would vex Mary:\r
+very well; then she must tell him what else he could do.) "And I\r
+thought I should be able to pay your father at once and make everything\r
+right. And you have not even a hundred pounds left you. What shall\r
+you do now, Mary?"\r
+\r
+"Take another situation, of course, as soon as I can get one. My\r
+father has enough to do to keep the rest, without me. Good-by."\r
+\r
+In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed\r
+Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors. Another stranger had\r
+been brought to settle in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, but in the\r
+case of Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate\r
+visible consequences than speculation as to the effect which his\r
+presence might have in the future. No soul was prophetic enough to\r
+have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg.\r
+\r
+And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of elevating a low\r
+subject. Historical parallels are remarkably efficient in this way.\r
+The chief objection to them is, that the diligent narrator may lack\r
+space, or (what is often the same thing) may not be able to think of\r
+them with any degree of particularity, though he may have a\r
+philosophical confidence that if known they would be illustrative. It\r
+seems an easier and shorter way to dignity, to observe that--since\r
+there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where\r
+you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa--whatever has\r
+been or is to be narrated by me about low people, may be ennobled by\r
+being considered a parable; so that if any bad habits and ugly\r
+consequences are brought into view, the reader may have the relief of\r
+regarding them as not more than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel\r
+himself virtually in company with persons of some style. Thus while I\r
+tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be\r
+entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the petty sums\r
+which any bankrupt of high standing would be sorry to retire upon, may\r
+be lifted to the level of high commercial transactions by the\r
+inexpensive addition of proportional ciphers.\r
+\r
+As to any provincial history in which the agents are all of high moral\r
+rank, that must be of a date long posterior to the first Reform Bill,\r
+and Peter Featherstone, you perceive, was dead and buried some months\r
+before Lord Grey came into office.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXVI.\r
+\r
+ "'Tis strange to see the humors of these men,\r
+ These great aspiring spirits, that should be wise:\r
+ . . . . . . . .\r
+ For being the nature of great spirits to love\r
+ To be where they may be most eminent;\r
+ They, rating of themselves so farre above\r
+ Us in conceit, with whom they do frequent,\r
+ Imagine how we wonder and esteeme\r
+ All that they do or say; which makes them strive\r
+ To make our admiration more extreme,\r
+ Which they suppose they cannot, 'less they give\r
+ Notice of their extreme and highest thoughts.\r
+ --DANIEL: Tragedy of Philotas.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy went home from the reading of the will with his point of view\r
+considerably changed in relation to many subjects. He was an\r
+open-minded man, but given to indirect modes of expressing himself:\r
+when he was disappointed in a market for his silk braids, he swore at\r
+the groom; when his brother-in-law Bulstrode had vexed him, he made\r
+cutting remarks on Methodism; and it was now apparent that he regarded\r
+Fred's idleness with a sudden increase of severity, by his throwing an\r
+embroidered cap out of the smoking-room on to the hall-floor.\r
+\r
+"Well, sir," he observed, when that young gentleman was moving off to\r
+bed, "I hope you've made up your mind now to go up next term and pass\r
+your examination. I've taken my resolution, so I advise you to lose no\r
+time in taking yours."\r
+\r
+Fred made no answer: he was too utterly depressed. Twenty-four hours\r
+ago he had thought that instead of needing to know what he should do,\r
+he should by this time know that he needed to do nothing: that he\r
+should hunt in pink, have a first-rate hunter, ride to cover on a fine\r
+hack, and be generally respected for doing so; moreover, that he should\r
+be able at once to pay Mr. Garth, and that Mary could no longer have\r
+any reason for not marrying him. And all this was to have come without\r
+study or other inconvenience, purely by the favor of providence in the\r
+shape of an old gentleman's caprice. But now, at the end of the\r
+twenty-four hours, all those firm expectations were upset. It was\r
+"rather hard lines" that while he was smarting under this\r
+disappointment he should be treated as if he could have helped it. But\r
+he went away silently and his mother pleaded for him.\r
+\r
+"Don't be hard on the poor boy, Vincy. He'll turn out well yet, though\r
+that wicked man has deceived him. I feel as sure as I sit here, Fred\r
+will turn out well--else why was he brought back from the brink of the\r
+grave? And I call it a robbery: it was like giving him the land, to\r
+promise it; and what is promising, if making everybody believe is not\r
+promising? And you see he did leave him ten thousand pounds, and then\r
+took it away again."\r
+\r
+"Took it away again!" said Mr. Vincy, pettishly. "I tell you the lad's\r
+an unlucky lad, Lucy. And you've always spoiled him."\r
+\r
+"Well, Vincy, he was my first, and you made a fine fuss with him when\r
+he came. You were as proud as proud," said Mrs. Vincy, easily\r
+recovering her cheerful smile.\r
+\r
+"Who knows what babies will turn to? I was fool enough, I dare say,"\r
+said the husband--more mildly, however.\r
+\r
+"But who has handsomer, better children than ours? Fred is far beyond\r
+other people's sons: you may hear it in his speech, that he has kept\r
+college company. And Rosamond--where is there a girl like her? She\r
+might stand beside any lady in the land, and only look the better for\r
+it. You see--Mr. Lydgate has kept the highest company and been\r
+everywhere, and he fell in love with her at once. Not but what I could\r
+have wished Rosamond had not engaged herself. She might have met\r
+somebody on a visit who would have been a far better match; I mean at\r
+her schoolfellow Miss Willoughby's. There are relations in that family\r
+quite as high as Mr. Lydgate's."\r
+\r
+"Damn relations!" said Mr. Vincy; "I've had enough of them. I don't\r
+want a son-in-law who has got nothing but his relations to recommend\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"Why, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, "you seemed as pleased as could be\r
+about it. It's true, I wasn't at home; but Rosamond told me you hadn't\r
+a word to say against the engagement. And she has begun to buy in the\r
+best linen and cambric for her underclothing."\r
+\r
+"Not by my will," said Mr. Vincy. "I shall have enough to do this\r
+year, with an idle scamp of a son, without paying for wedding-clothes.\r
+The times are as tight as can be; everybody is being ruined; and I\r
+don't believe Lydgate has got a farthing. I shan't give my consent to\r
+their marrying. Let 'em wait, as their elders have done before 'em."\r
+\r
+"Rosamond will take it hard, Vincy, and you know you never could bear\r
+to cross her."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I could. The sooner the engagement's off, the better. I don't\r
+believe he'll ever make an income, the way he goes on. He makes\r
+enemies; that's all I hear of his making."\r
+\r
+"But he stands very high with Mr. Bulstrode, my dear. The marriage\r
+would please _him_, I should think."\r
+\r
+"Please the deuce!" said Mr. Vincy. "Bulstrode won't pay for their\r
+keep. And if Lydgate thinks I'm going to give money for them to set up\r
+housekeeping, he's mistaken, that's all. I expect I shall have to put\r
+down my horses soon. You'd better tell Rosy what I say."\r
+\r
+This was a not infrequent procedure with Mr. Vincy--to be rash in\r
+jovial assent, and on becoming subsequently conscious that he had been\r
+rash, to employ others in making the offensive retractation. However,\r
+Mrs. Vincy, who never willingly opposed her husband, lost no time the\r
+next morning in letting Rosamond know what he had said. Rosamond,\r
+examining some muslin-work, listened in silence, and at the end gave a\r
+certain turn of her graceful neck, of which only long experience could\r
+teach you that it meant perfect obstinacy.\r
+\r
+"What do you say, my dear?" said her mother, with affectionate\r
+deference.\r
+\r
+"Papa does not mean anything of the kind," said Rosamond, quite calmly.\r
+"He has always said that he wished me to marry the man I loved. And I\r
+shall marry Mr. Lydgate. It is seven weeks now since papa gave his\r
+consent. And I hope we shall have Mrs. Bretton's house."\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear, I shall leave you to manage your papa. You always do\r
+manage everybody. But if we ever do go and get damask, Sadler's is the\r
+place--far better than Hopkins's. Mrs. Bretton's is very large, though:\r
+I should love you to have such a house; but it will take a great deal\r
+of furniture--carpeting and everything, besides plate and glass. And\r
+you hear, your papa says he will give no money. Do you think Mr.\r
+Lydgate expects it?"\r
+\r
+"You cannot imagine that I should ask him, mamma. Of course he\r
+understands his own affairs."\r
+\r
+"But he may have been looking for money, my dear, and we all thought of\r
+your having a pretty legacy as well as Fred;--and now everything is so\r
+dreadful--there's no pleasure in thinking of anything, with that poor\r
+boy disappointed as he is."\r
+\r
+"That has nothing to do with my marriage, mamma. Fred must leave off\r
+being idle. I am going up-stairs to take this work to Miss Morgan: she\r
+does the open hemming very well. Mary Garth might do some work for me\r
+now, I should think. Her sewing is exquisite; it is the nicest thing I\r
+know about Mary. I should so like to have all my cambric frilling\r
+double-hemmed. And it takes a long time."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Vincy's belief that Rosamond could manage her papa was well\r
+founded. Apart from his dinners and his coursing, Mr. Vincy,\r
+blustering as he was, had as little of his own way as if he had been a\r
+prime minister: the force of circumstances was easily too much for him,\r
+as it is for most pleasure-loving florid men; and the circumstance\r
+called Rosamond was particularly forcible by means of that mild\r
+persistence which, as we know, enables a white soft living substance to\r
+make its way in spite of opposing rock. Papa was not a rock: he had no\r
+other fixity than that fixity of alternating impulses sometimes called\r
+habit, and this was altogether unfavorable to his taking the only\r
+decisive line of conduct in relation to his daughter's\r
+engagement--namely, to inquire thoroughly into Lydgate's circumstances,\r
+declare his own inability to furnish money, and forbid alike either a\r
+speedy marriage or an engagement which must be too lengthy. That seems\r
+very simple and easy in the statement; but a disagreeable resolve\r
+formed in the chill hours of the morning had as many conditions against\r
+it as the early frost, and rarely persisted under the warming\r
+influences of the day. The indirect though emphatic expression of\r
+opinion to which Mr. Vincy was prone suffered much restraint in this\r
+case: Lydgate was a proud man towards whom innuendoes were obviously\r
+unsafe, and throwing his hat on the floor was out of the question. Mr.\r
+Vincy was a little in awe of him, a little vain that he wanted to marry\r
+Rosamond, a little indisposed to raise a question of money in which his\r
+own position was not advantageous, a little afraid of being worsted in\r
+dialogue with a man better educated and more highly bred than himself,\r
+and a little afraid of doing what his daughter would not like. The\r
+part Mr. Vincy preferred playing was that of the generous host whom\r
+nobody criticises. In the earlier half of the day there was business\r
+to hinder any formal communication of an adverse resolve; in the later\r
+there was dinner, wine, whist, and general satisfaction. And in the\r
+mean while the hours were each leaving their little deposit and\r
+gradually forming the final reason for inaction, namely, that action\r
+was too late. The accepted lover spent most of his evenings in Lowick\r
+Gate, and a love-making not at all dependent on money-advances from\r
+fathers-in-law, or prospective income from a profession, went on\r
+flourishingly under Mr. Vincy's own eyes. Young love-making--that\r
+gossamer web! Even the points it clings to--the things whence its\r
+subtle interlacings are swung--are scarcely perceptible: momentary\r
+touches of fingertips, meetings of rays from blue and dark orbs,\r
+unfinished phrases, lightest changes of cheek and lip, faintest\r
+tremors. The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and indefinable\r
+joys, yearnings of one life towards another, visions of completeness,\r
+indefinite trust. And Lydgate fell to spinning that web from his\r
+inward self with wonderful rapidity, in spite of experience supposed to\r
+be finished off with the drama of Laure--in spite too of medicine and\r
+biology; for the inspection of macerated muscle or of eyes presented in\r
+a dish (like Santa Lucia's), and other incidents of scientific inquiry,\r
+are observed to be less incompatible with poetic love than a native\r
+dulness or a lively addiction to the lowest prose. As for Rosamond,\r
+she was in the water-lily's expanding wonderment at its own fuller\r
+life, and she too was spinning industriously at the mutual web. All\r
+this went on in the corner of the drawing-room where the piano stood,\r
+and subtle as it was, the light made it a sort of rainbow visible to\r
+many observers besides Mr. Farebrother. The certainty that Miss Vincy\r
+and Mr. Lydgate were engaged became general in Middlemarch without the\r
+aid of formal announcement.\r
+\r
+Aunt Bulstrode was again stirred to anxiety; but this time she\r
+addressed herself to her brother, going to the warehouse expressly to\r
+avoid Mrs. Vincy's volatility. His replies were not satisfactory.\r
+\r
+"Walter, you never mean to tell me that you have allowed all this to go\r
+on without inquiry into Mr. Lydgate's prospects?" said Mrs. Bulstrode,\r
+opening her eyes with wider gravity at her brother, who was in his\r
+peevish warehouse humor. "Think of this girl brought up in luxury--in\r
+too worldly a way, I am sorry to say--what will she do on a small\r
+income?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, confound it, Harriet! What can I do when men come into the town\r
+without any asking of mine? Did you shut your house up against\r
+Lydgate? Bulstrode has pushed him forward more than anybody. I never\r
+made any fuss about the young fellow. You should go and talk to your\r
+husband about it, not me."\r
+\r
+"Well, really, Walter, how can Mr. Bulstrode be to blame? I am sure he\r
+did not wish for the engagement."\r
+\r
+"Oh, if Bulstrode had not taken him by the hand, I should never have\r
+invited him."\r
+\r
+"But you called him in to attend on Fred, and I am sure that was a\r
+mercy," said Mrs. Bulstrode, losing her clew in the intricacies of the\r
+subject.\r
+\r
+"I don't know about mercy," said Mr. Vincy, testily. "I know I am\r
+worried more than I like with my family. I was a good brother to you,\r
+Harriet, before you married Bulstrode, and I must say he doesn't always\r
+show that friendly spirit towards your family that might have been\r
+expected of him." Mr. Vincy was very little like a Jesuit, but no\r
+accomplished Jesuit could have turned a question more adroitly.\r
+Harriet had to defend her husband instead of blaming her brother, and\r
+the conversation ended at a point as far from the beginning as some\r
+recent sparring between the brothers-in-law at a vestry meeting.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode did not repeat her brother's complaints to her husband,\r
+but in the evening she spoke to him of Lydgate and Rosamond. He did\r
+not share her warm interest, however; and only spoke with resignation\r
+of the risks attendant on the beginning of medical practice and the\r
+desirability of prudence.\r
+\r
+"I am sure we are bound to pray for that thoughtless girl--brought up\r
+as she has been," said Mrs. Bulstrode, wishing to rouse her husband's\r
+feelings.\r
+\r
+"Truly, my dear," said Mr. Bulstrode, assentingly. "Those who are not\r
+of this world can do little else to arrest the errors of the\r
+obstinately worldly. That is what we must accustom ourselves to\r
+recognize with regard to your brother's family. I could have wished\r
+that Mr. Lydgate had not entered into such a union; but my relations\r
+with him are limited to that use of his gifts for God's purposes which\r
+is taught us by the divine government under each dispensation."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode said no more, attributing some dissatisfaction which she\r
+felt to her own want of spirituality. She believed that her husband\r
+was one of those men whose memoirs should be written when they died.\r
+\r
+As to Lydgate himself, having been accepted, he was prepared to accept\r
+all the consequences which he believed himself to foresee with perfect\r
+clearness. Of course he must be married in a year--perhaps even in\r
+half a year. This was not what he had intended; but other schemes\r
+would not be hindered: they would simply adjust themselves anew.\r
+Marriage, of course, must be prepared for in the usual way. A house\r
+must be taken instead of the rooms he at present occupied; and Lydgate,\r
+having heard Rosamond speak with admiration of old Mrs. Bretton's house\r
+(situated in Lowick Gate), took notice when it fell vacant after the\r
+old lady's death, and immediately entered into treaty for it.\r
+\r
+He did this in an episodic way, very much as he gave orders to his\r
+tailor for every requisite of perfect dress, without any notion of\r
+being extravagant. On the contrary, he would have despised any\r
+ostentation of expense; his profession had familiarized him with all\r
+grades of poverty, and he cared much for those who suffered hardships.\r
+He would have behaved perfectly at a table where the sauce was served\r
+in a jug with the handle off, and he would have remembered nothing\r
+about a grand dinner except that a man was there who talked well. But\r
+it had never occurred to him that he should live in any other than what\r
+he would have called an ordinary way, with green glasses for hock, and\r
+excellent waiting at table. In warming himself at French social\r
+theories he had brought away no smell of scorching. We may handle even\r
+extreme opinions with impunity while our furniture, our dinner-giving,\r
+and preference for armorial bearings in our own case, link us\r
+indissolubly with the established order. And Lydgate's tendency was\r
+not towards extreme opinions: he would have liked no barefooted\r
+doctrines, being particular about his boots: he was no radical in\r
+relation to anything but medical reform and the prosecution of\r
+discovery. In the rest of practical life he walked by hereditary\r
+habit; half from that personal pride and unreflecting egoism which I\r
+have already called commonness, and half from that naivete which\r
+belonged to preoccupation with favorite ideas.\r
+\r
+Any inward debate Lydgate had as to the consequences of this engagement\r
+which had stolen upon him, turned on the paucity of time rather than of\r
+money. Certainly, being in love and being expected continually by some\r
+one who always turned out to be prettier than memory could represent\r
+her to be, did interfere with the diligent use of spare hours which\r
+might serve some "plodding fellow of a German" to make the great,\r
+imminent discovery. This was really an argument for not deferring the\r
+marriage too long, as he implied to Mr. Farebrother, one day that the\r
+Vicar came to his room with some pond-products which he wanted to\r
+examine under a better microscope than his own, and, finding Lydgate's\r
+tableful of apparatus and specimens in confusion, said sarcastically--\r
+\r
+"Eros has degenerated; he began by introducing order and harmony, and\r
+now he brings back chaos."\r
+\r
+"Yes, at some stages," said Lydgate, lifting his brows and smiling,\r
+while he began to arrange his microscope. "But a better order will\r
+begin after."\r
+\r
+"Soon?" said the Vicar.\r
+\r
+"I hope so, really. This unsettled state of affairs uses up the time,\r
+and when one has notions in science, every moment is an opportunity. I\r
+feel sure that marriage must be the best thing for a man who wants to\r
+work steadily. He has everything at home then--no teasing with\r
+personal speculations--he can get calmness and freedom."\r
+\r
+"You are an enviable dog," said the Vicar, "to have such a\r
+prospect--Rosamond, calmness and freedom, all to your share. Here am\r
+I with nothing but my pipe and pond-animalcules. Now, are you ready?"\r
+\r
+Lydgate did not mention to the Vicar another reason he had for wishing\r
+to shorten the period of courtship. It was rather irritating to him,\r
+even with the wine of love in his veins, to be obliged to mingle so\r
+often with the family party at the Vincys', and to enter so much into\r
+Middlemarch gossip, protracted good cheer, whist-playing, and general\r
+futility. He had to be deferential when Mr. Vincy decided questions\r
+with trenchant ignorance, especially as to those liquors which were the\r
+best inward pickle, preserving you from the effects of bad air. Mrs.\r
+Vincy's openness and simplicity were quite unstreaked with suspicion as\r
+to the subtle offence she might give to the taste of her intended\r
+son-in-law; and altogether Lydgate had to confess to himself that he\r
+was descending a little in relation to Rosamond's family. But that\r
+exquisite creature herself suffered in the same sort of way:--it was\r
+at least one delightful thought that in marrying her, he could give her\r
+a much-needed transplantation.\r
+\r
+"Dear!" he said to her one evening, in his gentlest tone, as he sat\r
+down by her and looked closely at her face--\r
+\r
+But I must first say that he had found her alone in the drawing-room,\r
+where the great old-fashioned window, almost as large as the side of\r
+the room, was opened to the summer scents of the garden at the back of\r
+the house. Her father and mother were gone to a party, and the rest\r
+were all out with the butterflies.\r
+\r
+"Dear! your eyelids are red."\r
+\r
+"Are they?" said Rosamond. "I wonder why." It was not in her nature\r
+to pour forth wishes or grievances. They only came forth gracefully on\r
+solicitation.\r
+\r
+"As if you could hide it from me!" said Lydgate, laying his hand\r
+tenderly on both of hers. "Don't I see a tiny drop on one of the\r
+lashes? Things trouble you, and you don't tell me. That is unloving."\r
+\r
+"Why should I tell you what you cannot alter? They are every-day\r
+things:--perhaps they have been a little worse lately."\r
+\r
+"Family annoyances. Don't fear speaking. I guess them."\r
+\r
+"Papa has been more irritable lately. Fred makes him angry, and this\r
+morning there was a fresh quarrel because Fred threatens to throw his\r
+whole education away, and do something quite beneath him. And\r
+besides--"\r
+\r
+Rosamond hesitated, and her cheeks were gathering a slight flush.\r
+Lydgate had never seen her in trouble since the morning of their\r
+engagement, and he had never felt so passionately towards her as at\r
+this moment. He kissed the hesitating lips gently, as if to encourage\r
+them.\r
+\r
+"I feel that papa is not quite pleased about our engagement," Rosamond\r
+continued, almost in a whisper; "and he said last night that he should\r
+certainly speak to you and say it must be given up."\r
+\r
+"Will you give it up?" said Lydgate, with quick energy--almost angrily.\r
+\r
+"I never give up anything that I choose to do," said Rosamond,\r
+recovering her calmness at the touching of this chord.\r
+\r
+"God bless you!" said Lydgate, kissing her again. This constancy of\r
+purpose in the right place was adorable. He went on:--\r
+\r
+"It is too late now for your father to say that our engagement must be\r
+given up. You are of age, and I claim you as mine. If anything is\r
+done to make you unhappy,--that is a reason for hastening our marriage."\r
+\r
+An unmistakable delight shone forth from the blue eyes that met his,\r
+and the radiance seemed to light up all his future with mild sunshine.\r
+Ideal happiness (of the kind known in the Arabian Nights, in which you\r
+are invited to step from the labor and discord of the street into a\r
+paradise where everything is given to you and nothing claimed) seemed\r
+to be an affair of a few weeks' waiting, more or less.\r
+\r
+"Why should we defer it?" he said, with ardent insistence. "I have\r
+taken the house now: everything else can soon be got ready--can it\r
+not? You will not mind about new clothes. Those can be bought\r
+afterwards."\r
+\r
+"What original notions you clever men have!" said Rosamond, dimpling\r
+with more thorough laughter than usual at this humorous incongruity.\r
+"This is the first time I ever heard of wedding-clothes being bought\r
+after marriage."\r
+\r
+"But you don't mean to say you would insist on my waiting months for\r
+the sake of clothes?" said Lydgate, half thinking that Rosamond was\r
+tormenting him prettily, and half fearing that she really shrank from\r
+speedy marriage. "Remember, we are looking forward to a better sort of\r
+happiness even than this--being continually together, independent of\r
+others, and ordering our lives as we will. Come, dear, tell me how\r
+soon you can be altogether mine."\r
+\r
+There was a serious pleading in Lydgate's tone, as if he felt that she\r
+would be injuring him by any fantastic delays. Rosamond became serious\r
+too, and slightly meditative; in fact, she was going through many\r
+intricacies of lace-edging and hosiery and petticoat-tucking, in order\r
+to give an answer that would at least be approximative.\r
+\r
+"Six weeks would be ample--say so, Rosamond," insisted Lydgate,\r
+releasing her hands to put his arm gently round her.\r
+\r
+One little hand immediately went to pat her hair, while she gave her\r
+neck a meditative turn, and then said seriously--\r
+\r
+"There would be the house-linen and the furniture to be prepared.\r
+Still, mamma could see to those while we were away."\r
+\r
+"Yes, to be sure. We must be away a week or so."\r
+\r
+"Oh, more than that!" said Rosamond, earnestly. She was thinking of\r
+her evening dresses for the visit to Sir Godwin Lydgate's, which she\r
+had long been secretly hoping for as a delightful employment of at\r
+least one quarter of the honeymoon, even if she deferred her\r
+introduction to the uncle who was a doctor of divinity (also a pleasing\r
+though sober kind of rank, when sustained by blood). She looked at her\r
+lover with some wondering remonstrance as she spoke, and he readily\r
+understood that she might wish to lengthen the sweet time of double\r
+solitude.\r
+\r
+"Whatever you wish, my darling, when the day is fixed. But let us take\r
+a decided course, and put an end to any discomfort you may be\r
+suffering. Six weeks!--I am sure they would be ample."\r
+\r
+"I could certainly hasten the work," said Rosamond. "Will you, then,\r
+mention it to papa?--I think it would be better to write to him." She\r
+blushed and looked at him as the garden flowers look at us when we walk\r
+forth happily among them in the transcendent evening light: is there\r
+not a soul beyond utterance, half nymph, half child, in those delicate\r
+petals which glow and breathe about the centres of deep color?\r
+\r
+He touched her ear and a little bit of neck under it with his lips, and\r
+they sat quite still for many minutes which flowed by them like a small\r
+gurgling brook with the kisses of the sun upon it. Rosamond thought\r
+that no one could be more in love than she was; and Lydgate thought\r
+that after all his wild mistakes and absurd credulity, he had found\r
+perfect womanhood--felt as if already breathed upon by exquisite wedded\r
+affection such as would be bestowed by an accomplished creature who\r
+venerated his high musings and momentous labors and would never\r
+interfere with them; who would create order in the home and accounts\r
+with still magic, yet keep her fingers ready to touch the lute and\r
+transform life into romance at any moment; who was instructed to the\r
+true womanly limit and not a hair's-breadth beyond--docile, therefore,\r
+and ready to carry out behests which came from that limit. It was\r
+plainer now than ever that his notion of remaining much longer a\r
+bachelor had been a mistake: marriage would not be an obstruction but a\r
+furtherance. And happening the next day to accompany a patient to\r
+Brassing, he saw a dinner-service there which struck him as so exactly\r
+the right thing that he bought it at once. It saved time to do these\r
+things just when you thought of them, and Lydgate hated ugly crockery.\r
+The dinner-service in question was expensive, but that might be in the\r
+nature of dinner-services. Furnishing was necessarily expensive; but\r
+then it had to be done only once.\r
+\r
+"It must be lovely," said Mrs. Vincy, when Lydgate mentioned his\r
+purchase with some descriptive touches. "Just what Rosy ought to have.\r
+I trust in heaven it won't be broken!"\r
+\r
+"One must hire servants who will not break things," said Lydgate.\r
+(Certainly, this was reasoning with an imperfect vision of sequences.\r
+But at that period there was no sort of reasoning which was not more or\r
+less sanctioned by men of science.)\r
+\r
+Of course it was unnecessary to defer the mention of anything to mamma,\r
+who did not readily take views that were not cheerful, and being a\r
+happy wife herself, had hardly any feeling but pride in her daughter's\r
+marriage. But Rosamond had good reasons for suggesting to Lydgate that\r
+papa should be appealed to in writing. She prepared for the arrival of\r
+the letter by walking with her papa to the warehouse the next morning,\r
+and telling him on the way that Mr. Lydgate wished to be married soon.\r
+\r
+"Nonsense, my dear!" said Mr. Vincy. "What has he got to marry on?\r
+You'd much better give up the engagement. I've told you so pretty\r
+plainly before this. What have you had such an education for, if you\r
+are to go and marry a poor man? It's a cruel thing for a father to\r
+see."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate is not poor, papa. He bought Mr. Peacock's practice,\r
+which, they say, is worth eight or nine hundred a-year."\r
+\r
+"Stuff and nonsense! What's buying a practice? He might as well buy\r
+next year's swallows. It'll all slip through his fingers."\r
+\r
+"On the contrary, papa, he will increase the practice. See how he has\r
+been called in by the Chettams and Casaubons."\r
+\r
+"I hope he knows I shan't give anything--with this disappointment about\r
+Fred, and Parliament going to be dissolved, and machine-breaking\r
+everywhere, and an election coming on--"\r
+\r
+"Dear papa! what can that have to do with my marriage?"\r
+\r
+"A pretty deal to do with it! We may all be ruined for what I know--the\r
+country's in that state! Some say it's the end of the world, and\r
+be hanged if I don't think it looks like it! Anyhow, it's not a time\r
+for me to be drawing money out of my business, and I should wish\r
+Lydgate to know that."\r
+\r
+"I am sure he expects nothing, papa. And he has such very high\r
+connections: he is sure to rise in one way or another. He is engaged\r
+in making scientific discoveries."\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy was silent.\r
+\r
+"I cannot give up my only prospect of happiness, papa. Mr. Lydgate is a\r
+gentleman. I could never love any one who was not a perfect gentleman.\r
+You would not like me to go into a consumption, as Arabella Hawley did.\r
+And you know that I never change my mind."\r
+\r
+Again papa was silent.\r
+\r
+"Promise me, papa, that you will consent to what we wish. We shall\r
+never give each other up; and you know that you have always objected to\r
+long courtships and late marriages."\r
+\r
+There was a little more urgency of this kind, till Mr. Vincy said,\r
+"Well, well, child, he must write to me first before I can answer\r
+him,"--and Rosamond was certain that she had gained her point.\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy's answer consisted chiefly in a demand that Lydgate should\r
+insure his life--a demand immediately conceded. This was a\r
+delightfully reassuring idea supposing that Lydgate died, but in the\r
+mean time not a self-supporting idea. However, it seemed to make\r
+everything comfortable about Rosamond's marriage; and the necessary\r
+purchases went on with much spirit. Not without prudential\r
+considerations, however. A bride (who is going to visit at a\r
+baronet's) must have a few first-rate pocket-handkerchiefs; but beyond\r
+the absolutely necessary half-dozen, Rosamond contented herself without\r
+the very highest style of embroidery and Valenciennes. Lydgate also,\r
+finding that his sum of eight hundred pounds had been considerably\r
+reduced since he had come to Middlemarch, restrained his inclination\r
+for some plate of an old pattern which was shown to him when he went\r
+into Kibble's establishment at Brassing to buy forks and spoons. He\r
+was too proud to act as if he presupposed that Mr. Vincy would advance\r
+money to provide furniture; and though, since it would not be\r
+necessary to pay for everything at once, some bills would be left\r
+standing over, he did not waste time in conjecturing how much his\r
+father-in-law would give in the form of dowry, to make payment easy.\r
+He was not going to do anything extravagant, but the requisite things\r
+must be bought, and it would be bad economy to buy them of a poor\r
+quality. All these matters were by the bye. Lydgate foresaw that\r
+science and his profession were the objects he should alone pursue\r
+enthusiastically; but he could not imagine himself pursuing them in\r
+such a home as Wrench had--the doors all open, the oil-cloth worn, the\r
+children in soiled pinafores, and lunch lingering in the form of bones,\r
+black-handled knives, and willow-pattern. But Wrench had a wretched\r
+lymphatic wife who made a mummy of herself indoors in a large shawl;\r
+and he must have altogether begun with an ill-chosen domestic apparatus.\r
+\r
+Rosamond, however, was on her side much occupied with conjectures,\r
+though her quick imitative perception warned her against betraying them\r
+too crudely.\r
+\r
+"I shall like so much to know your family," she said one day, when the\r
+wedding journey was being discussed. "We might perhaps take a\r
+direction that would allow us to see them as we returned. Which of\r
+your uncles do you like best?"\r
+\r
+"Oh,--my uncle Godwin, I think. He is a good-natured old fellow."\r
+\r
+"You were constantly at his house at Quallingham, when you were a boy,\r
+were you not? I should so like to see the old spot and everything you\r
+were used to. Does he know you are going to be married?"\r
+\r
+"No," said Lydgate, carelessly, turning in his chair and rubbing his\r
+hair up.\r
+\r
+"Do send him word of it, you naughty undutiful nephew. He will perhaps\r
+ask you to take me to Quallingham; and then you could show me about the\r
+grounds, and I could imagine you there when you were a boy. Remember,\r
+you see me in my home, just as it has been since I was a child. It is\r
+not fair that I should be so ignorant of yours. But perhaps you would\r
+be a little ashamed of me. I forgot that."\r
+\r
+Lydgate smiled at her tenderly, and really accepted the suggestion that\r
+the proud pleasure of showing so charming a bride was worth some\r
+trouble. And now he came to think of it, he would like to see the old\r
+spots with Rosamond.\r
+\r
+"I will write to him, then. But my cousins are bores."\r
+\r
+It seemed magnificent to Rosamond to be able to speak so slightingly of\r
+a baronet's family, and she felt much contentment in the prospect of\r
+being able to estimate them contemptuously on her own account.\r
+\r
+But mamma was near spoiling all, a day or two later, by saying--\r
+\r
+"I hope your uncle Sir Godwin will not look down on Rosy, Mr. Lydgate.\r
+I should think he would do something handsome. A thousand or two can\r
+be nothing to a baronet."\r
+\r
+"Mamma!" said Rosamond, blushing deeply; and Lydgate pitied her so much\r
+that he remained silent and went to the other end of the room to\r
+examine a print curiously, as if he had been absent-minded. Mamma had a\r
+little filial lecture afterwards, and was docile as usual. But\r
+Rosamond reflected that if any of those high-bred cousins who were\r
+bores, should be induced to visit Middlemarch, they would see many\r
+things in her own family which might shock them. Hence it seemed\r
+desirable that Lydgate should by-and-by get some first-rate position\r
+elsewhere than in Middlemarch; and this could hardly be difficult in\r
+the case of a man who had a titled uncle and could make discoveries.\r
+Lydgate, you perceive, had talked fervidly to Rosamond of his hopes as\r
+to the highest uses of his life, and had found it delightful to be\r
+listened to by a creature who would bring him the sweet furtherance of\r
+satisfying affection--beauty--repose--such help as our thoughts get\r
+from the summer sky and the flower-fringed meadows.\r
+\r
+Lydgate relied much on the psychological difference between what for\r
+the sake of variety I will call goose and gander: especially on the\r
+innate submissiveness of the goose as beautifully corresponding to the\r
+strength of the gander.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXVII.\r
+\r
+ "Thrice happy she that is so well assured\r
+ Unto herself and settled so in heart\r
+ That neither will for better be allured\r
+ Ne fears to worse with any chance to start,\r
+ But like a steddy ship doth strongly part\r
+ The raging waves and keeps her course aright;\r
+ Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart,\r
+ Ne aught for fairer weather's false delight.\r
+ Such self-assurance need not fear the spight\r
+ Of grudging foes; ne favour seek of friends;\r
+ But in the stay of her own stedfast might\r
+ Neither to one herself nor other bends.\r
+ Most happy she that most assured doth rest,\r
+ But he most happy who such one loves best."\r
+ --SPENSER.\r
+\r
+\r
+The doubt hinted by Mr. Vincy whether it were only the general election\r
+or the end of the world that was coming on, now that George the Fourth\r
+was dead, Parliament dissolved, Wellington and Peel generally\r
+depreciated and the new King apologetic, was a feeble type of the\r
+uncertainties in provincial opinion at that time. With the glow-worm\r
+lights of country places, how could men see which were their own\r
+thoughts in the confusion of a Tory Ministry passing Liberal measures,\r
+of Tory nobles and electors being anxious to return Liberals rather\r
+than friends of the recreant Ministers, and of outcries for remedies\r
+which seemed to have a mysteriously remote bearing on private interest,\r
+and were made suspicious by the advocacy of disagreeable neighbors?\r
+Buyers of the Middlemarch newspapers found themselves in an anomalous\r
+position: during the agitation on the Catholic Question many had given\r
+up the "Pioneer"--which had a motto from Charles James Fox and was in\r
+the van of progress--because it had taken Peel's side about the\r
+Papists, and had thus blotted its Liberalism with a toleration of\r
+Jesuitry and Baal; but they were ill-satisfied with the "Trumpet,"\r
+which--since its blasts against Rome, and in the general flaccidity of\r
+the public mind (nobody knowing who would support whom)--had become\r
+feeble in its blowing.\r
+\r
+It was a time, according to a noticeable article in the "Pioneer," when\r
+the crying needs of the country might well counteract a reluctance to\r
+public action on the part of men whose minds had from long experience\r
+acquired breadth as well as concentration, decision of judgment as well\r
+as tolerance, dispassionateness as well as energy--in fact, all those\r
+qualities which in the melancholy experience of mankind have been the\r
+least disposed to share lodgings.\r
+\r
+Mr. Hackbutt, whose fluent speech was at that time floating more widely\r
+than usual, and leaving much uncertainty as to its ultimate channel,\r
+was heard to say in Mr. Hawley's office that the article in question\r
+"emanated" from Brooke of Tipton, and that Brooke had secretly bought\r
+the "Pioneer" some months ago.\r
+\r
+"That means mischief, eh?" said Mr. Hawley. "He's got the freak of\r
+being a popular man now, after dangling about like a stray tortoise.\r
+So much the worse for him. I've had my eye on him for some time. He\r
+shall be prettily pumped upon. He's a damned bad landlord. What\r
+business has an old county man to come currying favor with a low set of\r
+dark-blue freemen? As to his paper, I only hope he may do the writing\r
+himself. It would be worth our paying for."\r
+\r
+"I understand he has got a very brilliant young fellow to edit it, who\r
+can write the highest style of leading article, quite equal to anything\r
+in the London papers. And he means to take very high ground on Reform."\r
+\r
+"Let Brooke reform his rent-roll. He's a cursed old screw, and the\r
+buildings all over his estate are going to rack. I suppose this young\r
+fellow is some loose fish from London."\r
+\r
+"His name is Ladislaw. He is said to be of foreign extraction."\r
+\r
+"I know the sort," said Mr. Hawley; "some emissary. He'll begin with\r
+flourishing about the Rights of Man and end with murdering a wench.\r
+That's the style."\r
+\r
+"You must concede that there are abuses, Hawley," said Mr. Hackbutt,\r
+foreseeing some political disagreement with his family lawyer. "I\r
+myself should never favor immoderate views--in fact I take my stand\r
+with Huskisson--but I cannot blind myself to the consideration that the\r
+non-representation of large towns--"\r
+\r
+"Large towns be damned!" said Mr. Hawley, impatient of exposition. "I\r
+know a little too much about Middlemarch elections. Let 'em quash\r
+every pocket borough to-morrow, and bring in every mushroom town in the\r
+kingdom--they'll only increase the expense of getting into Parliament.\r
+I go upon facts."\r
+\r
+Mr. Hawley's disgust at the notion of the "Pioneer" being edited by an\r
+emissary, and of Brooke becoming actively political--as if a tortoise\r
+of desultory pursuits should protrude its small head ambitiously and\r
+become rampant--was hardly equal to the annoyance felt by some members\r
+of Mr. Brooke's own family. The result had oozed forth gradually, like\r
+the discovery that your neighbor has set up an unpleasant kind of\r
+manufacture which will be permanently under your nostrils without legal\r
+remedy. The "Pioneer" had been secretly bought even before Will\r
+Ladislaw's arrival, the expected opportunity having offered itself in\r
+the readiness of the proprietor to part with a valuable property which\r
+did not pay; and in the interval since Mr. Brooke had written his\r
+invitation, those germinal ideas of making his mind tell upon the world\r
+at large which had been present in him from his younger years, but had\r
+hitherto lain in some obstruction, had been sprouting under cover.\r
+\r
+The development was much furthered by a delight in his guest which\r
+proved greater even than he had anticipated. For it seemed that Will\r
+was not only at home in all those artistic and literary subjects which\r
+Mr. Brooke had gone into at one time, but that he was strikingly ready\r
+at seizing the points of the political situation, and dealing with them\r
+in that large spirit which, aided by adequate memory, lends itself to\r
+quotation and general effectiveness of treatment.\r
+\r
+"He seems to me a kind of Shelley, you know," Mr. Brooke took an\r
+opportunity of saying, for the gratification of Mr. Casaubon. "I don't\r
+mean as to anything objectionable--laxities or atheism, or anything of\r
+that kind, you know--Ladislaw's sentiments in every way I am sure are\r
+good--indeed, we were talking a great deal together last night. But he\r
+has the same sort of enthusiasm for liberty, freedom, emancipation--a\r
+fine thing under guidance--under guidance, you know. I think I shall\r
+be able to put him on the right tack; and I am the more pleased because\r
+he is a relation of yours, Casaubon."\r
+\r
+If the right tack implied anything more precise than the rest of Mr.\r
+Brooke's speech, Mr. Casaubon silently hoped that it referred to some\r
+occupation at a great distance from Lowick. He had disliked Will while\r
+he helped him, but he had begun to dislike him still more now that Will\r
+had declined his help. That is the way with us when we have any uneasy\r
+jealousy in our disposition: if our talents are chiefly of the\r
+burrowing kind, our honey-sipping cousin (whom we have grave reasons\r
+for objecting to) is likely to have a secret contempt for us, and any\r
+one who admires him passes an oblique criticism on ourselves. Having\r
+the scruples of rectitude in our souls, we are above the meanness of\r
+injuring him--rather we meet all his claims on us by active benefits;\r
+and the drawing of cheques for him, being a superiority which he must\r
+recognize, gives our bitterness a milder infusion. Now Mr. Casaubon\r
+had been deprived of that superiority (as anything more than a\r
+remembrance) in a sudden, capricious manner. His antipathy to Will did\r
+not spring from the common jealousy of a winter-worn husband: it was\r
+something deeper, bred by his lifelong claims and discontents; but\r
+Dorothea, now that she was present--Dorothea, as a young wife who\r
+herself had shown an offensive capability of criticism, necessarily\r
+gave concentration to the uneasiness which had before been vague.\r
+\r
+Will Ladislaw on his side felt that his dislike was flourishing at the\r
+expense of his gratitude, and spent much inward discourse in justifying\r
+the dislike. Casaubon hated him--he knew that very well; on his first\r
+entrance he could discern a bitterness in the mouth and a venom in the\r
+glance which would almost justify declaring war in spite of past\r
+benefits. He was much obliged to Casaubon in the past, but really the\r
+act of marrying this wife was a set-off against the obligation. It was\r
+a question whether gratitude which refers to what is done for one's\r
+self ought not to give way to indignation at what is done against\r
+another. And Casaubon had done a wrong to Dorothea in marrying her. A\r
+man was bound to know himself better than that, and if he chose to grow\r
+gray crunching bones in a cavern, he had no business to be luring a\r
+girl into his companionship. "It is the most horrible of\r
+virgin-sacrifices," said Will; and he painted to himself what were\r
+Dorothea's inward sorrows as if he had been writing a choric wail. But\r
+he would never lose sight of her: he would watch over her--if he gave\r
+up everything else in life he would watch over her, and she should know\r
+that she had one slave in the world, Will had--to use Sir Thomas\r
+Browne's phrase--a "passionate prodigality" of statement both to\r
+himself and others. The simple truth was that nothing then invited him\r
+so strongly as the presence of Dorothea.\r
+\r
+Invitations of the formal kind had been wanting, however, for Will had\r
+never been asked to go to Lowick. Mr. Brooke, indeed, confident of\r
+doing everything agreeable which Casaubon, poor fellow, was too much\r
+absorbed to think of, had arranged to bring Ladislaw to Lowick several\r
+times (not neglecting meanwhile to introduce him elsewhere on every\r
+opportunity as "a young relative of Casaubon's"). And though Will had\r
+not seen Dorothea alone, their interviews had been enough to restore\r
+her former sense of young companionship with one who was cleverer than\r
+herself, yet seemed ready to be swayed by her. Poor Dorothea before\r
+her marriage had never found much room in other minds for what she\r
+cared most to say; and she had not, as we know, enjoyed her husband's\r
+superior instruction so much as she had expected. If she spoke with\r
+any keenness of interest to Mr. Casaubon, he heard her with an air of\r
+patience as if she had given a quotation from the Delectus familiar to\r
+him from his tender years, and sometimes mentioned curtly what ancient\r
+sects or personages had held similar ideas, as if there were too much\r
+of that sort in stock already; at other times he would inform her that\r
+she was mistaken, and reassert what her remark had questioned.\r
+\r
+But Will Ladislaw always seemed to see more in what she said than she\r
+herself saw. Dorothea had little vanity, but she had the ardent\r
+woman's need to rule beneficently by making the joy of another soul.\r
+Hence the mere chance of seeing Will occasionally was like a lunette\r
+opened in the wall of her prison, giving her a glimpse of the sunny\r
+air; and this pleasure began to nullify her original alarm at what her\r
+husband might think about the introduction of Will as her uncle's\r
+guest. On this subject Mr. Casaubon had remained dumb.\r
+\r
+But Will wanted to talk with Dorothea alone, and was impatient of slow\r
+circumstance. However slight the terrestrial intercourse between Dante\r
+and Beatrice or Petrarch and Laura, time changes the proportion of\r
+things, and in later days it is preferable to have fewer sonnets and\r
+more conversation. Necessity excused stratagem, but stratagem was\r
+limited by the dread of offending Dorothea. He found out at last that\r
+he wanted to take a particular sketch at Lowick; and one morning when\r
+Mr. Brooke had to drive along the Lowick road on his way to the county\r
+town, Will asked to be set down with his sketch-book and camp-stool at\r
+Lowick, and without announcing himself at the Manor settled himself to\r
+sketch in a position where he must see Dorothea if she came out to\r
+walk--and he knew that she usually walked an hour in the morning.\r
+\r
+But the stratagem was defeated by the weather. Clouds gathered with\r
+treacherous quickness, the rain came down, and Will was obliged to take\r
+shelter in the house. He intended, on the strength of relationship, to\r
+go into the drawing-room and wait there without being announced; and\r
+seeing his old acquaintance the butler in the hall, he said, "Don't\r
+mention that I am here, Pratt; I will wait till luncheon; I know Mr.\r
+Casaubon does not like to be disturbed when he is in the library."\r
+\r
+"Master is out, sir; there's only Mrs. Casaubon in the library. I'd\r
+better tell her you're here, sir," said Pratt, a red-cheeked man given\r
+to lively converse with Tantripp, and often agreeing with her that it\r
+must be dull for Madam.\r
+\r
+"Oh, very well; this confounded rain has hindered me from sketching,"\r
+said Will, feeling so happy that he affected indifference with\r
+delightful ease.\r
+\r
+In another minute he was in the library, and Dorothea was meeting him\r
+with her sweet unconstrained smile.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Casaubon has gone to the Archdeacon's," she said, at once. "I\r
+don't know whether he will be at home again long before dinner. He was\r
+uncertain how long he should be. Did you want to say anything\r
+particular to him?"\r
+\r
+"No; I came to sketch, but the rain drove me in. Else I would not have\r
+disturbed you yet. I supposed that Mr. Casaubon was here, and I know\r
+he dislikes interruption at this hour."\r
+\r
+"I am indebted to the rain, then. I am so glad to see you." Dorothea\r
+uttered these common words with the simple sincerity of an unhappy\r
+child, visited at school.\r
+\r
+"I really came for the chance of seeing you alone," said Will,\r
+mysteriously forced to be just as simple as she was. He could not stay\r
+to ask himself, why not? "I wanted to talk about things, as we did in\r
+Rome. It always makes a difference when other people are present."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Dorothea, in her clear full tone of assent. "Sit down."\r
+She seated herself on a dark ottoman with the brown books behind her,\r
+looking in her plain dress of some thin woollen-white material, without\r
+a single ornament on her besides her wedding-ring, as if she were under\r
+a vow to be different from all other women; and Will sat down opposite\r
+her at two yards' distance, the light falling on his bright curls and\r
+delicate but rather petulant profile, with its defiant curves of lip\r
+and chin. Each looked at the other as if they had been two flowers\r
+which had opened then and there. Dorothea for the moment forgot her\r
+husband's mysterious irritation against Will: it seemed fresh water at\r
+her thirsty lips to speak without fear to the one person whom she had\r
+found receptive; for in looking backward through sadness she\r
+exaggerated a past solace.\r
+\r
+"I have often thought that I should like to talk to you again," she\r
+said, immediately. "It seems strange to me how many things I said to\r
+you."\r
+\r
+"I remember them all," said Will, with the unspeakable content in his\r
+soul of feeling that he was in the presence of a creature worthy to be\r
+perfectly loved. I think his own feelings at that moment were perfect,\r
+for we mortals have our divine moments, when love is satisfied in the\r
+completeness of the beloved object.\r
+\r
+"I have tried to learn a great deal since we were in Rome," said\r
+Dorothea. "I can read Latin a little, and I am beginning to understand\r
+just a little Greek. I can help Mr. Casaubon better now. I can find\r
+out references for him and save his eyes in many ways. But it is very\r
+difficult to be learned; it seems as if people were worn out on the way\r
+to great thoughts, and can never enjoy them because they are too tired."\r
+\r
+"If a man has a capacity for great thoughts, he is likely to overtake\r
+them before he is decrepit," said Will, with irrepressible quickness.\r
+But through certain sensibilities Dorothea was as quick as he, and\r
+seeing her face change, he added, immediately, "But it is quite true\r
+that the best minds have been sometimes overstrained in working out\r
+their ideas."\r
+\r
+"You correct me," said Dorothea. "I expressed myself ill. I should\r
+have said that those who have great thoughts get too much worn in\r
+working them out. I used to feel about that, even when I was a little\r
+girl; and it always seemed to me that the use I should like to make of\r
+my life would be to help some one who did great works, so that his\r
+burthen might be lighter."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was led on to this bit of autobiography without any sense of\r
+making a revelation. But she had never before said anything to Will\r
+which threw so strong a light on her marriage. He did not shrug his\r
+shoulders; and for want of that muscular outlet he thought the more\r
+irritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls and other emptinesses\r
+ecclesiastically enshrined. Also he had to take care that his speech\r
+should not betray that thought.\r
+\r
+"But you may easily carry the help too far," he said, "and get\r
+over-wrought yourself. Are you not too much shut up? You already look\r
+paler. It would be better for Mr. Casaubon to have a secretary; he\r
+could easily get a man who would do half his work for him. It would\r
+save him more effectually, and you need only help him in lighter ways."\r
+\r
+"How can you think of that?" said Dorothea, in a tone of earnest\r
+remonstrance. "I should have no happiness if I did not help him in his\r
+work. What could I do? There is no good to be done in Lowick. The\r
+only thing I desire is to help him more. And he objects to a\r
+secretary: please not to mention that again."\r
+\r
+"Certainly not, now I know your feeling. But I have heard both Mr.\r
+Brooke and Sir James Chettam express the same wish."\r
+\r
+"Yes?" said Dorothea, "but they don't understand--they want me to be a\r
+great deal on horseback, and have the garden altered and new\r
+conservatories, to fill up my days. I thought you could understand\r
+that one's mind has other wants," she added, rather\r
+impatiently--"besides, Mr. Casaubon cannot bear to hear of a secretary."\r
+\r
+"My mistake is excusable," said Will. "In old days I used to hear Mr.\r
+Casaubon speak as if he looked forward to having a secretary. Indeed\r
+he held out the prospect of that office to me. But I turned out to\r
+be--not good enough for it."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was trying to extract out of this an excuse for her husband's\r
+evident repulsion, as she said, with a playful smile, "You were not a\r
+steady worker enough."\r
+\r
+"No," said Will, shaking his head backward somewhat after the manner of\r
+a spirited horse. And then, the old irritable demon prompting him to\r
+give another good pinch at the moth-wings of poor Mr. Casaubon's glory,\r
+he went on, "And I have seen since that Mr. Casaubon does not like any\r
+one to overlook his work and know thoroughly what he is doing. He is\r
+too doubtful--too uncertain of himself. I may not be good for much,\r
+but he dislikes me because I disagree with him."\r
+\r
+Will was not without his intentions to be always generous, but our\r
+tongues are little triggers which have usually been pulled before\r
+general intentions can be brought to bear. And it was too intolerable\r
+that Casaubon's dislike of him should not be fairly accounted for to\r
+Dorothea. Yet when he had spoken he was rather uneasy as to the effect\r
+on her.\r
+\r
+But Dorothea was strangely quiet--not immediately indignant, as she had\r
+been on a like occasion in Rome. And the cause lay deep. She was no\r
+longer struggling against the perception of facts, but adjusting\r
+herself to their clearest perception; and now when she looked steadily\r
+at her husband's failure, still more at his possible consciousness of\r
+failure, she seemed to be looking along the one track where duty became\r
+tenderness. Will's want of reticence might have been met with more\r
+severity, if he had not already been recommended to her mercy by her\r
+husband's dislike, which must seem hard to her till she saw better\r
+reason for it.\r
+\r
+She did not answer at once, but after looking down ruminatingly she\r
+said, with some earnestness, "Mr. Casaubon must have overcome his\r
+dislike of you so far as his actions were concerned: and that is\r
+admirable."\r
+\r
+"Yes; he has shown a sense of justice in family matters. It was an\r
+abominable thing that my grandmother should have been disinherited\r
+because she made what they called a mesalliance, though there was\r
+nothing to be said against her husband except that he was a Polish\r
+refugee who gave lessons for his bread."\r
+\r
+"I wish I knew all about her!" said Dorothea. "I wonder how she bore\r
+the change from wealth to poverty: I wonder whether she was happy with\r
+her husband! Do you know much about them?"\r
+\r
+"No; only that my grandfather was a patriot--a bright fellow--could\r
+speak many languages--musical--got his bread by teaching all sorts of\r
+things. They both died rather early. And I never knew much of my\r
+father, beyond what my mother told me; but he inherited the musical\r
+talents. I remember his slow walk and his long thin hands; and one day\r
+remains with me when he was lying ill, and I was very hungry, and had\r
+only a little bit of bread."\r
+\r
+"Ah, what a different life from mine!" said Dorothea, with keen\r
+interest, clasping her hands on her lap. "I have always had too much\r
+of everything. But tell me how it was--Mr. Casaubon could not have\r
+known about you then."\r
+\r
+"No; but my father had made himself known to Mr. Casaubon, and that was\r
+my last hungry day. My father died soon after, and my mother and I\r
+were well taken care of. Mr. Casaubon always expressly recognized it\r
+as his duty to take care of us because of the harsh injustice which had\r
+been shown to his mother's sister. But now I am telling you what is\r
+not new to you."\r
+\r
+In his inmost soul Will was conscious of wishing to tell Dorothea what\r
+was rather new even in his own construction of things--namely, that\r
+Mr. Casaubon had never done more than pay a debt towards him. Will was\r
+much too good a fellow to be easy under the sense of being ungrateful.\r
+And when gratitude has become a matter of reasoning there are many ways\r
+of escaping from its bonds.\r
+\r
+"No," answered Dorothea; "Mr. Casaubon has always avoided dwelling on\r
+his own honorable actions." She did not feel that her husband's\r
+conduct was depreciated; but this notion of what justice had required\r
+in his relations with Will Ladislaw took strong hold on her mind.\r
+After a moment's pause, she added, "He had never told me that he\r
+supported your mother. Is she still living?"\r
+\r
+"No; she died by an accident--a fall--four years ago. It is curious\r
+that my mother, too, ran away from her family, but not for the sake of\r
+her husband. She never would tell me anything about her family, except\r
+that she forsook them to get her own living--went on the stage, in\r
+fact. She was a dark-eyed creature, with crisp ringlets, and never\r
+seemed to be getting old. You see I come of rebellious blood on both\r
+sides," Will ended, smiling brightly at Dorothea, while she was still\r
+looking with serious intentness before her, like a child seeing a drama\r
+for the first time.\r
+\r
+But her face, too, broke into a smile as she said, "That is your\r
+apology, I suppose, for having yourself been rather rebellious; I mean,\r
+to Mr. Casaubon's wishes. You must remember that you have not done\r
+what he thought best for you. And if he dislikes you--you were\r
+speaking of dislike a little while ago--but I should rather say, if he\r
+has shown any painful feelings towards you, you must consider how\r
+sensitive he has become from the wearing effect of study. Perhaps,"\r
+she continued, getting into a pleading tone, "my uncle has not told you\r
+how serious Mr. Casaubon's illness was. It would be very petty of us\r
+who are well and can bear things, to think much of small offences from\r
+those who carry a weight of trial."\r
+\r
+"You teach me better," said Will. "I will never grumble on that\r
+subject again." There was a gentleness in his tone which came from the\r
+unutterable contentment of perceiving--what Dorothea was hardly\r
+conscious of--that she was travelling into the remoteness of pure pity\r
+and loyalty towards her husband. Will was ready to adore her pity and\r
+loyalty, if she would associate himself with her in manifesting them.\r
+"I have really sometimes been a perverse fellow," he went on, "but I\r
+will never again, if I can help it, do or say what you would\r
+disapprove."\r
+\r
+"That is very good of you," said Dorothea, with another open smile. "I\r
+shall have a little kingdom then, where I shall give laws. But you\r
+will soon go away, out of my rule, I imagine. You will soon be tired\r
+of staying at the Grange."\r
+\r
+"That is a point I wanted to mention to you--one of the reasons why I\r
+wished to speak to you alone. Mr. Brooke proposes that I should stay\r
+in this neighborhood. He has bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers,\r
+and he wishes me to conduct that, and also to help him in other ways."\r
+\r
+"Would not that be a sacrifice of higher prospects for you?" said\r
+Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"Perhaps; but I have always been blamed for thinking of prospects, and\r
+not settling to anything. And here is something offered to me. If you\r
+would not like me to accept it, I will give it up. Otherwise I would\r
+rather stay in this part of the country than go away. I belong to\r
+nobody anywhere else."\r
+\r
+"I should like you to stay very much," said Dorothea, at once, as\r
+simply and readily as she had spoken at Rome. There was not the shadow\r
+of a reason in her mind at the moment why she should not say so.\r
+\r
+"Then I _will_ stay," said Ladislaw, shaking his head backward, rising\r
+and going towards the window, as if to see whether the rain had ceased.\r
+\r
+But the next moment, Dorothea, according to a habit which was getting\r
+continually stronger, began to reflect that her husband felt\r
+differently from herself, and she colored deeply under the double\r
+embarrassment of having expressed what might be in opposition to her\r
+husband's feeling, and of having to suggest this opposition to Will.\r
+His face was not turned towards her, and this made it easier to say--\r
+\r
+"But my opinion is of little consequence on such a subject. I think\r
+you should be guided by Mr. Casaubon. I spoke without thinking of\r
+anything else than my own feeling, which has nothing to do with the\r
+real question. But it now occurs to me--perhaps Mr. Casaubon might\r
+see that the proposal was not wise. Can you not wait now and mention\r
+it to him?"\r
+\r
+"I can't wait to-day," said Will, inwardly seared by the possibility\r
+that Mr. Casaubon would enter. "The rain is quite over now. I told\r
+Mr. Brooke not to call for me: I would rather walk the five miles. I\r
+shall strike across Halsell Common, and see the gleams on the wet\r
+grass. I like that."\r
+\r
+He approached her to shake hands quite hurriedly, longing but not\r
+daring to say, "Don't mention the subject to Mr. Casaubon." No, he\r
+dared not, could not say it. To ask her to be less simple and direct\r
+would be like breathing on the crystal that you want to see the light\r
+through. And there was always the other great dread--of himself\r
+becoming dimmed and forever ray-shorn in her eyes.\r
+\r
+"I wish you could have stayed," said Dorothea, with a touch of\r
+mournfulness, as she rose and put out her hand. She also had her\r
+thought which she did not like to express:--Will certainly ought to\r
+lose no time in consulting Mr. Casaubon's wishes, but for her to urge\r
+this might seem an undue dictation.\r
+\r
+So they only said "Good-by," and Will quitted the house, striking\r
+across the fields so as not to run any risk of encountering Mr.\r
+Casaubon's carriage, which, however, did not appear at the gate until\r
+four o'clock. That was an unpropitious hour for coming home: it was too\r
+early to gain the moral support under ennui of dressing his person for\r
+dinner, and too late to undress his mind of the day's frivolous\r
+ceremony and affairs, so as to be prepared for a good plunge into the\r
+serious business of study. On such occasions he usually threw into an\r
+easy-chair in the library, and allowed Dorothea to read the London\r
+papers to him, closing his eyes the while. To-day, however, he\r
+declined that relief, observing that he had already had too many public\r
+details urged upon him; but he spoke more cheerfully than usual, when\r
+Dorothea asked about his fatigue, and added with that air of formal\r
+effort which never forsook him even when he spoke without his waistcoat\r
+and cravat--\r
+\r
+"I have had the gratification of meeting my former acquaintance, Dr.\r
+Spanning, to-day, and of being praised by one who is himself a worthy\r
+recipient of praise. He spoke very handsomely of my late tractate on\r
+the Egyptian Mysteries,--using, in fact, terms which it would not\r
+become me to repeat." In uttering the last clause, Mr. Casaubon leaned\r
+over the elbow of his chair, and swayed his head up and down,\r
+apparently as a muscular outlet instead of that recapitulation which\r
+would not have been becoming.\r
+\r
+"I am very glad you have had that pleasure," said Dorothea, delighted\r
+to see her husband less weary than usual at this hour. "Before you\r
+came I had been regretting that you happened to be out to-day."\r
+\r
+"Why so, my dear?" said Mr. Casaubon, throwing himself backward again.\r
+\r
+"Because Mr. Ladislaw has been here; and he has mentioned a proposal of\r
+my uncle's which I should like to know your opinion of." Her husband\r
+she felt was really concerned in this question. Even with her\r
+ignorance of the world she had a vague impression that the position\r
+offered to Will was out of keeping with his family connections, and\r
+certainly Mr. Casaubon had a claim to be consulted. He did not speak,\r
+but merely bowed.\r
+\r
+"Dear uncle, you know, has many projects. It appears that he has\r
+bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers, and he has asked Mr. Ladislaw\r
+to stay in this neighborhood and conduct the paper for him, besides\r
+helping him in other ways."\r
+\r
+Dorothea looked at her husband while she spoke, but he had at first\r
+blinked and finally closed his eyes, as if to save them; while his lips\r
+became more tense. "What is your opinion?" she added, rather timidly,\r
+after a slight pause.\r
+\r
+"Did Mr. Ladislaw come on purpose to ask my opinion?" said Mr.\r
+Casaubon, opening his eyes narrowly with a knife-edged look at\r
+Dorothea. She was really uncomfortable on the point he inquired about,\r
+but she only became a little more serious, and her eyes did not swerve.\r
+\r
+"No," she answered immediately, "he did not say that he came to ask\r
+your opinion. But when he mentioned the proposal, he of course\r
+expected me to tell you of it."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon was silent.\r
+\r
+"I feared that you might feel some objection. But certainly a young\r
+man with so much talent might be very useful to my uncle--might help\r
+him to do good in a better way. And Mr. Ladislaw wishes to have some\r
+fixed occupation. He has been blamed, he says, for not seeking\r
+something of that kind, and he would like to stay in this neighborhood\r
+because no one cares for him elsewhere."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt that this was a consideration to soften her husband.\r
+However, he did not speak, and she presently recurred to Dr. Spanning\r
+and the Archdeacon's breakfast. But there was no longer sunshine on\r
+these subjects.\r
+\r
+The next morning, without Dorothea's knowledge, Mr. Casaubon despatched\r
+the following letter, beginning "Dear Mr. Ladislaw" (he had always\r
+before addressed him as "Will"):--\r
+\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Casaubon informs me that a proposal has been made to you, and\r
+(according to an inference by no means stretched) has on your part been\r
+in some degree entertained, which involves your residence in this\r
+neighborhood in a capacity which I am justified in saying touches my\r
+own position in such a way as renders it not only natural and\r
+warrantable in me when that effect is viewed under the influence of\r
+legitimate feeling, but incumbent on me when the same effect is\r
+considered in the light of my responsibilities, to state at once that\r
+your acceptance of the proposal above indicated would be highly\r
+offensive to me. That I have some claim to the exercise of a veto\r
+here, would not, I believe, be denied by any reasonable person\r
+cognizant of the relations between us: relations which, though thrown\r
+into the past by your recent procedure, are not thereby annulled in\r
+their character of determining antecedents. I will not here make\r
+reflections on any person's judgment. It is enough for me to point out\r
+to yourself that there are certain social fitnesses and proprieties\r
+which should hinder a somewhat near relative of mine from becoming any\r
+wise conspicuous in this vicinity in a status not only much beneath my\r
+own, but associated at best with the sciolism of literary or political\r
+adventurers. At any rate, the contrary issue must exclude you from\r
+further reception at my house.\r
+\r
+ Yours faithfully,\r
+ "EDWARD CASAUBON."\r
+\r
+\r
+Meanwhile Dorothea's mind was innocently at work towards the further\r
+embitterment of her husband; dwelling, with a sympathy that grew to\r
+agitation, on what Will had told her about his parents and\r
+grandparents. Any private hours in her day were usually spent in her\r
+blue-green boudoir, and she had come to be very fond of its pallid\r
+quaintness. Nothing had been outwardly altered there; but while the\r
+summer had gradually advanced over the western fields beyond the avenue\r
+of elms, the bare room had gathered within it those memories of an\r
+inward life which fill the air as with a cloud of good or bad angels,\r
+the invisible yet active forms of our spiritual triumphs or our\r
+spiritual falls. She had been so used to struggle for and to find\r
+resolve in looking along the avenue towards the arch of western light\r
+that the vision itself had gained a communicating power. Even the pale\r
+stag seemed to have reminding glances and to mean mutely, "Yes, we\r
+know." And the group of delicately touched miniatures had made an\r
+audience as of beings no longer disturbed about their own earthly lot,\r
+but still humanly interested. Especially the mysterious "Aunt Julia"\r
+about whom Dorothea had never found it easy to question her husband.\r
+\r
+And now, since her conversation with Will, many fresh images had\r
+gathered round that Aunt Julia who was Will's grandmother; the presence\r
+of that delicate miniature, so like a living face that she knew,\r
+helping to concentrate her feelings. What a wrong, to cut off the girl\r
+from the family protection and inheritance only because she had chosen\r
+a man who was poor! Dorothea, early troubling her elders with\r
+questions about the facts around her, had wrought herself into some\r
+independent clearness as to the historical, political reasons why\r
+eldest sons had superior rights, and why land should be entailed: those\r
+reasons, impressing her with a certain awe, might be weightier than she\r
+knew, but here was a question of ties which left them uninfringed.\r
+Here was a daughter whose child--even according to the ordinary aping\r
+of aristocratic institutions by people who are no more aristocratic\r
+than retired grocers, and who have no more land to "keep together" than\r
+a lawn and a paddock--would have a prior claim. Was inheritance a\r
+question of liking or of responsibility? All the energy of Dorothea's\r
+nature went on the side of responsibility--the fulfilment of claims\r
+founded on our own deeds, such as marriage and parentage.\r
+\r
+It was true, she said to herself, that Mr. Casaubon had a debt to the\r
+Ladislaws--that he had to pay back what the Ladislaws had been wronged\r
+of. And now she began to think of her husband's will, which had been\r
+made at the time of their marriage, leaving the bulk of his property to\r
+her, with proviso in case of her having children. That ought to be\r
+altered; and no time ought to be lost. This very question which had\r
+just arisen about Will Ladislaw's occupation, was the occasion for\r
+placing things on a new, right footing. Her husband, she felt sure,\r
+according to all his previous conduct, would be ready to take the just\r
+view, if she proposed it--she, in whose interest an unfair\r
+concentration of the property had been urged. His sense of right had\r
+surmounted and would continue to surmount anything that might be called\r
+antipathy. She suspected that her uncle's scheme was disapproved by\r
+Mr. Casaubon, and this made it seem all the more opportune that a fresh\r
+understanding should be begun, so that instead of Will's starting\r
+penniless and accepting the first function that offered itself, he\r
+should find himself in possession of a rightful income which should be\r
+paid by her husband during his life, and, by an immediate alteration of\r
+the will, should be secured at his death. The vision of all this as\r
+what ought to be done seemed to Dorothea like a sudden letting in of\r
+daylight, waking her from her previous stupidity and incurious\r
+self-absorbed ignorance about her husband's relation to others. Will\r
+Ladislaw had refused Mr. Casaubon's future aid on a ground that no\r
+longer appeared right to her; and Mr. Casaubon had never himself seen\r
+fully what was the claim upon him. "But he will!" said Dorothea. "The\r
+great strength of his character lies here. And what are we doing with\r
+our money? We make no use of half of our income. My own money buys me\r
+nothing but an uneasy conscience."\r
+\r
+There was a peculiar fascination for Dorothea in this division of\r
+property intended for herself, and always regarded by her as excessive.\r
+She was blind, you see, to many things obvious to others--likely to\r
+tread in the wrong places, as Celia had warned her; yet her blindness\r
+to whatever did not lie in her own pure purpose carried her safely by\r
+the side of precipices where vision would have been perilous with fear.\r
+\r
+The thoughts which had gathered vividness in the solitude of her\r
+boudoir occupied her incessantly through the day on which Mr. Casaubon\r
+had sent his letter to Will. Everything seemed hindrance to her till\r
+she could find an opportunity of opening her heart to her husband. To\r
+his preoccupied mind all subjects were to be approached gently, and she\r
+had never since his illness lost from her consciousness the dread of\r
+agitating him. But when young ardor is set brooding over the\r
+conception of a prompt deed, the deed itself seems to start forth with\r
+independent life, mastering ideal obstacles. The day passed in a\r
+sombre fashion, not unusual, though Mr. Casaubon was perhaps unusually\r
+silent; but there were hours of the night which might be counted on as\r
+opportunities of conversation; for Dorothea, when aware of her\r
+husband's sleeplessness, had established a habit of rising, lighting a\r
+candle, and reading him to sleep again. And this night she was from\r
+the beginning sleepless, excited by resolves. He slept as usual for a\r
+few hours, but she had risen softly and had sat in the darkness for\r
+nearly an hour before he said--\r
+\r
+"Dorothea, since you are up, will you light a candle?"\r
+\r
+"Do you feel ill, dear?" was her first question, as she obeyed him.\r
+\r
+"No, not at all; but I shall be obliged, since you are up, if you will\r
+read me a few pages of Lowth."\r
+\r
+"May I talk to you a little instead?" said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"Certainly."\r
+\r
+"I have been thinking about money all day--that I have always had too\r
+much, and especially the prospect of too much."\r
+\r
+"These, my dear Dorothea, are providential arrangements."\r
+\r
+"But if one has too much in consequence of others being wronged, it\r
+seems to me that the divine voice which tells us to set that wrong\r
+right must be obeyed."\r
+\r
+"What, my love, is the bearing of your remark?"\r
+\r
+"That you have been too liberal in arrangements for me--I mean, with\r
+regard to property; and that makes me unhappy."\r
+\r
+"How so? I have none but comparatively distant connections."\r
+\r
+"I have been led to think about your aunt Julia, and how she was left\r
+in poverty only because she married a poor man, an act which was not\r
+disgraceful, since he was not unworthy. It was on that ground, I know,\r
+that you educated Mr. Ladislaw and provided for his mother."\r
+\r
+Dorothea waited a few moments for some answer that would help her\r
+onward. None came, and her next words seemed the more forcible to her,\r
+falling clear upon the dark silence.\r
+\r
+"But surely we should regard his claim as a much greater one, even to\r
+the half of that property which I know that you have destined for me.\r
+And I think he ought at once to be provided for on that understanding.\r
+It is not right that he should be in the dependence of poverty while we\r
+are rich. And if there is any objection to the proposal he mentioned,\r
+the giving him his true place and his true share would set aside any\r
+motive for his accepting it."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Ladislaw has probably been speaking to you on this subject?" said\r
+Mr. Casaubon, with a certain biting quickness not habitual to him.\r
+\r
+"Indeed, no!" said Dorothea, earnestly. "How can you imagine it, since\r
+he has so lately declined everything from you? I fear you think too\r
+hardly of him, dear. He only told me a little about his parents and\r
+grandparents, and almost all in answer to my questions. You are so\r
+good, so just--you have done everything you thought to be right. But\r
+it seems to me clear that more than that is right; and I must speak\r
+about it, since I am the person who would get what is called benefit by\r
+that 'more' not being done."\r
+\r
+There was a perceptible pause before Mr. Casaubon replied, not quickly\r
+as before, but with a still more biting emphasis.\r
+\r
+"Dorothea, my love, this is not the first occasion, but it were well\r
+that it should be the last, on which you have assumed a judgment on\r
+subjects beyond your scope. Into the question how far conduct,\r
+especially in the matter of alliances, constitutes a forfeiture of\r
+family claims, I do not now enter. Suffice it, that you are not here\r
+qualified to discriminate. What I now wish you to understand is, that\r
+I accept no revision, still less dictation within that range of affairs\r
+which I have deliberated upon as distinctly and properly mine. It is\r
+not for you to interfere between me and Mr. Ladislaw, and still less to\r
+encourage communications from him to you which constitute a criticism\r
+on my procedure."\r
+\r
+Poor Dorothea, shrouded in the darkness, was in a tumult of conflicting\r
+emotions. Alarm at the possible effect on himself of her husband's\r
+strongly manifested anger, would have checked any expression of her own\r
+resentment, even if she had been quite free from doubt and compunction\r
+under the consciousness that there might be some justice in his last\r
+insinuation. Hearing him breathe quickly after he had spoken, she sat\r
+listening, frightened, wretched--with a dumb inward cry for help to\r
+bear this nightmare of a life in which every energy was arrested by\r
+dread. But nothing else happened, except that they both remained a\r
+long while sleepless, without speaking again.\r
+\r
+The next day, Mr. Casaubon received the following answer from Will\r
+Ladislaw:--\r
+\r
+\r
+"DEAR MR. CASAUBON,--I have given all due consideration to your letter\r
+of yesterday, but I am unable to take precisely your view of our mutual\r
+position. With the fullest acknowledgment of your generous conduct to\r
+me in the past, I must still maintain that an obligation of this kind\r
+cannot fairly fetter me as you appear to expect that it should.\r
+Granted that a benefactor's wishes may constitute a claim; there must\r
+always be a reservation as to the quality of those wishes. They may\r
+possibly clash with more imperative considerations. Or a benefactor's\r
+veto might impose such a negation on a man's life that the consequent\r
+blank might be more cruel than the benefaction was generous. I am\r
+merely using strong illustrations. In the present case I am unable to\r
+take your view of the bearing which my acceptance of occupation--not\r
+enriching certainly, but not dishonorable--will have on your own\r
+position which seems to me too substantial to be affected in that\r
+shadowy manner. And though I do not believe that any change in our\r
+relations will occur (certainly none has yet occurred) which can\r
+nullify the obligations imposed on me by the past, pardon me for not\r
+seeing that those obligations should restrain me from using the\r
+ordinary freedom of living where I choose, and maintaining myself by\r
+any lawful occupation I may choose. Regretting that there exists this\r
+difference between us as to a relation in which the conferring of\r
+benefits has been entirely on your side--\r
+\r
+ I remain, yours with persistent obligation,\r
+ WILL LADISLAW."\r
+\r
+\r
+Poor Mr. Casaubon felt (and must not we, being impartial, feel with him\r
+a little?) that no man had juster cause for disgust and suspicion than\r
+he. Young Ladislaw, he was sure, meant to defy and annoy him, meant to\r
+win Dorothea's confidence and sow her mind with disrespect, and perhaps\r
+aversion, towards her husband. Some motive beneath the surface had\r
+been needed to account for Will's sudden change of course in rejecting Mr.\r
+Casaubon's aid and quitting his travels; and this defiant determination\r
+to fix himself in the neighborhood by taking up something so much at\r
+variance with his former choice as Mr. Brooke's Middlemarch projects,\r
+revealed clearly enough that the undeclared motive had relation to\r
+Dorothea. Not for one moment did Mr. Casaubon suspect Dorothea of any\r
+doubleness: he had no suspicions of her, but he had (what was little\r
+less uncomfortable) the positive knowledge that her tendency to form\r
+opinions about her husband's conduct was accompanied with a disposition\r
+to regard Will Ladislaw favorably and be influenced by what he said.\r
+His own proud reticence had prevented him from ever being undeceived in\r
+the supposition that Dorothea had originally asked her uncle to invite\r
+Will to his house.\r
+\r
+And now, on receiving Will's letter, Mr. Casaubon had to consider his\r
+duty. He would never have been easy to call his action anything else\r
+than duty; but in this case, contending motives thrust him back into\r
+negations.\r
+\r
+Should he apply directly to Mr. Brooke, and demand of that troublesome\r
+gentleman to revoke his proposal? Or should he consult Sir James\r
+Chettam, and get him to concur in remonstrance against a step which\r
+touched the whole family? In either case Mr. Casaubon was aware that\r
+failure was just as probable as success. It was impossible for him to\r
+mention Dorothea's name in the matter, and without some alarming\r
+urgency Mr. Brooke was as likely as not, after meeting all\r
+representations with apparent assent, to wind up by saying, "Never\r
+fear, Casaubon! Depend upon it, young Ladislaw will do you credit.\r
+Depend upon it, I have put my finger on the right thing." And Mr.\r
+Casaubon shrank nervously from communicating on the subject with Sir\r
+James Chettam, between whom and himself there had never been any\r
+cordiality, and who would immediately think of Dorothea without any\r
+mention of her.\r
+\r
+Poor Mr. Casaubon was distrustful of everybody's feeling towards him,\r
+especially as a husband. To let any one suppose that he was jealous\r
+would be to admit their (suspected) view of his disadvantages: to let\r
+them know that he did not find marriage particularly blissful would\r
+imply his conversion to their (probably) earlier disapproval. It would\r
+be as bad as letting Carp, and Brasenose generally, know how backward\r
+he was in organizing the matter for his "Key to all Mythologies." All\r
+through his life Mr. Casaubon had been trying not to admit even to\r
+himself the inward sores of self-doubt and jealousy. And on the most\r
+delicate of all personal subjects, the habit of proud suspicious\r
+reticence told doubly.\r
+\r
+Thus Mr. Casaubon remained proudly, bitterly silent. But he had\r
+forbidden Will to come to Lowick Manor, and he was mentally preparing\r
+other measures of frustration.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.\r
+\r
+ "C'est beaucoup que le jugement des hommes sur les actions\r
+ humaines; tôt ou tard il devient efficace."--GUIZOT.\r
+\r
+\r
+Sir James Chettam could not look with any satisfaction on Mr. Brooke's\r
+new courses; but it was easier to object than to hinder. Sir James\r
+accounted for his having come in alone one day to lunch with the\r
+Cadwalladers by saying--\r
+\r
+"I can't talk to you as I want, before Celia: it might hurt her.\r
+Indeed, it would not be right."\r
+\r
+"I know what you mean--the 'Pioneer' at the Grange!" darted in Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, almost before the last word was off her friend's tongue.\r
+"It is frightful--this taking to buying whistles and blowing them in\r
+everybody's hearing. Lying in bed all day and playing at dominoes,\r
+like poor Lord Plessy, would be more private and bearable."\r
+\r
+"I see they are beginning to attack our friend Brooke in the\r
+'Trumpet,'" said the Rector, lounging back and smiling easily, as he\r
+would have done if he had been attacked himself. "There are tremendous\r
+sarcasms against a landlord not a hundred miles from Middlemarch, who\r
+receives his own rents, and makes no returns."\r
+\r
+"I do wish Brooke would leave that off," said Sir James, with his\r
+little frown of annoyance.\r
+\r
+"Is he really going to be put in nomination, though?" said Mr.\r
+Cadwallader. "I saw Farebrother yesterday--he's Whiggish himself,\r
+hoists Brougham and Useful Knowledge; that's the worst I know of\r
+him;--and he says that Brooke is getting up a pretty strong party.\r
+Bulstrode, the banker, is his foremost man. But he thinks Brooke would\r
+come off badly at a nomination."\r
+\r
+"Exactly," said Sir James, with earnestness. "I have been inquiring\r
+into the thing, for I've never known anything about Middlemarch\r
+politics before--the county being my business. What Brooke trusts to,\r
+is that they are going to turn out Oliver because he is a Peelite. But\r
+Hawley tells me that if they send up a Whig at all it is sure to be\r
+Bagster, one of those candidates who come from heaven knows where, but\r
+dead against Ministers, and an experienced Parliamentary man. Hawley's\r
+rather rough: he forgot that he was speaking to me. He said if Brooke\r
+wanted a pelting, he could get it cheaper than by going to the\r
+hustings."\r
+\r
+"I warned you all of it," said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her hands\r
+outward. "I said to Humphrey long ago, Mr. Brooke is going to make a\r
+splash in the mud. And now he has done it."\r
+\r
+"Well, he might have taken it into his head to marry," said the Rector.\r
+"That would have been a graver mess than a little flirtation with\r
+politics."\r
+\r
+"He may do that afterwards," said Mrs. Cadwallader--"when he has come\r
+out on the other side of the mud with an ague."\r
+\r
+"What I care for most is his own dignity," said Sir James. "Of course\r
+I care the more because of the family. But he's getting on in life\r
+now, and I don't like to think of his exposing himself. They will be\r
+raking up everything against him."\r
+\r
+"I suppose it's no use trying any persuasion," said the Rector.\r
+"There's such an odd mixture of obstinacy and changeableness in Brooke.\r
+Have you tried him on the subject?"\r
+\r
+"Well, no," said Sir James; "I feel a delicacy in appearing to dictate.\r
+But I have been talking to this young Ladislaw that Brooke is making a\r
+factotum of. Ladislaw seems clever enough for anything. I thought it\r
+as well to hear what he had to say; and he is against Brooke's standing\r
+this time. I think he'll turn him round: I think the nomination may be\r
+staved off."\r
+\r
+"I know," said Mrs. Cadwallader, nodding. "The independent member\r
+hasn't got his speeches well enough by heart."\r
+\r
+"But this Ladislaw--there again is a vexatious business," said Sir\r
+James. "We have had him two or three times to dine at the Hall (you\r
+have met him, by the bye) as Brooke's guest and a relation of\r
+Casaubon's, thinking he was only on a flying visit. And now I find\r
+he's in everybody's mouth in Middlemarch as the editor of the\r
+'Pioneer.' There are stories going about him as a quill-driving alien,\r
+a foreign emissary, and what not."\r
+\r
+"Casaubon won't like that," said the Rector.\r
+\r
+"There _is_ some foreign blood in Ladislaw," returned Sir James. "I\r
+hope he won't go into extreme opinions and carry Brooke on."\r
+\r
+"Oh, he's a dangerous young sprig, that Mr. Ladislaw," said Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, "with his opera songs and his ready tongue. A sort of\r
+Byronic hero--an amorous conspirator, it strikes me. And Thomas\r
+Aquinas is not fond of him. I could see that, the day the picture was\r
+brought."\r
+\r
+"I don't like to begin on the subject with Casaubon," said Sir James.\r
+"He has more right to interfere than I. But it's a disagreeable affair\r
+all round. What a character for anybody with decent connections to\r
+show himself in!--one of those newspaper fellows! You have only to\r
+look at Keck, who manages the 'Trumpet.' I saw him the other day with\r
+Hawley. His writing is sound enough, I believe, but he's such a low\r
+fellow, that I wished he had been on the wrong side."\r
+\r
+"What can you expect with these peddling Middlemarch papers?" said the\r
+Rector. "I don't suppose you could get a high style of man anywhere to\r
+be writing up interests he doesn't really care about, and for pay that\r
+hardly keeps him in at elbows."\r
+\r
+"Exactly: that makes it so annoying that Brooke should have put a man\r
+who has a sort of connection with the family in a position of that\r
+kind. For my part, I think Ladislaw is rather a fool for accepting."\r
+\r
+"It is Aquinas's fault," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Why didn't he use his\r
+interest to get Ladislaw made an attache or sent to India? That is how\r
+families get rid of troublesome sprigs."\r
+\r
+"There is no knowing to what lengths the mischief may go," said Sir\r
+James, anxiously. "But if Casaubon says nothing, what can I do?"\r
+\r
+"Oh my dear Sir James," said the Rector, "don't let us make too much of\r
+all this. It is likely enough to end in mere smoke. After a month or\r
+two Brooke and this Master Ladislaw will get tired of each other;\r
+Ladislaw will take wing; Brooke will sell the 'Pioneer,' and everything\r
+will settle down again as usual."\r
+\r
+"There is one good chance--that he will not like to feel his money\r
+oozing away," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "If I knew the items of election\r
+expenses I could scare him. It's no use plying him with wide words\r
+like Expenditure: I wouldn't talk of phlebotomy, I would empty a pot of\r
+leeches upon him. What we good stingy people don't like, is having our\r
+sixpences sucked away from us."\r
+\r
+"And he will not like having things raked up against him," said Sir\r
+James. "There is the management of his estate. They have begun upon\r
+that already. And it really is painful for me to see. It is a\r
+nuisance under one's very nose. I do think one is bound to do the best\r
+for one's land and tenants, especially in these hard times."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps the 'Trumpet' may rouse him to make a change, and some good\r
+may come of it all," said the Rector. "I know I should be glad. I\r
+should hear less grumbling when my tithe is paid. I don't know what I\r
+should do if there were not a modus in Tipton."\r
+\r
+"I want him to have a proper man to look after things--I want him to\r
+take on Garth again," said Sir James. "He got rid of Garth twelve\r
+years ago, and everything has been going wrong since. I think of\r
+getting Garth to manage for me--he has made such a capital plan for my\r
+buildings; and Lovegood is hardly up to the mark. But Garth would not\r
+undertake the Tipton estate again unless Brooke left it entirely to\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"In the right of it too," said the Rector. "Garth is an independent\r
+fellow: an original, simple-minded fellow. One day, when he was doing\r
+some valuation for me, he told me point-blank that clergymen seldom\r
+understood anything about business, and did mischief when they meddled;\r
+but he said it as quietly and respectfully as if he had been talking to\r
+me about sailors. He would make a different parish of Tipton, if\r
+Brooke would let him manage. I wish, by the help of the 'Trumpet,' you\r
+could bring that round."\r
+\r
+"If Dorothea had kept near her uncle, there would have been some\r
+chance," said Sir James. "She might have got some power over him in\r
+time, and she was always uneasy about the estate. She had wonderfully\r
+good notions about such things. But now Casaubon takes her up\r
+entirely. Celia complains a good deal. We can hardly get her to dine\r
+with us, since he had that fit." Sir James ended with a look of pitying\r
+disgust, and Mrs. Cadwallader shrugged her shoulders as much as to say\r
+that _she_ was not likely to see anything new in that direction.\r
+\r
+"Poor Casaubon!" the Rector said. "That was a nasty attack. I thought\r
+he looked shattered the other day at the Archdeacon's."\r
+\r
+"In point of fact," resumed Sir James, not choosing to dwell on "fits,"\r
+"Brooke doesn't mean badly by his tenants or any one else, but he has\r
+got that way of paring and clipping at expenses."\r
+\r
+"Come, that's a blessing," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "That helps him to\r
+find himself in a morning. He may not know his own opinions, but he\r
+does know his own pocket."\r
+\r
+"I don't believe a man is in pocket by stinginess on his land," said\r
+Sir James.\r
+\r
+"Oh, stinginess may be abused like other virtues: it will not do to\r
+keep one's own pigs lean," said Mrs. Cadwallader, who had risen to look\r
+out of the window. "But talk of an independent politician and he will\r
+appear."\r
+\r
+"What! Brooke?" said her husband.\r
+\r
+"Yes. Now, you ply him with the 'Trumpet,' Humphrey; and I will put\r
+the leeches on him. What will you do, Sir James?"\r
+\r
+"The fact is, I don't like to begin about it with Brooke, in our mutual\r
+position; the whole thing is so unpleasant. I do wish people would\r
+behave like gentlemen," said the good baronet, feeling that this was a\r
+simple and comprehensive programme for social well-being.\r
+\r
+"Here you all are, eh?" said Mr. Brooke, shuffling round and shaking\r
+hands. "I was going up to the Hall by-and-by, Chettam. But it's\r
+pleasant to find everybody, you know. Well, what do you think of\r
+things?--going on a little fast! It was true enough, what Lafitte\r
+said--'Since yesterday, a century has passed away:'--they're in the\r
+next century, you know, on the other side of the water. Going on\r
+faster than we are."\r
+\r
+"Why, yes," said the Rector, taking up the newspaper. "Here is the\r
+'Trumpet' accusing you of lagging behind--did you see?"\r
+\r
+"Eh? no," said Mr. Brooke, dropping his gloves into his hat and hastily\r
+adjusting his eye-glass. But Mr. Cadwallader kept the paper in his\r
+hand, saying, with a smile in his eyes--\r
+\r
+"Look here! all this is about a landlord not a hundred miles from\r
+Middlemarch, who receives his own rents. They say he is the most\r
+retrogressive man in the county. I think you must have taught them\r
+that word in the 'Pioneer.'"\r
+\r
+"Oh, that is Keck--an illiterate fellow, you know. Retrogressive, now!\r
+Come, that's capital. He thinks it means destructive: they want to\r
+make me out a destructive, you know," said Mr. Brooke, with that\r
+cheerfulness which is usually sustained by an adversary's ignorance.\r
+\r
+"I think he knows the meaning of the word. Here is a sharp stroke or\r
+two. If we had to describe a man who is retrogressive in the most evil\r
+sense of the word--we should say, he is one who would dub himself a\r
+reformer of our constitution, while every interest for which he is\r
+immediately responsible is going to decay: a philanthropist who cannot\r
+bear one rogue to be hanged, but does not mind five honest tenants\r
+being half-starved: a man who shrieks at corruption, and keeps his\r
+farms at rack-rent: who roars himself red at rotten boroughs, and does\r
+not mind if every field on his farms has a rotten gate: a man very\r
+open-hearted to Leeds and Manchester, no doubt; he would give any\r
+number of representatives who will pay for their seats out of their own\r
+pockets: what he objects to giving, is a little return on rent-days to\r
+help a tenant to buy stock, or an outlay on repairs to keep the weather\r
+out at a tenant's barn-door or make his house look a little less like\r
+an Irish cottier's. But we all know the wag's definition of a\r
+philanthropist: a man whose charity increases directly as the square of\r
+the distance. And so on. All the rest is to show what sort of\r
+legislator a philanthropist is likely to make," ended the Rector,\r
+throwing down the paper, and clasping his hands at the back of his\r
+head, while he looked at Mr. Brooke with an air of amused neutrality.\r
+\r
+"Come, that's rather good, you know," said Mr. Brooke, taking up the\r
+paper and trying to bear the attack as easily as his neighbor did, but\r
+coloring and smiling rather nervously; "that about roaring himself red\r
+at rotten boroughs--I never made a speech about rotten boroughs in my\r
+life. And as to roaring myself red and that kind of thing--these men\r
+never understand what is good satire. Satire, you know, should be true\r
+up to a certain point. I recollect they said that in 'The Edinburgh'\r
+somewhere--it must be true up to a certain point."\r
+\r
+"Well, that is really a hit about the gates," said Sir James, anxious\r
+to tread carefully. "Dagley complained to me the other day that he\r
+hadn't got a decent gate on his farm. Garth has invented a new pattern\r
+of gate--I wish you would try it. One ought to use some of one's\r
+timber in that way."\r
+\r
+"You go in for fancy farming, you know, Chettam," said Mr. Brooke,\r
+appearing to glance over the columns of the "Trumpet." "That's your\r
+hobby, and you don't mind the expense."\r
+\r
+"I thought the most expensive hobby in the world was standing for\r
+Parliament," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "They said the last unsuccessful\r
+candidate at Middlemarch--Giles, wasn't his name?--spent ten thousand\r
+pounds and failed because he did not bribe enough. What a bitter\r
+reflection for a man!"\r
+\r
+"Somebody was saying," said the Rector, laughingly, "that East Retford\r
+was nothing to Middlemarch, for bribery."\r
+\r
+"Nothing of the kind," said Mr. Brooke. "The Tories bribe, you know:\r
+Hawley and his set bribe with treating, hot codlings, and that sort of\r
+thing; and they bring the voters drunk to the poll. But they are not\r
+going to have it their own way in future--not in future, you know.\r
+Middlemarch is a little backward, I admit--the freemen are a little\r
+backward. But we shall educate them--we shall bring them on, you\r
+know. The best people there are on our side."\r
+\r
+"Hawley says you have men on your side who will do you harm," remarked\r
+Sir James. "He says Bulstrode the banker will do you harm."\r
+\r
+"And that if you got pelted," interposed Mrs. Cadwallader, "half the\r
+rotten eggs would mean hatred of your committee-man. Good heavens!\r
+Think what it must be to be pelted for wrong opinions. And I seem to\r
+remember a story of a man they pretended to chair and let him fall into\r
+a dust-heap on purpose!"\r
+\r
+"Pelting is nothing to their finding holes in one's coat," said the\r
+Rector. "I confess that's what I should be afraid of, if we parsons\r
+had to stand at the hustings for preferment. I should be afraid of\r
+their reckoning up all my fishing days. Upon my word, I think the\r
+truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with."\r
+\r
+"The fact is," said Sir James, "if a man goes into public life he must\r
+be prepared for the consequences. He must make himself proof against\r
+calumny."\r
+\r
+"My dear Chettam, that is all very fine, you know," said Mr. Brooke.\r
+"But how will you make yourself proof against calumny? You should read\r
+history--look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of\r
+thing. They always happen to the best men, you know. But what is that\r
+in Horace?--'fiat justitia, ruat . . . something or other."\r
+\r
+"Exactly," said Sir James, with a little more heat than usual. "What I\r
+mean by being proof against calumny is being able to point to the fact\r
+as a contradiction."\r
+\r
+"And it is not martyrdom to pay bills that one has run into one's\r
+self," said Mrs. Cadwallader.\r
+\r
+But it was Sir James's evident annoyance that most stirred Mr. Brooke.\r
+"Well, you know, Chettam," he said, rising, taking up his hat and\r
+leaning on his stick, "you and I have a different system. You are all\r
+for outlay with your farms. I don't want to make out that my system is\r
+good under all circumstances--under all circumstances, you know."\r
+\r
+"There ought to be a new valuation made from time to time," said Sir\r
+James. "Returns are very well occasionally, but I like a fair\r
+valuation. What do you say, Cadwallader?"\r
+\r
+"I agree with you. If I were Brooke, I would choke the 'Trumpet' at\r
+once by getting Garth to make a new valuation of the farms, and giving\r
+him carte blanche about gates and repairs: that's my view of the\r
+political situation," said the Rector, broadening himself by sticking\r
+his thumbs in his armholes, and laughing towards Mr. Brooke.\r
+\r
+"That's a showy sort of thing to do, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "But\r
+I should like you to tell me of another landlord who has distressed his\r
+tenants for arrears as little as I have. I let the old tenants stay\r
+on. I'm uncommonly easy, let me tell you, uncommonly easy. I have my\r
+own ideas, and I take my stand on them, you know. A man who does that\r
+is always charged with eccentricity, inconsistency, and that kind of\r
+thing. When I change my line of action, I shall follow my own ideas."\r
+\r
+After that, Mr. Brooke remembered that there was a packet which he had\r
+omitted to send off from the Grange, and he bade everybody hurriedly\r
+good-by.\r
+\r
+"I didn't want to take a liberty with Brooke," said Sir James; "I see\r
+he is nettled. But as to what he says about old tenants, in point of\r
+fact no new tenant would take the farms on the present terms."\r
+\r
+"I have a notion that he will be brought round in time," said the\r
+Rector. "But you were pulling one way, Elinor, and we were pulling\r
+another. You wanted to frighten him away from expense, and we want to\r
+frighten him into it. Better let him try to be popular and see that\r
+his character as a landlord stands in his way. I don't think it\r
+signifies two straws about the 'Pioneer,' or Ladislaw, or Brooke's\r
+speechifying to the Middlemarchers. But it does signify about the\r
+parishioners in Tipton being comfortable."\r
+\r
+"Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack," said Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader. "You should have proved to him that he loses money by bad\r
+management, and then we should all have pulled together. If you put\r
+him a-horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It was\r
+all very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXIX.\r
+\r
+ "If, as I have, you also doe,\r
+ Vertue attired in woman see,\r
+ And dare love that, and say so too,\r
+ And forget the He and She;\r
+\r
+ And if this love, though placed so,\r
+ From prophane men you hide,\r
+ Which will no faith on this bestow,\r
+ Or, if they doe, deride:\r
+\r
+ Then you have done a braver thing\r
+ Than all the Worthies did,\r
+ And a braver thence will spring,\r
+ Which is, to keep that hid."\r
+ --DR. DONNE.\r
+\r
+\r
+Sir James Chettam's mind was not fruitful in devices, but his growing\r
+anxiety to "act on Brooke," once brought close to his constant belief\r
+in Dorothea's capacity for influence, became formative, and issued in a\r
+little plan; namely, to plead Celia's indisposition as a reason for\r
+fetching Dorothea by herself to the Hall, and to leave her at the\r
+Grange with the carriage on the way, after making her fully aware of\r
+the situation concerning the management of the estate.\r
+\r
+In this way it happened that one day near four o'clock, when Mr. Brooke\r
+and Ladislaw were seated in the library, the door opened and Mrs.\r
+Casaubon was announced.\r
+\r
+Will, the moment before, had been low in the depths of boredom, and,\r
+obliged to help Mr. Brooke in arranging "documents" about hanging\r
+sheep-stealers, was exemplifying the power our minds have of riding\r
+several horses at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a\r
+lodging for himself in Middlemarch and cutting short his constant\r
+residence at the Grange; while there flitted through all these steadier\r
+images a tickling vision of a sheep-stealing epic written with Homeric\r
+particularity. When Mrs. Casaubon was announced he started up as from\r
+an electric shock, and felt a tingling at his finger-ends. Any one\r
+observing him would have seen a change in his complexion, in the\r
+adjustment of his facial muscles, in the vividness of his glance, which\r
+might have made them imagine that every molecule in his body had passed\r
+the message of a magic touch. And so it had. For effective magic is\r
+transcendent nature; and who shall measure the subtlety of those\r
+touches which convey the quality of soul as well as body, and make a\r
+man's passion for one woman differ from his passion for another as joy\r
+in the morning light over valley and river and white mountain-top\r
+differs from joy among Chinese lanterns and glass panels? Will, too,\r
+was made of very impressible stuff. The bow of a violin drawn near him\r
+cleverly, would at one stroke change the aspect of the world for him,\r
+and his point of view shifted--as easily as his mood. Dorothea's\r
+entrance was the freshness of morning.\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear, this is pleasant, now," said Mr. Brooke, meeting and\r
+kissing her. "You have left Casaubon with his books, I suppose.\r
+That's right. We must not have you getting too learned for a woman,\r
+you know."\r
+\r
+"There is no fear of that, uncle," said Dorothea, turning to Will and\r
+shaking hands with open cheerfulness, while she made no other form of\r
+greeting, but went on answering her uncle. "I am very slow. When I\r
+want to be busy with books, I am often playing truant among my\r
+thoughts. I find it is not so easy to be learned as to plan cottages."\r
+\r
+She seated herself beside her uncle opposite to Will, and was evidently\r
+preoccupied with something that made her almost unmindful of him. He\r
+was ridiculously disappointed, as if he had imagined that her coming\r
+had anything to do with him.\r
+\r
+"Why, yes, my dear, it was quite your hobby to draw plans. But it was\r
+good to break that off a little. Hobbies are apt to ran away with us,\r
+you know; it doesn't do to be run away with. We must keep the reins.\r
+I have never let myself be run away with; I always pulled up. That is\r
+what I tell Ladislaw. He and I are alike, you know: he likes to go\r
+into everything. We are working at capital punishment. We shall do a\r
+great deal together, Ladislaw and I."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Dorothea, with characteristic directness, "Sir James has\r
+been telling me that he is in hope of seeing a great change made soon\r
+in your management of the estate--that you are thinking of having the\r
+farms valued, and repairs made, and the cottages improved, so that\r
+Tipton may look quite another place. Oh, how happy!"--she went on,\r
+clasping her hands, with a return to that more childlike impetuous\r
+manner, which had been subdued since her marriage. "If I were at home\r
+still, I should take to riding again, that I might go about with you\r
+and see all that! And you are going to engage Mr. Garth, who praised\r
+my cottages, Sir James says."\r
+\r
+"Chettam is a little hasty, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, coloring\r
+slightly; "a little hasty, you know. I never said I should do anything\r
+of the kind. I never said I should _not_ do it, you know."\r
+\r
+"He only feels confident that you will do it," said Dorothea, in a\r
+voice as clear and unhesitating as that of a young chorister chanting a\r
+credo, "because you mean to enter Parliament as a member who cares for\r
+the improvement of the people, and one of the first things to be made\r
+better is the state of the land and the laborers. Think of Kit Downes,\r
+uncle, who lives with his wife and seven children in a house with one\r
+sitting room and one bedroom hardly larger than this table!--and those\r
+poor Dagleys, in their tumble-down farmhouse, where they live in the\r
+back kitchen and leave the other rooms to the rats! That is one reason\r
+why I did not like the pictures here, dear uncle--which you think me\r
+stupid about. I used to come from the village with all that dirt and\r
+coarse ugliness like a pain within me, and the simpering pictures in\r
+the drawing-room seemed to me like a wicked attempt to find delight in\r
+what is false, while we don't mind how hard the truth is for the\r
+neighbors outside our walls. I think we have no right to come forward\r
+and urge wider changes for good, until we have tried to alter the evils\r
+which lie under our own hands."\r
+\r
+Dorothea had gathered emotion as she went on, and had forgotten\r
+everything except the relief of pouring forth her feelings, unchecked:\r
+an experience once habitual with her, but hardly ever present since her\r
+marriage, which had been a perpetual struggle of energy with fear. For\r
+the moment, Will's admiration was accompanied with a chilling sense of\r
+remoteness. A man is seldom ashamed of feeling that he cannot love a\r
+woman so well when he sees a certain greatness in her: nature having\r
+intended greatness for men. But nature has sometimes made sad\r
+oversights in carrying out her intention; as in the case of good Mr.\r
+Brooke, whose masculine consciousness was at this moment in rather a\r
+stammering condition under the eloquence of his niece. He could not\r
+immediately find any other mode of expressing himself than that of\r
+rising, fixing his eye-glass, and fingering the papers before him. At\r
+last he said--\r
+\r
+"There is something in what you say, my dear, something in what you\r
+say--but not everything--eh, Ladislaw? You and I don't like our\r
+pictures and statues being found fault with. Young ladies are a little\r
+ardent, you know--a little one-sided, my dear. Fine art, poetry, that\r
+kind of thing, elevates a nation--emollit mores--you understand a\r
+little Latin now. But--eh? what?"\r
+\r
+These interrogatives were addressed to the footman who had come in to\r
+say that the keeper had found one of Dagley's boys with a leveret in\r
+his hand just killed.\r
+\r
+"I'll come, I'll come. I shall let him off easily, you know," said Mr.\r
+Brooke aside to Dorothea, shuffling away very cheerfully.\r
+\r
+"I hope you feel how right this change is that I--that Sir James wishes\r
+for," said Dorothea to Will, as soon as her uncle was gone.\r
+\r
+"I do, now I have heard you speak about it. I shall not forget what\r
+you have said. But can you think of something else at this moment? I\r
+may not have another opportunity of speaking to you about what has\r
+occurred," said Will, rising with a movement of impatience, and holding\r
+the back of his chair with both hands.\r
+\r
+"Pray tell me what it is," said Dorothea, anxiously, also rising and\r
+going to the open window, where Monk was looking in, panting and\r
+wagging his tail. She leaned her back against the window-frame, and\r
+laid her hand on the dog's head; for though, as we know, she was not\r
+fond of pets that must be held in the hands or trodden on, she was\r
+always attentive to the feelings of dogs, and very polite if she had to\r
+decline their advances.\r
+\r
+Will followed her only with his eyes and said, "I presume you know that\r
+Mr. Casaubon has forbidden me to go to his house."\r
+\r
+"No, I did not," said Dorothea, after a moment's pause. She was\r
+evidently much moved. "I am very, very sorry," she added, mournfully.\r
+She was thinking of what Will had no knowledge of--the conversation\r
+between her and her husband in the darkness; and she was anew smitten\r
+with hopelessness that she could influence Mr. Casaubon's action. But\r
+the marked expression of her sorrow convinced Will that it was not all\r
+given to him personally, and that Dorothea had not been visited by the\r
+idea that Mr. Casaubon's dislike and jealousy of him turned upon\r
+herself. He felt an odd mixture of delight and vexation: of delight\r
+that he could dwell and be cherished in her thought as in a pure home,\r
+without suspicion and without stint--of vexation because he was of too\r
+little account with her, was not formidable enough, was treated with an\r
+unhesitating benevolence which did not flatter him. But his dread of\r
+any change in Dorothea was stronger than his discontent, and he began\r
+to speak again in a tone of mere explanation.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Casaubon's reason is, his displeasure at my taking a position here\r
+which he considers unsuited to my rank as his cousin. I have told him\r
+that I cannot give way on this point. It is a little too hard on me to\r
+expect that my course in life is to be hampered by prejudices which I\r
+think ridiculous. Obligation may be stretched till it is no better\r
+than a brand of slavery stamped on us when we were too young to know\r
+its meaning. I would not have accepted the position if I had not meant\r
+to make it useful and honorable. I am not bound to regard family\r
+dignity in any other light."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt wretched. She thought her husband altogether in the\r
+wrong, on more grounds than Will had mentioned.\r
+\r
+"It is better for us not to speak on the subject," she said, with a\r
+tremulousness not common in her voice, "since you and Mr. Casaubon\r
+disagree. You intend to remain?" She was looking out on the lawn,\r
+with melancholy meditation.\r
+\r
+"Yes; but I shall hardly ever see you now," said Will, in a tone of\r
+almost boyish complaint.\r
+\r
+"No," said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him, "hardly ever. But\r
+I shall hear of you. I shall know what you are doing for my uncle."\r
+\r
+"I shall know hardly anything about you," said Will. "No one will tell\r
+me anything."\r
+\r
+"Oh, my life is very simple," said Dorothea, her lips curling with an\r
+exquisite smile, which irradiated her melancholy. "I am always at\r
+Lowick."\r
+\r
+"That is a dreadful imprisonment," said Will, impetuously.\r
+\r
+"No, don't think that," said Dorothea. "I have no longings."\r
+\r
+He did not speak, but she replied to some change in his expression. "I\r
+mean, for myself. Except that I should like not to have so much more\r
+than my share without doing anything for others. But I have a belief\r
+of my own, and it comforts me."\r
+\r
+"What is that?" said Will, rather jealous of the belief.\r
+\r
+"That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don't quite know\r
+what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of the divine power\r
+against evil--widening the skirts of light and making the struggle with\r
+darkness narrower."\r
+\r
+"That is a beautiful mysticism--it is a--"\r
+\r
+"Please not to call it by any name," said Dorothea, putting out her\r
+hands entreatingly. "You will say it is Persian, or something else\r
+geographical. It is my life. I have found it out, and cannot part\r
+with it. I have always been finding out my religion since I was a\r
+little girl. I used to pray so much--now I hardly ever pray. I try\r
+not to have desires merely for myself, because they may not be good for\r
+others, and I have too much already. I only told you, that you might\r
+know quite well how my days go at Lowick."\r
+\r
+"God bless you for telling me!" said Will, ardently, and rather\r
+wondering at himself. They were looking at each other like two fond\r
+children who were talking confidentially of birds.\r
+\r
+"What is _your_ religion?" said Dorothea. "I mean--not what you know\r
+about religion, but the belief that helps you most?"\r
+\r
+"To love what is good and beautiful when I see it," said Will. "But I\r
+am a rebel: I don't feel bound, as you do, to submit to what I don't\r
+like."\r
+\r
+"But if you like what is good, that comes to the same thing," said\r
+Dorothea, smiling.\r
+\r
+"Now you are subtle," said Will.\r
+\r
+"Yes; Mr. Casaubon often says I am too subtle. I don't feel as if I\r
+were subtle," said Dorothea, playfully. "But how long my uncle is! I\r
+must go and look for him. I must really go on to the Hall. Celia is\r
+expecting me."\r
+\r
+Will offered to tell Mr. Brooke, who presently came and said that he\r
+would step into the carriage and go with Dorothea as far as Dagley's,\r
+to speak about the small delinquent who had been caught with the\r
+leveret. Dorothea renewed the subject of the estate as they drove\r
+along, but Mr. Brooke, not being taken unawares, got the talk under his\r
+own control.\r
+\r
+"Chettam, now," he replied; "he finds fault with me, my dear; but I\r
+should not preserve my game if it were not for Chettam, and he can't\r
+say that that expense is for the sake of the tenants, you know. It's a\r
+little against my feeling:--poaching, now, if you come to look into\r
+it--I have often thought of getting up the subject. Not long ago,\r
+Flavell, the Methodist preacher, was brought up for knocking down a\r
+hare that came across his path when he and his wife were walking out\r
+together. He was pretty quick, and knocked it on the neck."\r
+\r
+"That was very brutal, I think," said Dorothea\r
+\r
+"Well, now, it seemed rather black to me, I confess, in a Methodist\r
+preacher, you know. And Johnson said, 'You may judge what a\r
+_hypocrite_ he is.' And upon my word, I thought Flavell looked very\r
+little like 'the highest style of man'--as somebody calls the\r
+Christian--Young, the poet Young, I think--you know Young? Well, now,\r
+Flavell in his shabby black gaiters, pleading that he thought the Lord\r
+had sent him and his wife a good dinner, and he had a right to knock it\r
+down, though not a mighty hunter before the Lord, as Nimrod was--I\r
+assure you it was rather comic: Fielding would have made something of\r
+it--or Scott, now--Scott might have worked it up. But really, when I\r
+came to think of it, I couldn't help liking that the fellow should have\r
+a bit of hare to say grace over. It's all a matter of\r
+prejudice--prejudice with the law on its side, you know--about the\r
+stick and the gaiters, and so on. However, it doesn't do to reason\r
+about things; and law is law. But I got Johnson to be quiet, and I\r
+hushed the matter up. I doubt whether Chettam would not have been more\r
+severe, and yet he comes down on me as if I were the hardest man in the\r
+county. But here we are at Dagley's."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke got down at a farmyard-gate, and Dorothea drove on. It is\r
+wonderful how much uglier things will look when we only suspect that we\r
+are blamed for them. Even our own persons in the glass are apt to\r
+change their aspect for us after we have heard some frank remark on\r
+their less admirable points; and on the other hand it is astonishing\r
+how pleasantly conscience takes our encroachments on those who never\r
+complain or have nobody to complain for them. Dagley's homestead never\r
+before looked so dismal to Mr. Brooke as it did today, with his mind\r
+thus sore about the fault-finding of the "Trumpet," echoed by Sir James.\r
+\r
+It is true that an observer, under that softening influence of the fine\r
+arts which makes other people's hardships picturesque, might have been\r
+delighted with this homestead called Freeman's End: the old house had\r
+dormer-windows in the dark red roof, two of the chimneys were choked\r
+with ivy, the large porch was blocked up with bundles of sticks, and\r
+half the windows were closed with gray worm-eaten shutters about which\r
+the jasmine-boughs grew in wild luxuriance; the mouldering garden wall\r
+with hollyhocks peeping over it was a perfect study of highly mingled\r
+subdued color, and there was an aged goat (kept doubtless on\r
+interesting superstitious grounds) lying against the open back-kitchen\r
+door. The mossy thatch of the cow-shed, the broken gray barn-doors,\r
+the pauper laborers in ragged breeches who had nearly finished\r
+unloading a wagon of corn into the barn ready for early thrashing; the\r
+scanty dairy of cows being tethered for milking and leaving one half of\r
+the shed in brown emptiness; the very pigs and white ducks seeming to\r
+wander about the uneven neglected yard as if in low spirits from\r
+feeding on a too meagre quality of rinsings,--all these objects under\r
+the quiet light of a sky marbled with high clouds would have made a\r
+sort of picture which we have all paused over as a "charming bit,"\r
+touching other sensibilities than those which are stirred by the\r
+depression of the agricultural interest, with the sad lack of farming\r
+capital, as seen constantly in the newspapers of that time. But these\r
+troublesome associations were just now strongly present to Mr. Brooke,\r
+and spoiled the scene for him. Mr. Dagley himself made a figure in the\r
+landscape, carrying a pitchfork and wearing his milking-hat--a very old\r
+beaver flattened in front. His coat and breeches were the best he had,\r
+and he would not have been wearing them on this weekday occasion if he\r
+had not been to market and returned later than usual, having given\r
+himself the rare treat of dining at the public table of the Blue Bull.\r
+How he came to fall into this extravagance would perhaps be matter of\r
+wonderment to himself on the morrow; but before dinner something in the\r
+state of the country, a slight pause in the harvest before the Far Dips\r
+were cut, the stories about the new King and the numerous handbills on\r
+the walls, had seemed to warrant a little recklessness. It was a maxim\r
+about Middlemarch, and regarded as self-evident, that good meat should\r
+have good drink, which last Dagley interpreted as plenty of table ale\r
+well followed up by rum-and-water. These liquors have so far truth in\r
+them that they were not false enough to make poor Dagley seem merry:\r
+they only made his discontent less tongue-tied than usual. He had also\r
+taken too much in the shape of muddy political talk, a stimulant\r
+dangerously disturbing to his farming conservatism, which consisted in\r
+holding that whatever is, is bad, and any change is likely to be worse.\r
+He was flushed, and his eyes had a decidedly quarrelsome stare as he\r
+stood still grasping his pitchfork, while the landlord approached with\r
+his easy shuffling walk, one hand in his trouser-pocket and the other\r
+swinging round a thin walking-stick.\r
+\r
+"Dagley, my good fellow," began Mr. Brooke, conscious that he was going\r
+to be very friendly about the boy.\r
+\r
+"Oh, ay, I'm a good feller, am I? Thank ye, sir, thank ye," said\r
+Dagley, with a loud snarling irony which made Fag the sheep-dog stir\r
+from his seat and prick his ears; but seeing Monk enter the yard after\r
+some outside loitering, Fag seated himself again in an attitude of\r
+observation. "I'm glad to hear I'm a good feller."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke reflected that it was market-day, and that his worthy tenant\r
+had probably been dining, but saw no reason why he should not go on,\r
+since he could take the precaution of repeating what he had to say to\r
+Mrs. Dagley.\r
+\r
+"Your little lad Jacob has been caught killing a leveret, Dagley: I\r
+have told Johnson to lock him up in the empty stable an hour or two,\r
+just to frighten him, you know. But he will be brought home by-and-by,\r
+before night: and you'll just look after him, will you, and give him a\r
+reprimand, you know?"\r
+\r
+"No, I woon't: I'll be dee'd if I'll leather my boy to please you or\r
+anybody else, not if you was twenty landlords istid o' one, and that a\r
+bad un."\r
+\r
+Dagley's words were loud enough to summon his wife to the back-kitchen\r
+door--the only entrance ever used, and one always open except in bad\r
+weather--and Mr. Brooke, saying soothingly, "Well, well, I'll speak to\r
+your wife--I didn't mean beating, you know," turned to walk to the\r
+house. But Dagley, only the more inclined to "have his say" with a\r
+gentleman who walked away from him, followed at once, with Fag\r
+slouching at his heels and sullenly evading some small and probably\r
+charitable advances on the part of Monk.\r
+\r
+"How do you do, Mrs. Dagley?" said Mr. Brooke, making some haste. "I\r
+came to tell you about your boy: I don't want you to give him the\r
+stick, you know." He was careful to speak quite plainly this time.\r
+\r
+Overworked Mrs. Dagley--a thin, worn woman, from whose life pleasure\r
+had so entirely vanished that she had not even any Sunday clothes which\r
+could give her satisfaction in preparing for church--had already had a\r
+misunderstanding with her husband since he had come home, and was in\r
+low spirits, expecting the worst. But her husband was beforehand in\r
+answering.\r
+\r
+"No, nor he woon't hev the stick, whether you want it or no," pursued\r
+Dagley, throwing out his voice, as if he wanted it to hit hard.\r
+"You've got no call to come an' talk about sticks o' these primises, as\r
+you woon't give a stick tow'rt mending. Go to Middlemarch to ax for\r
+_your_ charrickter."\r
+\r
+"You'd far better hold your tongue, Dagley," said the wife, "and not\r
+kick your own trough over. When a man as is father of a family has\r
+been an' spent money at market and made himself the worse for liquor,\r
+he's done enough mischief for one day. But I should like to know what\r
+my boy's done, sir."\r
+\r
+"Niver do you mind what he's done," said Dagley, more fiercely, "it's\r
+my business to speak, an' not yourn. An' I wull speak, too. I'll hev\r
+my say--supper or no. An' what I say is, as I've lived upo' your\r
+ground from my father and grandfather afore me, an' hev dropped our\r
+money into't, an' me an' my children might lie an' rot on the ground\r
+for top-dressin' as we can't find the money to buy, if the King wasn't\r
+to put a stop."\r
+\r
+"My good fellow, you're drunk, you know," said Mr. Brooke,\r
+confidentially but not judiciously. "Another day, another day," he\r
+added, turning as if to go.\r
+\r
+But Dagley immediately fronted him, and Fag at his heels growled low,\r
+as his master's voice grew louder and more insulting, while Monk also\r
+drew close in silent dignified watch. The laborers on the wagon were\r
+pausing to listen, and it seemed wiser to be quite passive than to\r
+attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a bawling man.\r
+\r
+"I'm no more drunk nor you are, nor so much," said Dagley. "I can\r
+carry my liquor, an' I know what I meean. An' I meean as the King 'ull\r
+put a stop to 't, for them say it as knows it, as there's to be a\r
+Rinform, and them landlords as never done the right thing by their\r
+tenants 'ull be treated i' that way as they'll hev to scuttle off. An'\r
+there's them i' Middlemarch knows what the Rinform is--an' as knows\r
+who'll hev to scuttle. Says they, 'I know who _your_ landlord is.'\r
+An' says I, 'I hope you're the better for knowin' him, I arn't.' Says\r
+they, 'He's a close-fisted un.' 'Ay ay,' says I. 'He's a man for the\r
+Rinform,' says they. That's what they says. An' I made out what the\r
+Rinform were--an' it were to send you an' your likes a-scuttlin' an'\r
+wi' pretty strong-smellin' things too. An' you may do as you like now,\r
+for I'm none afeard on you. An' you'd better let my boy aloan, an'\r
+look to yoursen, afore the Rinform has got upo' your back. That's what\r
+I'n got to say," concluded Mr. Dagley, striking his fork into the\r
+ground with a firmness which proved inconvenient as he tried to draw it\r
+up again.\r
+\r
+At this last action Monk began to bark loudly, and it was a moment for\r
+Mr. Brooke to escape. He walked out of the yard as quickly as he\r
+could, in some amazement at the novelty of his situation. He had never\r
+been insulted on his own land before, and had been inclined to regard\r
+himself as a general favorite (we are all apt to do so, when we think\r
+of our own amiability more than of what other people are likely to want\r
+of us). When he had quarrelled with Caleb Garth twelve years before he\r
+had thought that the tenants would be pleased at the landlord's taking\r
+everything into his own hands.\r
+\r
+Some who follow the narrative of his experience may wonder at the\r
+midnight darkness of Mr. Dagley; but nothing was easier in those times\r
+than for an hereditary farmer of his grade to be ignorant, in spite\r
+somehow of having a rector in the twin parish who was a gentleman to\r
+the backbone, a curate nearer at hand who preached more learnedly than\r
+the rector, a landlord who had gone into everything, especially fine\r
+art and social improvement, and all the lights of Middlemarch only\r
+three miles off. As to the facility with which mortals escape\r
+knowledge, try an average acquaintance in the intellectual blaze of\r
+London, and consider what that eligible person for a dinner-party would\r
+have been if he had learned scant skill in "summing" from the\r
+parish-clerk of Tipton, and read a chapter in the Bible with immense\r
+difficulty, because such names as Isaiah or Apollos remained\r
+unmanageable after twice spelling. Poor Dagley read a few verses\r
+sometimes on a Sunday evening, and the world was at least not darker to\r
+him than it had been before. Some things he knew thoroughly, namely,\r
+the slovenly habits of farming, and the awkwardness of weather, stock\r
+and crops, at Freeman's End--so called apparently by way of sarcasm,\r
+to imply that a man was free to quit it if he chose, but that there was\r
+no earthly "beyond" open to him.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XL.\r
+\r
+ Wise in his daily work was he:\r
+ To fruits of diligence,\r
+ And not to faiths or polity,\r
+ He plied his utmost sense.\r
+ These perfect in their little parts,\r
+ Whose work is all their prize--\r
+ Without them how could laws, or arts,\r
+ Or towered cities rise?\r
+\r
+\r
+In watching effects, if only of an electric battery, it is often\r
+necessary to change our place and examine a particular mixture or group\r
+at some distance from the point where the movement we are interested in\r
+was set up. The group I am moving towards is at Caleb Garth's\r
+breakfast-table in the large parlor where the maps and desk were:\r
+father, mother, and five of the children. Mary was just now at home\r
+waiting for a situation, while Christy, the boy next to her, was\r
+getting cheap learning and cheap fare in Scotland, having to his\r
+father's disappointment taken to books instead of that sacred calling\r
+"business."\r
+\r
+The letters had come--nine costly letters, for which the postman had\r
+been paid three and twopence, and Mr. Garth was forgetting his tea and\r
+toast while he read his letters and laid them open one above the other,\r
+sometimes swaying his head slowly, sometimes screwing up his mouth in\r
+inward debate, but not forgetting to cut off a large red seal unbroken,\r
+which Letty snatched up like an eager terrier.\r
+\r
+The talk among the rest went on unrestrainedly, for nothing disturbed\r
+Caleb's absorption except shaking the table when he was writing.\r
+\r
+Two letters of the nine had been for Mary. After reading them, she had\r
+passed them to her mother, and sat playing with her tea-spoon absently,\r
+till with a sudden recollection she returned to her sewing, which she\r
+had kept on her lap during breakfast.\r
+\r
+"Oh, don't sew, Mary!" said Ben, pulling her arm down. "Make me a\r
+peacock with this bread-crumb." He had been kneading a small mass for\r
+the purpose.\r
+\r
+"No, no, Mischief!" said Mary, good-humoredly, while she pricked his\r
+hand lightly with her needle. "Try and mould it yourself: you have\r
+seen me do it often enough. I must get this sewing done. It is for\r
+Rosamond Vincy: she is to be married next week, and she can't be\r
+married without this handkerchief." Mary ended merrily, amused with\r
+the last notion.\r
+\r
+"Why can't she, Mary?" said Letty, seriously interested in this\r
+mystery, and pushing her head so close to her sister that Mary now\r
+turned the threatening needle towards Letty's nose.\r
+\r
+"Because this is one of a dozen, and without it there would only be\r
+eleven," said Mary, with a grave air of explanation, so that Letty sank\r
+back with a sense of knowledge.\r
+\r
+"Have you made up your mind, my dear?" said Mrs. Garth, laying the\r
+letters down.\r
+\r
+"I shall go to the school at York," said Mary. "I am less unfit to\r
+teach in a school than in a family. I like to teach classes best.\r
+And, you see, I must teach: there is nothing else to be done."\r
+\r
+"Teaching seems to me the most delightful work in the world," said Mrs.\r
+Garth, with a touch of rebuke in her tone. "I could understand your\r
+objection to it if you had not knowledge enough, Mary, or if you\r
+disliked children."\r
+\r
+"I suppose we never quite understand why another dislikes what we like,\r
+mother," said Mary, rather curtly. "I am not fond of a schoolroom: I\r
+like the outside world better. It is a very inconvenient fault of\r
+mine."\r
+\r
+"It must be very stupid to be always in a girls' school," said Alfred.\r
+"Such a set of nincompoops, like Mrs. Ballard's pupils walking two and\r
+two."\r
+\r
+"And they have no games worth playing at," said Jim. "They can neither\r
+throw nor leap. I don't wonder at Mary's not liking it."\r
+\r
+"What is that Mary doesn't like, eh?" said the father, looking over his\r
+spectacles and pausing before he opened his next letter.\r
+\r
+"Being among a lot of nincompoop girls," said Alfred.\r
+\r
+"Is it the situation you had heard of, Mary?" said Caleb, gently,\r
+looking at his daughter.\r
+\r
+"Yes, father: the school at York. I have determined to take it. It is\r
+quite the best. Thirty-five pounds a-year, and extra pay for teaching\r
+the smallest strummers at the piano."\r
+\r
+"Poor child! I wish she could stay at home with us, Susan," said\r
+Caleb, looking plaintively at his wife.\r
+\r
+"Mary would not be happy without doing her duty," said Mrs. Garth,\r
+magisterially, conscious of having done her own.\r
+\r
+"It wouldn't make me happy to do such a nasty duty as that," said\r
+Alfred--at which Mary and her father laughed silently, but Mrs. Garth\r
+said, gravely--\r
+\r
+"Do find a fitter word than nasty, my dear Alfred, for everything that\r
+you think disagreeable. And suppose that Mary could help you to go to\r
+Mr. Hanmer's with the money she gets?"\r
+\r
+"That seems to me a great shame. But she's an old brick," said Alfred,\r
+rising from his chair, and pulling Mary's head backward to kiss her.\r
+\r
+Mary colored and laughed, but could not conceal that the tears were\r
+coming. Caleb, looking on over his spectacles, with the angles of his\r
+eyebrows falling, had an expression of mingled delight and sorrow as he\r
+returned to the opening of his letter; and even Mrs. Garth, her lips\r
+curling with a calm contentment, allowed that inappropriate language to\r
+pass without correction, although Ben immediately took it up, and sang,\r
+"She's an old brick, old brick, old brick!" to a cantering measure,\r
+which he beat out with his fist on Mary's arm.\r
+\r
+But Mrs. Garth's eyes were now drawn towards her husband, who was\r
+already deep in the letter he was reading. His face had an expression\r
+of grave surprise, which alarmed her a little, but he did not like to\r
+be questioned while he was reading, and she remained anxiously watching\r
+till she saw him suddenly shaken by a little joyous laugh as he turned\r
+back to the beginning of the letter, and looking at her above his\r
+spectacles, said, in a low tone, "What do you think, Susan?"\r
+\r
+She went and stood behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder, while\r
+they read the letter together. It was from Sir James Chettam, offering\r
+to Mr. Garth the management of the family estates at Freshitt and\r
+elsewhere, and adding that Sir James had been requested by Mr. Brooke\r
+of Tipton to ascertain whether Mr. Garth would be disposed at the same\r
+time to resume the agency of the Tipton property. The Baronet added in\r
+very obliging words that he himself was particularly desirous of seeing\r
+the Freshitt and Tipton estates under the same management, and he hoped\r
+to be able to show that the double agency might be held on terms\r
+agreeable to Mr. Garth, whom he would be glad to see at the Hall at\r
+twelve o'clock on the following day.\r
+\r
+"He writes handsomely, doesn't he, Susan?" said Caleb, turning his eyes\r
+upward to his wife, who raised her hand from his shoulder to his ear,\r
+while she rested her chin on his head. "Brooke didn't like to ask me\r
+himself, I can see," he continued, laughing silently.\r
+\r
+"Here is an honor to your father, children," said Mrs. Garth, looking\r
+round at the five pair of eyes, all fixed on the parents. "He is asked\r
+to take a post again by those who dismissed him long ago. That shows\r
+that he did his work well, so that they feel the want of him."\r
+\r
+"Like Cincinnatus--hooray!" said Ben, riding on his chair, with a\r
+pleasant confidence that discipline was relaxed.\r
+\r
+"Will they come to fetch him, mother?" said Letty, thinking of the\r
+Mayor and Corporation in their robes.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth patted Letty's head and smiled, but seeing that her husband\r
+was gathering up his letters and likely soon to be out of reach in that\r
+sanctuary "business," she pressed his shoulder and said emphatically--\r
+\r
+"Now, mind you ask fair pay, Caleb."\r
+\r
+"Oh yes," said Caleb, in a deep voice of assent, as if it would be\r
+unreasonable to suppose anything else of him. "It'll come to between\r
+four and five hundred, the two together." Then with a little start of\r
+remembrance he said, "Mary, write and give up that school. Stay and\r
+help your mother. I'm as pleased as Punch, now I've thought of that."\r
+\r
+No manner could have been less like that of Punch triumphant than\r
+Caleb's, but his talents did not lie in finding phrases, though he was\r
+very particular about his letter-writing, and regarded his wife as a\r
+treasury of correct language.\r
+\r
+There was almost an uproar among the children now, and Mary held up the\r
+cambric embroidery towards her mother entreatingly, that it might be\r
+put out of reach while the boys dragged her into a dance. Mrs. Garth,\r
+in placid joy, began to put the cups and plates together, while Caleb\r
+pushing his chair from the table, as if he were going to move to the\r
+desk, still sat holding his letters in his hand and looking on the\r
+ground meditatively, stretching out the fingers of his left hand,\r
+according to a mute language of his own. At last he said--\r
+\r
+"It's a thousand pities Christy didn't take to business, Susan. I\r
+shall want help by-and-by. And Alfred must go off to the\r
+engineering--I've made up my mind to that." He fell into meditation and\r
+finger-rhetoric again for a little while, and then continued: "I shall\r
+make Brooke have new agreements with the tenants, and I shall draw up a\r
+rotation of crops. And I'll lay a wager we can get fine bricks out of\r
+the clay at Bott's corner. I must look into that: it would cheapen the\r
+repairs. It's a fine bit of work, Susan! A man without a family would\r
+be glad to do it for nothing."\r
+\r
+"Mind you don't, though," said his wife, lifting up her finger.\r
+\r
+"No, no; but it's a fine thing to come to a man when he's seen into the\r
+nature of business: to have the chance of getting a bit of the country\r
+into good fettle, as they say, and putting men into the right way with\r
+their farming, and getting a bit of good contriving and solid building\r
+done--that those who are living and those who come after will be the\r
+better for. I'd sooner have it than a fortune. I hold it the most\r
+honorable work that is." Here Caleb laid down his letters, thrust his\r
+fingers between the buttons of his waistcoat, and sat upright, but\r
+presently proceeded with some awe in his voice and moving his head\r
+slowly aside--"It's a great gift of God, Susan."\r
+\r
+"That it is, Caleb," said his wife, with answering fervor. "And it\r
+will be a blessing to your children to have had a father who did such\r
+work: a father whose good work remains though his name may be\r
+forgotten." She could not say any more to him then about the pay.\r
+\r
+In the evening, when Caleb, rather tired with his day's work, was\r
+seated in silence with his pocket-book open on his knee, while Mrs.\r
+Garth and Mary were at their sewing, and Letty in a corner was\r
+whispering a dialogue with her doll, Mr. Farebrother came up the\r
+orchard walk, dividing the bright August lights and shadows with the\r
+tufted grass and the apple-tree boughs. We know that he was fond of\r
+his parishioners the Garths, and had thought Mary worth mentioning to\r
+Lydgate. He used to the full the clergyman's privilege of disregarding\r
+the Middlemarch discrimination of ranks, and always told his mother\r
+that Mrs. Garth was more of a lady than any matron in the town. Still,\r
+you see, he spent his evenings at the Vincys', where the matron, though\r
+less of a lady, presided over a well-lit drawing-room and whist. In\r
+those days human intercourse was not determined solely by respect. But\r
+the Vicar did heartily respect the Garths, and a visit from him was no\r
+surprise to that family. Nevertheless he accounted for it even while\r
+he was shaking hands, by saying, "I come as an envoy, Mrs. Garth: I\r
+have something to say to you and Garth on behalf of Fred Vincy. The\r
+fact is, poor fellow," he continued, as he seated himself and looked\r
+round with his bright glance at the three who were listening to him,\r
+"he has taken me into his confidence."\r
+\r
+Mary's heart beat rather quickly: she wondered how far Fred's\r
+confidence had gone.\r
+\r
+"We haven't seen the lad for months," said Caleb. "I couldn't think\r
+what was become of him."\r
+\r
+"He has been away on a visit," said the Vicar, "because home was a\r
+little too hot for him, and Lydgate told his mother that the poor\r
+fellow must not begin to study yet. But yesterday he came and poured\r
+himself out to me. I am very glad he did, because I have seen him grow\r
+up from a youngster of fourteen, and I am so much at home in the house\r
+that the children are like nephews and nieces to me. But it is a\r
+difficult case to advise upon. However, he has asked me to come and\r
+tell you that he is going away, and that he is so miserable about his\r
+debt to you, and his inability to pay, that he can't bear to come\r
+himself even to bid you good by."\r
+\r
+"Tell him it doesn't signify a farthing," said Caleb, waving his hand.\r
+"We've had the pinch and have got over it. And now I'm going to be as\r
+rich as a Jew."\r
+\r
+"Which means," said Mrs. Garth, smiling at the Vicar, "that we are\r
+going to have enough to bring up the boys well and to keep Mary at\r
+home."\r
+\r
+"What is the treasure-trove?" said Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"I'm going to be agent for two estates, Freshitt and Tipton; and\r
+perhaps for a pretty little bit of land in Lowick besides: it's all the\r
+same family connection, and employment spreads like water if it's once\r
+set going. It makes me very happy, Mr. Farebrother"--here Caleb threw\r
+back his head a little, and spread his arms on the elbows of his\r
+chair--"that I've got an opportunity again with the letting of the\r
+land, and carrying out a notion or two with improvements. It's a most\r
+uncommonly cramping thing, as I've often told Susan, to sit on\r
+horseback and look over the hedges at the wrong thing, and not be able\r
+to put your hand to it to make it right. What people do who go into\r
+politics I can't think: it drives me almost mad to see mismanagement\r
+over only a few hundred acres."\r
+\r
+It was seldom that Caleb volunteered so long a speech, but his\r
+happiness had the effect of mountain air: his eyes were bright, and the\r
+words came without effort.\r
+\r
+"I congratulate you heartily, Garth," said the Vicar. "This is the\r
+best sort of news I could have had to carry to Fred Vincy, for he dwelt\r
+a good deal on the injury he had done you in causing you to part with\r
+money--robbing you of it, he said--which you wanted for other purposes.\r
+I wish Fred were not such an idle dog; he has some very good points,\r
+and his father is a little hard upon him."\r
+\r
+"Where is he going?" said Mrs. Garth, rather coldly.\r
+\r
+"He means to try again for his degree, and he is going up to study\r
+before term. I have advised him to do that. I don't urge him to enter\r
+the Church--on the contrary. But if he will go and work so as to pass,\r
+that will be some guarantee that he has energy and a will; and he is\r
+quite at sea; he doesn't know what else to do. So far he will please\r
+his father, and I have promised in the mean time to try and reconcile\r
+Vincy to his son's adopting some other line of life. Fred says frankly\r
+he is not fit for a clergyman, and I would do anything I could to\r
+hinder a man from the fatal step of choosing the wrong profession. He\r
+quoted to me what you said, Miss Garth--do you remember it?" (Mr.\r
+Farebrother used to say "Mary" instead of "Miss Garth," but it was part\r
+of his delicacy to treat her with the more deference because, according\r
+to Mrs. Vincy's phrase, she worked for her bread.)\r
+\r
+Mary felt uncomfortable, but, determined to take the matter lightly,\r
+answered at once, "I have said so many impertinent things to Fred--we\r
+are such old playfellows."\r
+\r
+"You said, according to him, that he would be one of those ridiculous\r
+clergymen who help to make the whole clergy ridiculous. Really, that\r
+was so cutting that I felt a little cut myself."\r
+\r
+Caleb laughed. "She gets her tongue from you, Susan," he said, with\r
+some enjoyment.\r
+\r
+"Not its flippancy, father," said Mary, quickly, fearing that her\r
+mother would be displeased. "It is rather too bad of Fred to repeat my\r
+flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother."\r
+\r
+"It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear," said Mrs. Garth, with whom\r
+speaking evil of dignities was a high misdemeanor. "We should not\r
+value our Vicar the less because there was a ridiculous curate in the\r
+next parish."\r
+\r
+"There's something in what she says, though," said Caleb, not disposed\r
+to have Mary's sharpness undervalued. "A bad workman of any sort makes\r
+his fellows mistrusted. Things hang together," he added, looking on\r
+the floor and moving his feet uneasily with a sense that words were\r
+scantier than thoughts.\r
+\r
+"Clearly," said the Vicar, amused. "By being contemptible we set men's\r
+minds, to the tune of contempt. I certainly agree with Miss Garth's\r
+view of the matter, whether I am condemned by it or not. But as to\r
+Fred Vincy, it is only fair he should be excused a little: old\r
+Featherstone's delusive behavior did help to spoil him. There was\r
+something quite diabolical in not leaving him a farthing after all.\r
+But Fred has the good taste not to dwell on that. And what he cares\r
+most about is having offended you, Mrs. Garth; he supposes you will\r
+never think well of him again."\r
+\r
+"I have been disappointed in Fred," said Mrs. Garth, with decision.\r
+"But I shall be ready to think well of him again when he gives me good\r
+reason to do so."\r
+\r
+At this point Mary went out of the room, taking Letty with her.\r
+\r
+"Oh, we must forgive young people when they're sorry," said Caleb,\r
+watching Mary close the door. "And as you say, Mr. Farebrother, there\r
+was the very devil in that old man. Now Mary's gone out, I must tell you\r
+a thing--it's only known to Susan and me, and you'll not tell it again.\r
+The old scoundrel wanted Mary to burn one of the wills the very night\r
+he died, when she was sitting up with him by herself, and he offered her\r
+a sum of money that he had in the box by him if she would do it. But Mary,\r
+you understand, could do no such thing--would not be handling his iron\r
+chest, and so on. Now, you see, the will he wanted burnt was this last,\r
+so that if Mary had done what he wanted, Fred Vincy would have had ten\r
+thousand pounds. The old man did turn to him at the last. That touches\r
+poor Mary close; she couldn't help it--she was in the right to do what\r
+she did, but she feels, as she says, much as if she had knocked down\r
+somebody's property and broken it against her will, when she was\r
+rightfully defending herself. I feel with her, somehow, and if I could\r
+make any amends to the poor lad, instead of bearing him a grudge for\r
+the harm he did us, I should be glad to do it. Now, what is your opinion,\r
+sir? Susan doesn't agree with me. She says--tell what you say, Susan."\r
+\r
+"Mary could not have acted otherwise, even if she had known what would\r
+be the effect on Fred," said Mrs. Garth, pausing from her work, and\r
+looking at Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"And she was quite ignorant of it. It seems to me, a loss which falls\r
+on another because we have done right is not to lie upon our\r
+conscience."\r
+\r
+The Vicar did not answer immediately, and Caleb said, "It's the\r
+feeling. The child feels in that way, and I feel with her. You don't\r
+mean your horse to tread on a dog when you're backing out of the way;\r
+but it goes through you, when it's done."\r
+\r
+"I am sure Mrs. Garth would agree with you there," said Mr.\r
+Farebrother, who for some reason seemed more inclined to ruminate than\r
+to speak. "One could hardly say that the feeling you mention about\r
+Fred is wrong--or rather, mistaken--though no man ought to make a claim\r
+on such feeling."\r
+\r
+"Well, well," said Caleb, "it's a secret. You will not tell Fred."\r
+\r
+"Certainly not. But I shall carry the other good news--that you can\r
+afford the loss he caused you."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother left the house soon after, and seeing Mary in the\r
+orchard with Letty, went to say good-by to her. They made a pretty\r
+picture in the western light which brought out the brightness of the\r
+apples on the old scant-leaved boughs--Mary in her lavender gingham and\r
+black ribbons holding a basket, while Letty in her well-worn nankin\r
+picked up the fallen apples. If you want to know more particularly how\r
+Mary looked, ten to one you will see a face like hers in the crowded\r
+street to-morrow, if you are there on the watch: she will not be among\r
+those daughters of Zion who are haughty, and walk with stretched-out\r
+necks and wanton eyes, mincing as they go: let all those pass, and fix\r
+your eyes on some small plump brownish person of firm but quiet\r
+carriage, who looks about her, but does not suppose that anybody is\r
+looking at her. If she has a broad face and square brow, well-marked\r
+eyebrows and curly dark hair, a certain expression of amusement in her\r
+glance which her mouth keeps the secret of, and for the rest features\r
+entirely insignificant--take that ordinary but not disagreeable person\r
+for a portrait of Mary Garth. If you made her smile, she would show\r
+you perfect little teeth; if you made her angry, she would not raise\r
+her voice, but would probably say one of the bitterest things you have\r
+ever tasted the flavor of; if you did her a kindness, she would never\r
+forget it. Mary admired the keen-faced handsome little Vicar in his\r
+well-brushed threadbare clothes more than any man she had had the\r
+opportunity of knowing. She had never heard him say a foolish thing,\r
+though she knew that he did unwise ones; and perhaps foolish sayings\r
+were more objectionable to her than any of Mr. Farebrother's unwise\r
+doings. At least, it was remarkable that the actual imperfections of\r
+the Vicar's clerical character never seemed to call forth the same\r
+scorn and dislike which she showed beforehand for the predicted\r
+imperfections of the clerical character sustained by Fred Vincy. These\r
+irregularities of judgment, I imagine, are found even in riper minds\r
+than Mary Garth's: our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and\r
+demerit, which none of us ever saw. Will any one guess towards which\r
+of those widely different men Mary had the peculiar woman's\r
+tenderness?--the one she was most inclined to be severe on, or the\r
+contrary?\r
+\r
+"Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss Garth?" said the\r
+Vicar, as he took a fragrant apple from the basket which she held\r
+towards him, and put it in his pocket. "Something to soften down that\r
+harsh judgment? I am going straight to see him."\r
+\r
+"No," said Mary, shaking her head, and smiling. "If I were to say that\r
+he would not be ridiculous as a clergyman, I must say that he would be\r
+something worse than ridiculous. But I am very glad to hear that he is\r
+going away to work."\r
+\r
+"On the other hand, I am very glad to hear that _you_ are not going\r
+away to work. My mother, I am sure, will be all the happier if you\r
+will come to see her at the vicarage: you know she is fond of having\r
+young people to talk to, and she has a great deal to tell about old\r
+times. You will really be doing a kindness."\r
+\r
+"I should like it very much, if I may," said Mary. "Everything seems\r
+too happy for me all at once. I thought it would always be part of my\r
+life to long for home, and losing that grievance makes me feel rather\r
+empty: I suppose it served instead of sense to fill up my mind?"\r
+\r
+"May I go with you, Mary?" whispered Letty--a most inconvenient child,\r
+who listened to everything. But she was made exultant by having her\r
+chin pinched and her cheek kissed by Mr. Farebrother--an incident\r
+which she narrated to her mother and father.\r
+\r
+As the Vicar walked to Lowick, any one watching him closely might have\r
+seen him twice shrug his shoulders. I think that the rare Englishmen\r
+who have this gesture are never of the heavy type--for fear of any\r
+lumbering instance to the contrary, I will say, hardly ever; they have\r
+usually a fine temperament and much tolerance towards the smaller\r
+errors of men (themselves inclusive). The Vicar was holding an inward\r
+dialogue in which he told himself that there was probably something\r
+more between Fred and Mary Garth than the regard of old playfellows,\r
+and replied with a question whether that bit of womanhood were not a\r
+great deal too choice for that crude young gentleman. The rejoinder to\r
+this was the first shrug. Then he laughed at himself for being likely\r
+to have felt jealous, as if he had been a man able to marry, which,\r
+added he, it is as clear as any balance-sheet that I am not. Whereupon\r
+followed the second shrug.\r
+\r
+What could two men, so different from each other, see in this "brown\r
+patch," as Mary called herself? It was certainly not her plainness\r
+that attracted them (and let all plain young ladies be warned against\r
+the dangerous encouragement given them by Society to confide in their\r
+want of beauty). A human being in this aged nation of ours is a very\r
+wonderful whole, the slow creation of long interchanging influences:\r
+and charm is a result of two such wholes, the one loving and the one\r
+loved.\r
+\r
+When Mr. and Mrs. Garth were sitting alone, Caleb said, "Susan, guess\r
+what I'm thinking of."\r
+\r
+"The rotation of crops," said Mrs. Garth, smiling at him, above her\r
+knitting, "or else the back-doors of the Tipton cottages."\r
+\r
+"No," said Caleb, gravely; "I am thinking that I could do a great turn\r
+for Fred Vincy. Christy's gone, Alfred will be gone soon, and it will\r
+be five years before Jim is ready to take to business. I shall want\r
+help, and Fred might come in and learn the nature of things and act\r
+under me, and it might be the making of him into a useful man, if he\r
+gives up being a parson. What do you think?"\r
+\r
+"I think, there is hardly anything honest that his family would object\r
+to more," said Mrs. Garth, decidedly.\r
+\r
+"What care I about their objecting?" said Caleb, with a sturdiness\r
+which he was apt to show when he had an opinion. "The lad is of age\r
+and must get his bread. He has sense enough and quickness enough; he\r
+likes being on the land, and it's my belief that he could learn\r
+business well if he gave his mind to it."\r
+\r
+"But would he? His father and mother wanted him to be a fine\r
+gentleman, and I think he has the same sort of feeling himself. They\r
+all think us beneath them. And if the proposal came from you, I am\r
+sure Mrs. Vincy would say that we wanted Fred for Mary."\r
+\r
+"Life is a poor tale, if it is to be settled by nonsense of that sort,"\r
+said Caleb, with disgust.\r
+\r
+"Yes, but there is a certain pride which is proper, Caleb."\r
+\r
+"I call it improper pride to let fools' notions hinder you from doing a\r
+good action. There's no sort of work," said Caleb, with fervor,\r
+putting out his hand and moving it up and down to mark his emphasis,\r
+"that could ever be done well, if you minded what fools say. You must\r
+have it inside you that your plan is right, and that plan you must\r
+follow."\r
+\r
+"I will not oppose any plan you have set your mind on, Caleb," said\r
+Mrs. Garth, who was a firm woman, but knew that there were some points\r
+on which her mild husband was yet firmer. "Still, it seems to be fixed\r
+that Fred is to go back to college: will it not be better to wait and\r
+see what he will choose to do after that? It is not easy to keep\r
+people against their will. And you are not yet quite sure enough of\r
+your own position, or what you will want."\r
+\r
+"Well, it may be better to wait a bit. But as to my getting plenty of\r
+work for two, I'm pretty sure of that. I've always had my hands full\r
+with scattered things, and there's always something fresh turning up.\r
+Why, only yesterday--bless me, I don't think I told you!--it was rather\r
+odd that two men should have been at me on different sides to do the\r
+same bit of valuing. And who do you think they were?" said Caleb,\r
+taking a pinch of snuff and holding it up between his fingers, as if it\r
+were a part of his exposition. He was fond of a pinch when it occurred\r
+to him, but he usually forgot that this indulgence was at his command.\r
+\r
+His wife held down her knitting and looked attentive.\r
+\r
+"Why, that Rigg, or Rigg Featherstone, was one. But Bulstrode was\r
+before him, so I'm going to do it for Bulstrode. Whether it's mortgage\r
+or purchase they're going for, I can't tell yet."\r
+\r
+"Can that man be going to sell the land just left him--which he has\r
+taken the name for?" said Mrs. Garth.\r
+\r
+"Deuce knows," said Caleb, who never referred the knowledge of\r
+discreditable doings to any higher power than the deuce. "But\r
+Bulstrode has long been wanting to get a handsome bit of land under his\r
+fingers--that I know. And it's a difficult matter to get, in this part\r
+of the country."\r
+\r
+Caleb scattered his snuff carefully instead of taking it, and then\r
+added, "The ins and outs of things are curious. Here is the land\r
+they've been all along expecting for Fred, which it seems the old man\r
+never meant to leave him a foot of, but left it to this side-slip of a\r
+son that he kept in the dark, and thought of his sticking there and\r
+vexing everybody as well as he could have vexed 'em himself if he could\r
+have kept alive. I say, it would be curious if it got into Bulstrode's\r
+hands after all. The old man hated him, and never would bank with him."\r
+\r
+"What reason could the miserable creature have for hating a man whom he\r
+had nothing to do with?" said Mrs. Garth.\r
+\r
+"Pooh! where's the use of asking for such fellows' reasons? The soul\r
+of man," said Caleb, with the deep tone and grave shake of the head\r
+which always came when he used this phrase--"The soul of man, when it\r
+gets fairly rotten, will bear you all sorts of poisonous toad-stools,\r
+and no eye can see whence came the seed thereof."\r
+\r
+It was one of Caleb's quaintnesses, that in his difficulty of finding\r
+speech for his thought, he caught, as it were, snatches of diction\r
+which he associated with various points of view or states of mind; and\r
+whenever he had a feeling of awe, he was haunted by a sense of Biblical\r
+phraseology, though he could hardly have given a strict quotation.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLI.\r
+\r
+ "By swaggering could I never thrive,\r
+ For the rain it raineth every day.\r
+ --Twelfth Night\r
+\r
+\r
+The transactions referred to by Caleb Garth as having gone forward\r
+between Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Joshua Rigg Featherstone concerning the\r
+land attached to Stone Court, had occasioned the interchange of a\r
+letter or two between these personages.\r
+\r
+Who shall tell what may be the effect of writing? If it happens to\r
+have been cut in stone, though it lie face down-most for ages on a\r
+forsaken beach, or "rest quietly under the drums and tramplings of many\r
+conquests," it may end by letting us into the secret of usurpations and\r
+other scandals gossiped about long empires ago:--this world being\r
+apparently a huge whispering-gallery. Such conditions are often\r
+minutely represented in our petty lifetimes. As the stone which has\r
+been kicked by generations of clowns may come by curious little links\r
+of effect under the eyes of a scholar, through whose labors it may at\r
+last fix the date of invasions and unlock religions, so a bit of ink\r
+and paper which has long been an innocent wrapping or stop-gap may at\r
+last be laid open under the one pair of eyes which have knowledge\r
+enough to turn it into the opening of a catastrophe. To Uriel watching\r
+the progress of planetary history from the sun, the one result would be\r
+just as much of a coincidence as the other.\r
+\r
+Having made this rather lofty comparison I am less uneasy in calling\r
+attention to the existence of low people by whose interference, however\r
+little we may like it, the course of the world is very much determined.\r
+It would be well, certainly, if we could help to reduce their number,\r
+and something might perhaps be done by not lightly giving occasion to\r
+their existence. Socially speaking, Joshua Rigg would have been\r
+generally pronounced a superfluity. But those who like Peter\r
+Featherstone never had a copy of themselves demanded, are the very last\r
+to wait for such a request either in prose or verse. The copy in this\r
+case bore more of outside resemblance to the mother, in whose sex\r
+frog-features, accompanied with fresh-colored cheeks and a well-rounded\r
+figure, are compatible with much charm for a certain order of admirers.\r
+The result is sometimes a frog-faced male, desirable, surely, to no\r
+order of intelligent beings. Especially when he is suddenly brought\r
+into evidence to frustrate other people's expectations--the very\r
+lowest aspect in which a social superfluity can present himself.\r
+\r
+But Mr. Rigg Featherstone's low characteristics were all of the sober,\r
+water-drinking kind. From the earliest to the latest hour of the day\r
+he was always as sleek, neat, and cool as the frog he resembled, and\r
+old Peter had secretly chuckled over an offshoot almost more\r
+calculating, and far more imperturbable, than himself. I will add that\r
+his finger-nails were scrupulously attended to, and that he meant to\r
+marry a well-educated young lady (as yet unspecified) whose person was\r
+good, and whose connections, in a solid middle-class way, were\r
+undeniable. Thus his nails and modesty were comparable to those of\r
+most gentlemen; though his ambition had been educated only by the\r
+opportunities of a clerk and accountant in the smaller commercial\r
+houses of a seaport. He thought the rural Featherstones very simple\r
+absurd people, and they in their turn regarded his "bringing up" in a\r
+seaport town as an exaggeration of the monstrosity that their brother\r
+Peter, and still more Peter's property, should have had such belongings.\r
+\r
+The garden and gravel approach, as seen from the two windows of the\r
+wainscoted parlor at Stone Court, were never in better trim than now,\r
+when Mr. Rigg Featherstone stood, with his hands behind him, looking\r
+out on these grounds as their master. But it seemed doubtful whether\r
+he looked out for the sake of contemplation or of turning his back to a\r
+person who stood in the middle of the room, with his legs considerably\r
+apart and his hands in his trouser-pockets: a person in all respects a\r
+contrast to the sleek and cool Rigg. He was a man obviously on the way\r
+towards sixty, very florid and hairy, with much gray in his bushy\r
+whiskers and thick curly hair, a stoutish body which showed to\r
+disadvantage the somewhat worn joinings of his clothes, and the air of\r
+a swaggerer, who would aim at being noticeable even at a show of\r
+fireworks, regarding his own remarks on any other person's performance\r
+as likely to be more interesting than the performance itself.\r
+\r
+His name was John Raffles, and he sometimes wrote jocosely W.A.G.\r
+after his signature, observing when he did so, that he was once taught\r
+by Leonard Lamb of Finsbury who wrote B.A. after his name, and that he,\r
+Raffles, originated the witticism of calling that celebrated principal\r
+Ba-Lamb. Such were the appearance and mental flavor of Mr. Raffles,\r
+both of which seemed to have a stale odor of travellers' rooms in the\r
+commercial hotels of that period.\r
+\r
+"Come, now, Josh," he was saying, in a full rumbling tone, "look at it\r
+in this light: here is your poor mother going into the vale of years,\r
+and you could afford something handsome now to make her comfortable."\r
+\r
+"Not while you live. Nothing would make her comfortable while you\r
+live," returned Rigg, in his cool high voice. "What I give her, you'll\r
+take."\r
+\r
+"You bear me a grudge, Josh, that I know. But come, now--as between\r
+man and man--without humbug--a little capital might enable me to make a\r
+first-rate thing of the shop. The tobacco trade is growing. I should\r
+cut my own nose off in not doing the best I could at it. I should\r
+stick to it like a flea to a fleece for my own sake. I should always\r
+be on the spot. And nothing would make your poor mother so happy.\r
+I've pretty well done with my wild oats--turned fifty-five. I want to\r
+settle down in my chimney-corner. And if I once buckled to the tobacco\r
+trade, I could bring an amount of brains and experience to bear on it\r
+that would not be found elsewhere in a hurry. I don't want to be\r
+bothering you one time after another, but to get things once for all\r
+into the right channel. Consider that, Josh--as between man and\r
+man--and with your poor mother to be made easy for her life. I was\r
+always fond of the old woman, by Jove!"\r
+\r
+"Have you done?" said Mr. Rigg, quietly, without looking away from the\r
+window.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I've done," said Raffles, taking hold of his hat which stood\r
+before him on the table, and giving it a sort of oratorical push.\r
+\r
+"Then just listen to me. The more you say anything, the less I shall\r
+believe it. The more you want me to do a thing, the more reason I\r
+shall have for never doing it. Do you think I mean to forget your\r
+kicking me when I was a lad, and eating all the best victual away from\r
+me and my mother? Do you think I forget your always coming home to\r
+sell and pocket everything, and going off again leaving us in the\r
+lurch? I should be glad to see you whipped at the cart-tail. My\r
+mother was a fool to you: she'd no right to give me a father-in-law,\r
+and she's been punished for it. She shall have her weekly allowance\r
+paid and no more: and that shall be stopped if you dare to come on to\r
+these premises again, or to come into this country after me again. The\r
+next time you show yourself inside the gates here, you shall be driven\r
+off with the dogs and the wagoner's whip."\r
+\r
+As Rigg pronounced the last words he turned round and looked at Raffles\r
+with his prominent frozen eyes. The contrast was as striking as it\r
+could have been eighteen years before, when Rigg was a most unengaging\r
+kickable boy, and Raffles was the rather thick-set Adonis of bar-rooms\r
+and back-parlors. But the advantage now was on the side of Rigg, and\r
+auditors of this conversation might probably have expected that Raffles\r
+would retire with the air of a defeated dog. Not at all. He made a\r
+grimace which was habitual with him whenever he was "out" in a game;\r
+then subsided into a laugh, and drew a brandy-flask from his pocket.\r
+\r
+"Come, Josh," he said, in a cajoling tone, "give us a spoonful of\r
+brandy, and a sovereign to pay the way back, and I'll go. Honor\r
+bright! I'll go like a bullet, _by_ Jove!"\r
+\r
+"Mind," said Rigg, drawing out a bunch of keys, "if I ever see you\r
+again, I shan't speak to you. I don't own you any more than if I saw a\r
+crow; and if you want to own me you'll get nothing by it but a\r
+character for being what you are--a spiteful, brassy, bullying rogue."\r
+\r
+"That's a pity, now, Josh," said Raffles, affecting to scratch his head\r
+and wrinkle his brows upward as if he were nonplussed. "I'm very fond\r
+of you; _by_ Jove, I am! There's nothing I like better than plaguing\r
+you--you're so like your mother, and I must do without it. But the\r
+brandy and the sovereign's a bargain."\r
+\r
+He jerked forward the flask and Rigg went to a fine old oaken bureau\r
+with his keys. But Raffles had reminded himself by his movement with\r
+the flask that it had become dangerously loose from its leather\r
+covering, and catching sight of a folded paper which had fallen within\r
+the fender, he took it up and shoved it under the leather so as to make\r
+the glass firm.\r
+\r
+By that time Rigg came forward with a brandy-bottle, filled the flask,\r
+and handed Raffles a sovereign, neither looking at him nor speaking to\r
+him. After locking up the bureau again, he walked to the window and\r
+gazed out as impassibly as he had done at the beginning of the\r
+interview, while Raffles took a small allowance from the flask, screwed\r
+it up, and deposited it in his side-pocket, with provoking slowness,\r
+making a grimace at his stepson's back.\r
+\r
+"Farewell, Josh--and if forever!" said Raffles, turning back his head\r
+as he opened the door.\r
+\r
+Rigg saw him leave the grounds and enter the lane. The gray day had\r
+turned to a light drizzling rain, which freshened the hedgerows and the\r
+grassy borders of the by-roads, and hastened the laborers who were\r
+loading the last shocks of corn. Raffles, walking with the uneasy gait\r
+of a town loiterer obliged to do a bit of country journeying on foot,\r
+looked as incongruous amid this moist rural quiet and industry as if he\r
+had been a baboon escaped from a menagerie. But there were none to\r
+stare at him except the long-weaned calves, and none to show dislike of\r
+his appearance except the little water-rats which rustled away at his\r
+approach.\r
+\r
+He was fortunate enough when he got on to the highroad to be overtaken\r
+by the stage-coach, which carried him to Brassing; and there he took\r
+the new-made railway, observing to his fellow-passengers that he\r
+considered it pretty well seasoned now it had done for Huskisson. Mr.\r
+Raffles on most occasions kept up the sense of having been educated at\r
+an academy, and being able, if he chose, to pass well everywhere;\r
+indeed, there was not one of his fellow-men whom he did not feel\r
+himself in a position to ridicule and torment, confident of the\r
+entertainment which he thus gave to all the rest of the company.\r
+\r
+He played this part now with as much spirit as if his journey had been\r
+entirely successful, resorting at frequent intervals to his flask. The\r
+paper with which he had wedged it was a letter signed Nicholas\r
+Bulstrode, but Raffles was not likely to disturb it from its present\r
+useful position.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLII.\r
+\r
+ "How much, methinks, I could despise this man\r
+ Were I not bound in charity against it!\r
+ --SHAKESPEARE: Henry VIII.\r
+\r
+\r
+One of the professional calls made by Lydgate soon after his return\r
+from his wedding-journey was to Lowick Manor, in consequence of a\r
+letter which had requested him to fix a time for his visit.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon had never put any question concerning the nature of his\r
+illness to Lydgate, nor had he even to Dorothea betrayed any anxiety as\r
+to how far it might be likely to cut short his labors or his life. On\r
+this point, as on all others, he shrank from pity; and if the suspicion\r
+of being pitied for anything in his lot surmised or known in spite of\r
+himself was embittering, the idea of calling forth a show of compassion\r
+by frankly admitting an alarm or a sorrow was necessarily intolerable\r
+to him. Every proud mind knows something of this experience, and\r
+perhaps it is only to be overcome by a sense of fellowship deep enough\r
+to make all efforts at isolation seem mean and petty instead of\r
+exalting.\r
+\r
+But Mr. Casaubon was now brooding over something through which the\r
+question of his health and life haunted his silence with a more\r
+harassing importunity even than through the autumnal unripeness of his\r
+authorship. It is true that this last might be called his central\r
+ambition; but there are some kinds of authorship in which by far the\r
+largest result is the uneasy susceptibility accumulated in the\r
+consciousness of the author--one knows of the river by a few streaks\r
+amid a long-gathered deposit of uncomfortable mud. That was the way\r
+with Mr. Casaubon's hard intellectual labors. Their most\r
+characteristic result was not the "Key to all Mythologies," but a\r
+morbid consciousness that others did not give him the place which he\r
+had not demonstrably merited--a perpetual suspicious conjecture that\r
+the views entertained of him were not to his advantage--a melancholy\r
+absence of passion in his efforts at achievement, and a passionate\r
+resistance to the confession that he had achieved nothing.\r
+\r
+Thus his intellectual ambition which seemed to others to have absorbed\r
+and dried him, was really no security against wounds, least of all\r
+against those which came from Dorothea. And he had begun now to frame\r
+possibilities for the future which were somehow more embittering to him\r
+than anything his mind had dwelt on before.\r
+\r
+Against certain facts he was helpless: against Will Ladislaw's\r
+existence, his defiant stay in the neighborhood of Lowick, and his\r
+flippant state of mind with regard to the possessors of authentic,\r
+well-stamped erudition: against Dorothea's nature, always taking on\r
+some new shape of ardent activity, and even in submission and silence\r
+covering fervid reasons which it was an irritation to think of: against\r
+certain notions and likings which had taken possession of her mind in\r
+relation to subjects that he could not possibly discuss with her.\r
+There was no denying that Dorothea was as virtuous and lovely a young\r
+lady as he could have obtained for a wife; but a young lady turned out\r
+to be something more troublesome than he had conceived. She nursed\r
+him, she read to him, she anticipated his wants, and was solicitous\r
+about his feelings; but there had entered into the husband's mind the\r
+certainty that she judged him, and that her wifely devotedness was like\r
+a penitential expiation of unbelieving thoughts--was accompanied with a\r
+power of comparison by which himself and his doings were seen too\r
+luminously as a part of things in general. His discontent passed\r
+vapor-like through all her gentle loving manifestations, and clung to\r
+that inappreciative world which she had only brought nearer to him.\r
+\r
+Poor Mr. Casaubon! This suffering was the harder to bear because it\r
+seemed like a betrayal: the young creature who had worshipped him with\r
+perfect trust had quickly turned into the critical wife; and early\r
+instances of criticism and resentment had made an impression which no\r
+tenderness and submission afterwards could remove. To his suspicious\r
+interpretation Dorothea's silence now was a suppressed rebellion; a\r
+remark from her which he had not in any way anticipated was an\r
+assertion of conscious superiority; her gentle answers had an\r
+irritating cautiousness in them; and when she acquiesced it was a\r
+self-approved effort of forbearance. The tenacity with which he strove\r
+to hide this inward drama made it the more vivid for him; as we hear\r
+with the more keenness what we wish others not to hear.\r
+\r
+Instead of wondering at this result of misery in Mr. Casaubon, I think\r
+it quite ordinary. Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot\r
+out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the\r
+blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self. And who, if Mr.\r
+Casaubon had chosen to expound his discontents--his suspicions that he\r
+was not any longer adored without criticism--could have denied that\r
+they were founded on good reasons? On the contrary, there was a strong\r
+reason to be added, which he had not himself taken explicitly into\r
+account--namely, that he was not unmixedly adorable. He suspected\r
+this, however, as he suspected other things, without confessing it, and\r
+like the rest of us, felt how soothing it would have been to have a\r
+companion who would never find it out.\r
+\r
+This sore susceptibility in relation to Dorothea was thoroughly\r
+prepared before Will Ladislaw had returned to Lowick, and what had\r
+occurred since then had brought Mr. Casaubon's power of suspicious\r
+construction into exasperated activity. To all the facts which he\r
+knew, he added imaginary facts both present and future which became\r
+more real to him than those because they called up a stronger dislike,\r
+a more predominating bitterness. Suspicion and jealousy of Will\r
+Ladislaw's intentions, suspicion and jealousy of Dorothea's\r
+impressions, were constantly at their weaving work. It would be quite\r
+unjust to him to suppose that he could have entered into any coarse\r
+misinterpretation of Dorothea: his own habits of mind and conduct,\r
+quite as much as the open elevation of her nature, saved him from any\r
+such mistake. What he was jealous of was her opinion, the sway that\r
+might be given to her ardent mind in its judgments, and the future\r
+possibilities to which these might lead her. As to Will, though until\r
+his last defiant letter he had nothing definite which he would choose\r
+formally to allege against him, he felt himself warranted in believing\r
+that he was capable of any design which could fascinate a rebellious\r
+temper and an undisciplined impulsiveness. He was quite sure that\r
+Dorothea was the cause of Will's return from Rome, and his\r
+determination to settle in the neighborhood; and he was penetrating\r
+enough to imagine that Dorothea had innocently encouraged this course.\r
+It was as clear as possible that she was ready to be attached to Will\r
+and to be pliant to his suggestions: they had never had a tete-a-tete\r
+without her bringing away from it some new troublesome impression, and\r
+the last interview that Mr. Casaubon was aware of (Dorothea, on\r
+returning from Freshitt Hall, had for the first time been silent about\r
+having seen Will) had led to a scene which roused an angrier feeling\r
+against them both than he had ever known before. Dorothea's outpouring\r
+of her notions about money, in the darkness of the night, had done\r
+nothing but bring a mixture of more odious foreboding into her\r
+husband's mind.\r
+\r
+And there was the shock lately given to his health always sadly present\r
+with him. He was certainly much revived; he had recovered all his\r
+usual power of work: the illness might have been mere fatigue, and\r
+there might still be twenty years of achievement before him, which\r
+would justify the thirty years of preparation. That prospect was made\r
+the sweeter by a flavor of vengeance against the hasty sneers of Carp &\r
+Company; for even when Mr. Casaubon was carrying his taper among the\r
+tombs of the past, those modern figures came athwart the dim light, and\r
+interrupted his diligent exploration. To convince Carp of his mistake,\r
+so that he would have to eat his own words with a good deal of\r
+indigestion, would be an agreeable accident of triumphant authorship,\r
+which the prospect of living to future ages on earth and to all\r
+eternity in heaven could not exclude from contemplation. Since, thus,\r
+the prevision of his own unending bliss could not nullify the bitter\r
+savors of irritated jealousy and vindictiveness, it is the less\r
+surprising that the probability of a transient earthly bliss for other\r
+persons, when he himself should have entered into glory, had not a\r
+potently sweetening effect. If the truth should be that some\r
+undermining disease was at work within him, there might be large\r
+opportunity for some people to be the happier when he was gone; and if\r
+one of those people should be Will Ladislaw, Mr. Casaubon objected so\r
+strongly that it seemed as if the annoyance would make part of his\r
+disembodied existence.\r
+\r
+This is a very bare and therefore a very incomplete way of putting the\r
+case. The human soul moves in many channels, and Mr. Casaubon, we\r
+know, had a sense of rectitude and an honorable pride in satisfying the\r
+requirements of honor, which compelled him to find other reasons for\r
+his conduct than those of jealousy and vindictiveness. The way in\r
+which Mr. Casaubon put the case was this:--"In marrying Dorothea Brooke\r
+I had to care for her well-being in case of my death. But well-being\r
+is not to be secured by ample, independent possession of property; on\r
+the contrary, occasions might arise in which such possession might\r
+expose her to the more danger. She is ready prey to any man who knows\r
+how to play adroitly either on her affectionate ardor or her Quixotic\r
+enthusiasm; and a man stands by with that very intention in his mind--a\r
+man with no other principle than transient caprice, and who has a\r
+personal animosity towards me--I am sure of it--an animosity which is\r
+fed by the consciousness of his ingratitude, and which he has\r
+constantly vented in ridicule of which I am as well assured as if I had\r
+heard it. Even if I live I shall not be without uneasiness as to what\r
+he may attempt through indirect influence. This man has gained\r
+Dorothea's ear: he has fascinated her attention; he has evidently tried\r
+to impress her mind with the notion that he has claims beyond anything\r
+I have done for him. If I die--and he is waiting here on the watch for\r
+that--he will persuade her to marry him. That would be calamity for\r
+her and success for him. _She_ would not think it calamity: he would\r
+make her believe anything; she has a tendency to immoderate attachment\r
+which she inwardly reproaches me for not responding to, and already her\r
+mind is occupied with his fortunes. He thinks of an easy conquest and\r
+of entering into my nest. That I will hinder! Such a marriage would be\r
+fatal to Dorothea. Has he ever persisted in anything except from\r
+contradiction? In knowledge he has always tried to be showy at small\r
+cost. In religion he could be, as long as it suited him, the facile\r
+echo of Dorothea's vagaries. When was sciolism ever dissociated from\r
+laxity? I utterly distrust his morals, and it is my duty to hinder to\r
+the utmost the fulfilment of his designs."\r
+\r
+The arrangements made by Mr. Casaubon on his marriage left strong\r
+measures open to him, but in ruminating on them his mind inevitably\r
+dwelt so much on the probabilities of his own life that the longing to\r
+get the nearest possible calculation had at last overcome his proud\r
+reticence, and had determined him to ask Lydgate's opinion as to the\r
+nature of his illness.\r
+\r
+He had mentioned to Dorothea that Lydgate was coming by appointment at\r
+half-past three, and in answer to her anxious question, whether he had\r
+felt ill, replied,--"No, I merely wish to have his opinion concerning\r
+some habitual symptoms. You need not see him, my dear. I shall give\r
+orders that he may be sent to me in the Yew-tree Walk, where I shall be\r
+taking my usual exercise."\r
+\r
+When Lydgate entered the Yew-tree Walk he saw Mr. Casaubon slowly\r
+receding with his hands behind him according to his habit, and his head\r
+bent forward. It was a lovely afternoon; the leaves from the lofty\r
+limes were falling silently across the sombre evergreens, while the\r
+lights and shadows slept side by side: there was no sound but the\r
+cawing of the rooks, which to the accustomed ear is a lullaby, or that\r
+last solemn lullaby, a dirge. Lydgate, conscious of an energetic frame\r
+in its prime, felt some compassion when the figure which he was likely\r
+soon to overtake turned round, and in advancing towards him showed more\r
+markedly than ever the signs of premature age--the student's bent\r
+shoulders, the emaciated limbs, and the melancholy lines of the mouth.\r
+"Poor fellow," he thought, "some men with his years are like lions; one\r
+can tell nothing of their age except that they are full grown."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate," said Mr. Casaubon, with his invariably polite air, "I am\r
+exceedingly obliged to you for your punctuality. We will, if you\r
+please, carry on our conversation in walking to and fro."\r
+\r
+"I hope your wish to see me is not due to the return of unpleasant\r
+symptoms," said Lydgate, filling up a pause.\r
+\r
+"Not immediately--no. In order to account for that wish I must\r
+mention--what it were otherwise needless to refer to--that my life, on\r
+all collateral accounts insignificant, derives a possible importance\r
+from the incompleteness of labors which have extended through all its\r
+best years. In short, I have long had on hand a work which I would\r
+fain leave behind me in such a state, at least, that it might be\r
+committed to the press by--others. Were I assured that this is the\r
+utmost I can reasonably expect, that assurance would be a useful\r
+circumscription of my attempts, and a guide in both the positive and\r
+negative determination of my course."\r
+\r
+Here Mr. Casaubon paused, removed one hand from his back and thrust it\r
+between the buttons of his single-breasted coat. To a mind largely\r
+instructed in the human destiny hardly anything could be more\r
+interesting than the inward conflict implied in his formal measured\r
+address, delivered with the usual sing-song and motion of the head.\r
+Nay, are there many situations more sublimely tragic than the struggle\r
+of the soul with the demand to renounce a work which has been all the\r
+significance of its life--a significance which is to vanish as the\r
+waters which come and go where no man has need of them? But there was\r
+nothing to strike others as sublime about Mr. Casaubon, and Lydgate,\r
+who had some contempt at hand for futile scholarship, felt a little\r
+amusement mingling with his pity. He was at present too ill acquainted\r
+with disaster to enter into the pathos of a lot where everything is\r
+below the level of tragedy except the passionate egoism of the sufferer.\r
+\r
+"You refer to the possible hindrances from want of health?" he said,\r
+wishing to help forward Mr. Casaubon's purpose, which seemed to be\r
+clogged by some hesitation.\r
+\r
+"I do. You have not implied to me that the symptoms which--I am bound\r
+to testify--you watched with scrupulous care, were those of a fatal\r
+disease. But were it so, Mr. Lydgate, I should desire to know the\r
+truth without reservation, and I appeal to you for an exact statement\r
+of your conclusions: I request it as a friendly service. If you can\r
+tell me that my life is not threatened by anything else than ordinary\r
+casualties, I shall rejoice, on grounds which I have already indicated.\r
+If not, knowledge of the truth is even more important to me."\r
+\r
+"Then I can no longer hesitate as to my course," said Lydgate; "but the\r
+first thing I must impress on you is that my conclusions are doubly\r
+uncertain--uncertain not only because of my fallibility, but because\r
+diseases of the heart are eminently difficult to found predictions on.\r
+In any case, one can hardly increase appreciably the tremendous\r
+uncertainty of life."\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon winced perceptibly, but bowed.\r
+\r
+"I believe that you are suffering from what is called fatty\r
+degeneration of the heart, a disease which was first divined and\r
+explored by Laennec, the man who gave us the stethoscope, not so very\r
+many years ago. A good deal of experience--a more lengthened\r
+observation--is wanting on the subject. But after what you have said,\r
+it is my duty to tell you that death from this disease is often sudden.\r
+At the same time, no such result can be predicted. Your condition may\r
+be consistent with a tolerably comfortable life for another fifteen\r
+years, or even more. I could add no information to this beyond\r
+anatomical or medical details, which would leave expectation at\r
+precisely the same point." Lydgate's instinct was fine enough to tell\r
+him that plain speech, quite free from ostentatious caution, would be\r
+felt by Mr. Casaubon as a tribute of respect.\r
+\r
+"I thank you, Mr. Lydgate," said Mr. Casaubon, after a moment's pause.\r
+"One thing more I have still to ask: did you communicate what you have\r
+now told me to Mrs. Casaubon?"\r
+\r
+"Partly--I mean, as to the possible issues." Lydgate was going to\r
+explain why he had told Dorothea, but Mr. Casaubon, with an\r
+unmistakable desire to end the conversation, waved his hand slightly,\r
+and said again, "I thank you," proceeding to remark on the rare beauty\r
+of the day.\r
+\r
+Lydgate, certain that his patient wished to be alone, soon left him;\r
+and the black figure with hands behind and head bent forward continued\r
+to pace the walk where the dark yew-trees gave him a mute companionship\r
+in melancholy, and the little shadows of bird or leaf that fleeted\r
+across the isles of sunlight, stole along in silence as in the presence\r
+of a sorrow. Here was a man who now for the first time found himself\r
+looking into the eyes of death--who was passing through one of those\r
+rare moments of experience when we feel the truth of a commonplace,\r
+which is as different from what we call knowing it, as the vision of\r
+waters upon the earth is different from the delirious vision of the\r
+water which cannot be had to cool the burning tongue. When the\r
+commonplace "We must all die" transforms itself suddenly into the acute\r
+consciousness "I must die--and soon," then death grapples us, and his\r
+fingers are cruel; afterwards, he may come to fold us in his arms as\r
+our mother did, and our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be\r
+like the first. To Mr. Casaubon now, it was as if he suddenly found\r
+himself on the dark river-brink and heard the plash of the oncoming\r
+oar, not discerning the forms, but expecting the summons. In such an\r
+hour the mind does not change its lifelong bias, but carries it onward\r
+in imagination to the other side of death, gazing backward--perhaps\r
+with the divine calm of beneficence, perhaps with the petty anxieties\r
+of self-assertion. What was Mr. Casaubon's bias his acts will give us a\r
+clew to. He held himself to be, with some private scholarly\r
+reservations, a believing Christian, as to estimates of the present and\r
+hopes of the future. But what we strive to gratify, though we may call\r
+it a distant hope, is an immediate desire: the future estate for which\r
+men drudge up city alleys exists already in their imagination and love.\r
+And Mr. Casaubon's immediate desire was not for divine communion and\r
+light divested of earthly conditions; his passionate longings, poor\r
+man, clung low and mist-like in very shady places.\r
+\r
+Dorothea had been aware when Lydgate had ridden away, and she had\r
+stepped into the garden, with the impulse to go at once to her husband.\r
+But she hesitated, fearing to offend him by obtruding herself; for her\r
+ardor, continually repulsed, served, with her intense memory, to\r
+heighten her dread, as thwarted energy subsides into a shudder; and she\r
+wandered slowly round the nearer clumps of trees until she saw him\r
+advancing. Then she went towards him, and might have represented a\r
+heaven-sent angel coming with a promise that the short hours remaining\r
+should yet be filled with that faithful love which clings the closer to\r
+a comprehended grief. His glance in reply to hers was so chill that\r
+she felt her timidity increased; yet she turned and passed her hand\r
+through his arm.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon kept his hands behind him and allowed her pliant arm to\r
+cling with difficulty against his rigid arm.\r
+\r
+There was something horrible to Dorothea in the sensation which this\r
+unresponsive hardness inflicted on her. That is a strong word, but not\r
+too strong: it is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of\r
+joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard\r
+faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth\r
+bears no harvest of sweetness--calling their denial knowledge. You may\r
+ask why, in the name of manliness, Mr. Casaubon should have behaved in\r
+that way. Consider that his was a mind which shrank from pity: have\r
+you ever watched in such a mind the effect of a suspicion that what is\r
+pressing it as a grief may be really a source of contentment, either\r
+actual or future, to the being who already offends by pitying?\r
+Besides, he knew little of Dorothea's sensations, and had not reflected\r
+that on such an occasion as the present they were comparable in\r
+strength to his own sensibilities about Carp's criticisms.\r
+\r
+Dorothea did not withdraw her arm, but she could not venture to speak.\r
+Mr. Casaubon did not say, "I wish to be alone," but he directed his\r
+steps in silence towards the house, and as they entered by the glass\r
+door on this eastern side, Dorothea withdrew her arm and lingered on\r
+the matting, that she might leave her husband quite free. He entered\r
+the library and shut himself in, alone with his sorrow.\r
+\r
+She went up to her boudoir. The open bow-window let in the serene\r
+glory of the afternoon lying in the avenue, where the lime-trees cast\r
+long shadows. But Dorothea knew nothing of the scene. She threw\r
+herself on a chair, not heeding that she was in the dazzling sun-rays:\r
+if there were discomfort in that, how could she tell that it was not\r
+part of her inward misery?\r
+\r
+She was in the reaction of a rebellious anger stronger than any she had\r
+felt since her marriage. Instead of tears there came words:--\r
+\r
+"What have I done--what am I--that he should treat me so? He never\r
+knows what is in my mind--he never cares. What is the use of anything\r
+I do? He wishes he had never married me."\r
+\r
+She began to hear herself, and was checked into stillness. Like one\r
+who has lost his way and is weary, she sat and saw as in one glance all\r
+the paths of her young hope which she should never find again. And\r
+just as clearly in the miserable light she saw her own and her\r
+husband's solitude--how they walked apart so that she was obliged to\r
+survey him. If he had drawn her towards him, she would never have\r
+surveyed him--never have said, "Is he worth living for?" but would have\r
+felt him simply a part of her own life. Now she said bitterly, "It is\r
+his fault, not mine." In the jar of her whole being, Pity was\r
+overthrown. Was it her fault that she had believed in him--had\r
+believed in his worthiness?--And what, exactly, was he?-- She was able\r
+enough to estimate him--she who waited on his glances with trembling,\r
+and shut her best soul in prison, paying it only hidden visits, that\r
+she might be petty enough to please him. In such a crisis as this,\r
+some women begin to hate.\r
+\r
+The sun was low when Dorothea was thinking that she would not go down\r
+again, but would send a message to her husband saying that she was not\r
+well and preferred remaining up-stairs. She had never deliberately\r
+allowed her resentment to govern her in this way before, but she\r
+believed now that she could not see him again without telling him the\r
+truth about her feeling, and she must wait till she could do it without\r
+interruption. He might wonder and be hurt at her message. It was good\r
+that he should wonder and be hurt. Her anger said, as anger is apt to\r
+say, that God was with her--that all heaven, though it were crowded\r
+with spirits watching them, must be on her side. She had determined to\r
+ring her bell, when there came a rap at the door.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon had sent to say that he would have his dinner in the\r
+library. He wished to be quite alone this evening, being much occupied.\r
+\r
+"I shall not dine, then, Tantripp."\r
+\r
+"Oh, madam, let me bring you a little something?"\r
+\r
+"No; I am not well. Get everything ready in my dressing room, but pray\r
+do not disturb me again."\r
+\r
+Dorothea sat almost motionless in her meditative struggle, while the\r
+evening slowly deepened into night. But the struggle changed\r
+continually, as that of a man who begins with a movement towards\r
+striking and ends with conquering his desire to strike. The energy\r
+that would animate a crime is not more than is wanted to inspire a\r
+resolved submission, when the noble habit of the soul reasserts itself.\r
+That thought with which Dorothea had gone out to meet her husband--her\r
+conviction that he had been asking about the possible arrest of all his\r
+work, and that the answer must have wrung his heart, could not be long\r
+without rising beside the image of him, like a shadowy monitor looking\r
+at her anger with sad remonstrance. It cost her a litany of pictured\r
+sorrows and of silent cries that she might be the mercy for those\r
+sorrows--but the resolved submission did come; and when the house was\r
+still, and she knew that it was near the time when Mr. Casaubon\r
+habitually went to rest, she opened her door gently and stood outside\r
+in the darkness waiting for his coming up-stairs with a light in his\r
+hand. If he did not come soon she thought that she would go down and\r
+even risk incurring another pang. She would never again expect\r
+anything else. But she did hear the library door open, and slowly the\r
+light advanced up the staircase without noise from the footsteps on the\r
+carpet. When her husband stood opposite to her, she saw that his face\r
+was more haggard. He started slightly on seeing her, and she looked up\r
+at him beseechingly, without speaking.\r
+\r
+"Dorothea!" he said, with a gentle surprise in his tone. "Were you\r
+waiting for me?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, I did not like to disturb you."\r
+\r
+"Come, my dear, come. You are young, and need not to extend your life\r
+by watching."\r
+\r
+When the kind quiet melancholy of that speech fell on Dorothea's ears,\r
+she felt something like the thankfulness that might well up in us if we\r
+had narrowly escaped hurting a lamed creature. She put her hand into\r
+her husband's, and they went along the broad corridor together.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK V.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+THE DEAD HAND.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLIII.\r
+\r
+ This figure hath high price: 't was wrought with love\r
+ Ages ago in finest ivory;\r
+ Nought modish in it, pure and noble lines\r
+ Of generous womanhood that fits all time\r
+ That too is costly ware; majolica\r
+ Of deft design, to please a lordly eye:\r
+ The smile, you see, is perfect--wonderful\r
+ As mere Faience! a table ornament\r
+ To suit the richest mounting."\r
+\r
+\r
+Dorothea seldom left home without her husband, but she did occasionally\r
+drive into Middlemarch alone, on little errands of shopping or charity\r
+such as occur to every lady of any wealth when she lives within three\r
+miles of a town. Two days after that scene in the Yew-tree Walk, she\r
+determined to use such an opportunity in order if possible to see\r
+Lydgate, and learn from him whether her husband had really felt any\r
+depressing change of symptoms which he was concealing from her, and\r
+whether he had insisted on knowing the utmost about himself. She felt\r
+almost guilty in asking for knowledge about him from another, but the\r
+dread of being without it--the dread of that ignorance which would make\r
+her unjust or hard--overcame every scruple. That there had been some\r
+crisis in her husband's mind she was certain: he had the very next day\r
+begun a new method of arranging his notes, and had associated her quite\r
+newly in carrying out his plan. Poor Dorothea needed to lay up stores\r
+of patience.\r
+\r
+It was about four o'clock when she drove to Lydgate's house in Lowick\r
+Gate, wishing, in her immediate doubt of finding him at home, that she\r
+had written beforehand. And he was not at home.\r
+\r
+"Is Mrs. Lydgate at home?" said Dorothea, who had never, that she knew\r
+of, seen Rosamond, but now remembered the fact of the marriage. Yes,\r
+Mrs. Lydgate was at home.\r
+\r
+"I will go in and speak to her, if she will allow me. Will you ask her\r
+if she can see me--see Mrs. Casaubon, for a few minutes?"\r
+\r
+When the servant had gone to deliver that message, Dorothea could hear\r
+sounds of music through an open window--a few notes from a man's voice\r
+and then a piano bursting into roulades. But the roulades broke off\r
+suddenly, and then the servant came back saying that Mrs. Lydgate would\r
+be happy to see Mrs. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+When the drawing-room door opened and Dorothea entered, there was a\r
+sort of contrast not infrequent in country life when the habits of the\r
+different ranks were less blent than now. Let those who know, tell us\r
+exactly what stuff it was that Dorothea wore in those days of mild\r
+autumn--that thin white woollen stuff soft to the touch and soft to the\r
+eye. It always seemed to have been lately washed, and to smell of the\r
+sweet hedges--was always in the shape of a pelisse with sleeves hanging\r
+all out of the fashion. Yet if she had entered before a still audience\r
+as Imogene or Cato's daughter, the dress might have seemed right\r
+enough: the grace and dignity were in her limbs and neck; and about her\r
+simply parted hair and candid eyes the large round poke which was then\r
+in the fate of women, seemed no more odd as a head-dress than the gold\r
+trencher we call a halo. By the present audience of two persons, no\r
+dramatic heroine could have been expected with more interest than Mrs.\r
+Casaubon. To Rosamond she was one of those county divinities not\r
+mixing with Middlemarch mortality, whose slightest marks of manner or\r
+appearance were worthy of her study; moreover, Rosamond was not without\r
+satisfaction that Mrs. Casaubon should have an opportunity of studying\r
+_her_. What is the use of being exquisite if you are not seen by the\r
+best judges? and since Rosamond had received the highest compliments at\r
+Sir Godwin Lydgate's, she felt quite confident of the impression she\r
+must make on people of good birth. Dorothea put out her hand with her\r
+usual simple kindness, and looked admiringly at Lydgate's lovely\r
+bride--aware that there was a gentleman standing at a distance, but\r
+seeing him merely as a coated figure at a wide angle. The gentleman\r
+was too much occupied with the presence of the one woman to reflect on\r
+the contrast between the two--a contrast that would certainly have been\r
+striking to a calm observer. They were both tall, and their eyes were\r
+on a level; but imagine Rosamond's infantine blondness and wondrous\r
+crown of hair-plaits, with her pale-blue dress of a fit and fashion so\r
+perfect that no dressmaker could look at it without emotion, a large\r
+embroidered collar which it was to be hoped all beholders would know\r
+the price of, her small hands duly set off with rings, and that\r
+controlled self-consciousness of manner which is the expensive\r
+substitute for simplicity.\r
+\r
+"Thank you very much for allowing me to interrupt you," said Dorothea,\r
+immediately. "I am anxious to see Mr. Lydgate, if possible, before I\r
+go home, and I hoped that you might possibly tell me where I could find\r
+him, or even allow me to wait for him, if you expect him soon."\r
+\r
+"He is at the New Hospital," said Rosamond; "I am not sure how soon he\r
+will come home. But I can send for him."\r
+\r
+"Will you let me go and fetch him?" said Will Ladislaw, coming forward.\r
+He had already taken up his hat before Dorothea entered. She colored\r
+with surprise, but put out her hand with a smile of unmistakable\r
+pleasure, saying--\r
+\r
+"I did not know it was you: I had no thought of seeing you here."\r
+\r
+"May I go to the Hospital and tell Mr. Lydgate that you wish to see\r
+him?" said Will.\r
+\r
+"It would be quicker to send the carriage for him," said Dorothea, "if\r
+you will be kind enough to give the message to the coachman."\r
+\r
+Will was moving to the door when Dorothea, whose mind had flashed in an\r
+instant over many connected memories, turned quickly and said, "I will\r
+go myself, thank you. I wish to lose no time before getting home\r
+again. I will drive to the Hospital and see Mr. Lydgate there. Pray\r
+excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate. I am very much obliged to you."\r
+\r
+Her mind was evidently arrested by some sudden thought, and she left\r
+the room hardly conscious of what was immediately around her--hardly\r
+conscious that Will opened the door for her and offered her his arm to\r
+lead her to the carriage. She took the arm but said nothing. Will was\r
+feeling rather vexed and miserable, and found nothing to say on his\r
+side. He handed her into the carriage in silence, they said good-by,\r
+and Dorothea drove away.\r
+\r
+In the five minutes' drive to the Hospital she had time for some\r
+reflections that were quite new to her. Her decision to go, and her\r
+preoccupation in leaving the room, had come from the sudden sense that\r
+there would be a sort of deception in her voluntarily allowing any\r
+further intercourse between herself and Will which she was unable to\r
+mention to her husband, and already her errand in seeking Lydgate was a\r
+matter of concealment. That was all that had been explicitly in her\r
+mind; but she had been urged also by a vague discomfort. Now that she\r
+was alone in her drive, she heard the notes of the man's voice and the\r
+accompanying piano, which she had not noted much at the time, returning\r
+on her inward sense; and she found herself thinking with some wonder\r
+that Will Ladislaw was passing his time with Mrs. Lydgate in her\r
+husband's absence. And then she could not help remembering that he had\r
+passed some time with her under like circumstances, so why should there\r
+be any unfitness in the fact? But Will was Mr. Casaubon's relative,\r
+and one towards whom she was bound to show kindness. Still there had\r
+been signs which perhaps she ought to have understood as implying that\r
+Mr. Casaubon did not like his cousin's visits during his own absence.\r
+"Perhaps I have been mistaken in many things," said poor Dorothea to\r
+herself, while the tears came rolling and she had to dry them quickly.\r
+She felt confusedly unhappy, and the image of Will which had been so\r
+clear to her before was mysteriously spoiled. But the carriage stopped\r
+at the gate of the Hospital. She was soon walking round the grass\r
+plots with Lydgate, and her feelings recovered the strong bent which\r
+had made her seek for this interview.\r
+\r
+Will Ladislaw, meanwhile, was mortified, and knew the reason of it\r
+clearly enough. His chances of meeting Dorothea were rare; and here\r
+for the first time there had come a chance which had set him at a\r
+disadvantage. It was not only, as it had been hitherto, that she was\r
+not supremely occupied with him, but that she had seen him under\r
+circumstances in which he might appear not to be supremely occupied\r
+with her. He felt thrust to a new distance from her, amongst the\r
+circles of Middlemarchers who made no part of her life. But that was\r
+not his fault: of course, since he had taken his lodgings in the town,\r
+he had been making as many acquaintances as he could, his position\r
+requiring that he should know everybody and everything. Lydgate was\r
+really better worth knowing than any one else in the neighborhood, and\r
+he happened to have a wife who was musical and altogether worth calling\r
+upon. Here was the whole history of the situation in which Diana had\r
+descended too unexpectedly on her worshipper. It was mortifying. Will\r
+was conscious that he should not have been at Middlemarch but for\r
+Dorothea; and yet his position there was threatening to divide him from\r
+her with those barriers of habitual sentiment which are more fatal to\r
+the persistence of mutual interest than all the distance between Rome\r
+and Britain. Prejudices about rank and status were easy enough to defy\r
+in the form of a tyrannical letter from Mr. Casaubon; but prejudices,\r
+like odorous bodies, have a double existence both solid and subtle--solid\r
+as the pyramids, subtle as the twentieth echo of an echo, or as\r
+the memory of hyacinths which once scented the darkness. And Will was\r
+of a temperament to feel keenly the presence of subtleties: a man of\r
+clumsier perceptions would not have felt, as he did, that for the first\r
+time some sense of unfitness in perfect freedom with him had sprung up\r
+in Dorothea's mind, and that their silence, as he conducted her to the\r
+carriage, had had a chill in it. Perhaps Casaubon, in his hatred and\r
+jealousy, had been insisting to Dorothea that Will had slid below her\r
+socially. Confound Casaubon!\r
+\r
+Will re-entered the drawing-room, took up his hat, and looking\r
+irritated as he advanced towards Mrs. Lydgate, who had seated herself\r
+at her work-table, said--\r
+\r
+"It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted. May I come\r
+another day and just finish about the rendering of 'Lungi dal caro\r
+bene'?"\r
+\r
+"I shall be happy to be taught," said Rosamond. "But I am sure you\r
+admit that the interruption was a very beautiful one. I quite envy\r
+your acquaintance with Mrs. Casaubon. Is she very clever? She looks\r
+as if she were."\r
+\r
+"Really, I never thought about it," said Will, sulkily.\r
+\r
+"That is just the answer Tertius gave me, when I first asked him if she\r
+were handsome. What is it that you gentlemen are thinking of when you\r
+are with Mrs. Casaubon?"\r
+\r
+"Herself," said Will, not indisposed to provoke the charming Mrs.\r
+Lydgate. "When one sees a perfect woman, one never thinks of her\r
+attributes--one is conscious of her presence."\r
+\r
+"I shall be jealous when Tertius goes to Lowick," said Rosamond,\r
+dimpling, and speaking with aery lightness. "He will come back and\r
+think nothing of me."\r
+\r
+"That does not seem to have been the effect on Lydgate hitherto. Mrs.\r
+Casaubon is too unlike other women for them to be compared with her."\r
+\r
+"You are a devout worshipper, I perceive. You often see her, I\r
+suppose."\r
+\r
+"No," said Will, almost pettishly. "Worship is usually a matter of\r
+theory rather than of practice. But I am practising it to excess just\r
+at this moment--I must really tear myself away."\r
+\r
+"Pray come again some evening: Mr. Lydgate will like to hear the music,\r
+and I cannot enjoy it so well without him."\r
+\r
+When her husband was at home again, Rosamond said, standing in front of\r
+him and holding his coat-collar with both her hands, "Mr. Ladislaw was\r
+here singing with me when Mrs. Casaubon came in. He seemed vexed. Do\r
+you think he disliked her seeing him at our house? Surely your\r
+position is more than equal to his--whatever may be his relation to the\r
+Casaubons."\r
+\r
+"No, no; it must be something else if he were really vexed, Ladislaw is\r
+a sort of gypsy; he thinks nothing of leather and prunella."\r
+\r
+"Music apart, he is not always very agreeable. Do you like him?"\r
+\r
+"Yes: I think he is a good fellow: rather miscellaneous and\r
+bric-a-brac, but likable."\r
+\r
+"Do you know, I think he adores Mrs. Casaubon."\r
+\r
+"Poor devil!" said Lydgate, smiling and pinching his wife's ears.\r
+\r
+Rosamond felt herself beginning to know a great deal of the world,\r
+especially in discovering what when she was in her unmarried girlhood\r
+had been inconceivable to her except as a dim tragedy in by-gone\r
+costumes--that women, even after marriage, might make conquests and\r
+enslave men. At that time young ladies in the country, even when\r
+educated at Mrs. Lemon's, read little French literature later than\r
+Racine, and public prints had not cast their present magnificent\r
+illumination over the scandals of life. Still, vanity, with a woman's\r
+whole mind and day to work in, can construct abundantly on slight\r
+hints, especially on such a hint as the possibility of indefinite\r
+conquests. How delightful to make captives from the throne of marriage\r
+with a husband as crown-prince by your side--himself in fact a\r
+subject--while the captives look up forever hopeless, losing their\r
+rest probably, and if their appetite too, so much the better! But\r
+Rosamond's romance turned at present chiefly on her crown-prince, and\r
+it was enough to enjoy his assured subjection. When he said, "Poor\r
+devil!" she asked, with playful curiosity--\r
+\r
+"Why so?"\r
+\r
+"Why, what can a man do when he takes to adoring one of you mermaids?\r
+He only neglects his work and runs up bills."\r
+\r
+"I am sure you do not neglect your work. You are always at the\r
+Hospital, or seeing poor patients, or thinking about some doctor's\r
+quarrel; and then at home you always want to pore over your microscope\r
+and phials. Confess you like those things better than me."\r
+\r
+"Haven't you ambition enough to wish that your husband should be\r
+something better than a Middlemarch doctor?" said Lydgate, letting his\r
+hands fall on to his wife's shoulders, and looking at her with\r
+affectionate gravity. "I shall make you learn my favorite bit from an\r
+old poet--\r
+\r
+ 'Why should our pride make such a stir to be\r
+ And be forgot? What good is like to this,\r
+ To do worthy the writing, and to write\r
+ Worthy the reading and the worlds delight?'\r
+\r
+What I want, Rosy, is to do worthy the writing,--and to write out\r
+myself what I have done. A man must work, to do that, my pet."\r
+\r
+"Of course, I wish you to make discoveries: no one could more wish you\r
+to attain a high position in some better place than Middlemarch. You\r
+cannot say that I have ever tried to hinder you from working. But we\r
+cannot live like hermits. You are not discontented with me, Tertius?"\r
+\r
+"No, dear, no. I am too entirely contented."\r
+\r
+"But what did Mrs. Casaubon want to say to you?"\r
+\r
+"Merely to ask about her husband's health. But I think she is going to\r
+be splendid to our New Hospital: I think she will give us two hundred\r
+a-year."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLIV.\r
+\r
+ I would not creep along the coast but steer\r
+ Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars.\r
+\r
+\r
+When Dorothea, walking round the laurel-planted plots of the New\r
+Hospital with Lydgate, had learned from him that there were no signs of\r
+change in Mr. Casaubon's bodily condition beyond the mental sign of\r
+anxiety to know the truth about his illness, she was silent for a few\r
+moments, wondering whether she had said or done anything to rouse this\r
+new anxiety. Lydgate, not willing to let slip an opportunity of\r
+furthering a favorite purpose, ventured to say--\r
+\r
+"I don't know whether your or Mr.--Casaubon's attention has been drawn\r
+to the needs of our New Hospital. Circumstances have made it seem\r
+rather egotistic in me to urge the subject; but that is not my fault:\r
+it is because there is a fight being made against it by the other\r
+medical men. I think you are generally interested in such things, for\r
+I remember that when I first had the pleasure of seeing you at Tipton\r
+Grange before your marriage, you were asking me some questions about\r
+the way in which the health of the poor was affected by their miserable\r
+housing."\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed," said Dorothea, brightening. "I shall be quite grateful\r
+to you if you will tell me how I can help to make things a little\r
+better. Everything of that sort has slipped away from me since I have\r
+been married. I mean," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "that\r
+the people in our village are tolerably comfortable, and my mind has\r
+been too much taken up for me to inquire further. But here--in such a\r
+place as Middlemarch--there must be a great deal to be done."\r
+\r
+"There is everything to be done," said Lydgate, with abrupt energy.\r
+"And this Hospital is a capital piece of work, due entirely to Mr.\r
+Bulstrode's exertions, and in a great degree to his money. But one man\r
+can't do everything in a scheme of this sort. Of course he looked\r
+forward to help. And now there's a mean, petty feud set up against the\r
+thing in the town, by certain persons who want to make it a failure."\r
+\r
+"What can be their reasons?" said Dorothea, with naive surprise.\r
+\r
+"Chiefly Mr. Bulstrode's unpopularity, to begin with. Half the town\r
+would almost take trouble for the sake of thwarting him. In this\r
+stupid world most people never consider that a thing is good to be done\r
+unless it is done by their own set. I had no connection with Bulstrode\r
+before I came here. I look at him quite impartially, and I see that he\r
+has some notions--that he has set things on foot--which I can turn to\r
+good public purpose. If a fair number of the better educated men went\r
+to work with the belief that their observations might contribute to the\r
+reform of medical doctrine and practice, we should soon see a change\r
+for the better. That's my point of view. I hold that by refusing to\r
+work with Mr. Bulstrode I should be turning my back on an opportunity\r
+of making my profession more generally serviceable."\r
+\r
+"I quite agree with you," said Dorothea, at once fascinated by the\r
+situation sketched in Lydgate's words. "But what is there against Mr.\r
+Bulstrode? I know that my uncle is friendly with him."\r
+\r
+"People don't like his religious tone," said Lydgate, breaking off\r
+there.\r
+\r
+"That is all the stronger reason for despising such an opposition,"\r
+said Dorothea, looking at the affairs of Middlemarch by the light of\r
+the great persecutions.\r
+\r
+"To put the matter quite fairly, they have other objections to him:--he\r
+is masterful and rather unsociable, and he is concerned with trade,\r
+which has complaints of its own that I know nothing about. But what\r
+has that to do with the question whether it would not be a fine thing\r
+to establish here a more valuable hospital than any they have in the\r
+county? The immediate motive to the opposition, however, is the fact\r
+that Bulstrode has put the medical direction into my hands. Of course\r
+I am glad of that. It gives me an opportunity of doing some good\r
+work,--and I am aware that I have to justify his choice of me. But the\r
+consequence is, that the whole profession in Middlemarch have set\r
+themselves tooth and nail against the Hospital, and not only refuse to\r
+cooperate themselves, but try to blacken the whole affair and hinder\r
+subscriptions."\r
+\r
+"How very petty!" exclaimed Dorothea, indignantly.\r
+\r
+"I suppose one must expect to fight one's way: there is hardly anything\r
+to be done without it. And the ignorance of people about here is\r
+stupendous. I don't lay claim to anything else than having used some\r
+opportunities which have not come within everybody's reach; but there\r
+is no stifling the offence of being young, and a new-comer, and\r
+happening to know something more than the old inhabitants. Still, if I\r
+believe that I can set going a better method of treatment--if I\r
+believe that I can pursue certain observations and inquiries which may\r
+be a lasting benefit to medical practice, I should be a base truckler\r
+if I allowed any consideration of personal comfort to hinder me. And\r
+the course is all the clearer from there being no salary in question to\r
+put my persistence in an equivocal light."\r
+\r
+"I am glad you have told me this, Mr. Lydgate," said Dorothea,\r
+cordially. "I feel sure I can help a little. I have some money, and\r
+don't know what to do with it--that is often an uncomfortable thought\r
+to me. I am sure I can spare two hundred a-year for a grand purpose\r
+like this. How happy you must be, to know things that you feel sure\r
+will do great good! I wish I could awake with that knowledge every\r
+morning. There seems to be so much trouble taken that one can hardly\r
+see the good of!"\r
+\r
+There was a melancholy cadence in Dorothea's voice as she spoke these\r
+last words. But she presently added, more cheerfully, "Pray come to\r
+Lowick and tell us more of this. I will mention the subject to Mr.\r
+Casaubon. I must hasten home now."\r
+\r
+She did mention it that evening, and said that she should like to\r
+subscribe two hundred a-year--she had seven hundred a-year as the\r
+equivalent of her own fortune, settled on her at her marriage. Mr.\r
+Casaubon made no objection beyond a passing remark that the sum might\r
+be disproportionate in relation to other good objects, but when\r
+Dorothea in her ignorance resisted that suggestion, he acquiesced. He\r
+did not care himself about spending money, and was not reluctant to\r
+give it. If he ever felt keenly any question of money it was through\r
+the medium of another passion than the love of material property.\r
+\r
+Dorothea told him that she had seen Lydgate, and recited the gist of\r
+her conversation with him about the Hospital. Mr. Casaubon did not\r
+question her further, but he felt sure that she had wished to know what\r
+had passed between Lydgate and himself. "She knows that I know," said\r
+the ever-restless voice within; but that increase of tacit knowledge\r
+only thrust further off any confidence between them. He distrusted her\r
+affection; and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust?\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLV.\r
+\r
+ It is the humor of many heads to extol the days of their\r
+ forefathers, and declaim against the wickedness of times\r
+ present. Which notwithstanding they cannot handsomely do,\r
+ without the borrowed help and satire of times past;\r
+ condemning the vices of their own times, by the expressions\r
+ of vices in times which they commend, which cannot but argue\r
+ the community of vice in both. Horace, therefore, Juvenal,\r
+ and Persius, were no prophets, although their lines did seem\r
+ to indigitate and point at our times.--SIR THOMAS BROWNE:\r
+ Pseudodoxia Epidemica.\r
+\r
+\r
+That opposition to the New Fever Hospital which Lydgate had sketched to\r
+Dorothea was, like other oppositions, to be viewed in many different\r
+lights. He regarded it as a mixture of jealousy and dunderheaded\r
+prejudice. Mr. Bulstrode saw in it not only medical jealousy but a\r
+determination to thwart himself, prompted mainly by a hatred of that\r
+vital religion of which he had striven to be an effectual lay\r
+representative--a hatred which certainly found pretexts apart from\r
+religion such as were only too easy to find in the entanglements of\r
+human action. These might be called the ministerial views. But\r
+oppositions have the illimitable range of objections at command, which\r
+need never stop short at the boundary of knowledge, but can draw\r
+forever on the vasts of ignorance. What the opposition in Middlemarch\r
+said about the New Hospital and its administration had certainly a\r
+great deal of echo in it, for heaven has taken care that everybody\r
+shall not be an originator; but there were differences which\r
+represented every social shade between the polished moderation of Dr.\r
+Minchin and the trenchant assertion of Mrs. Dollop, the landlady of the\r
+Tankard in Slaughter Lane.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Dollop became more and more convinced by her own asseveration,\r
+that Dr. Lydgate meant to let the people die in the Hospital, if not to\r
+poison them, for the sake of cutting them up without saying by your\r
+leave or with your leave; for it was a known "fac" that he had wanted\r
+to cut up Mrs. Goby, as respectable a woman as any in Parley Street,\r
+who had money in trust before her marriage--a poor tale for a doctor,\r
+who if he was good for anything should know what was the matter with\r
+you before you died, and not want to pry into your inside after you\r
+were gone. If that was not reason, Mrs. Dollop wished to know what\r
+was; but there was a prevalent feeling in her audience that her opinion\r
+was a bulwark, and that if it were overthrown there would be no limits\r
+to the cutting-up of bodies, as had been well seen in Burke and Hare\r
+with their pitch-plaisters--such a hanging business as that was not\r
+wanted in Middlemarch!\r
+\r
+And let it not be supposed that opinion at the Tankard in Slaughter\r
+Lane was unimportant to the medical profession: that old authentic\r
+public-house--the original Tankard, known by the name of Dollop's--was\r
+the resort of a great Benefit Club, which had some months before put to\r
+the vote whether its long-standing medical man, "Doctor Gambit," should\r
+not be cashiered in favor of "this Doctor Lydgate," who was capable of\r
+performing the most astonishing cures, and rescuing people altogether\r
+given up by other practitioners. But the balance had been turned\r
+against Lydgate by two members, who for some private reasons held that\r
+this power of resuscitating persons as good as dead was an equivocal\r
+recommendation, and might interfere with providential favors. In the\r
+course of the year, however, there had been a change in the public\r
+sentiment, of which the unanimity at Dollop's was an index.\r
+\r
+A good deal more than a year ago, before anything was known of\r
+Lydgate's skill, the judgments on it had naturally been divided,\r
+depending on a sense of likelihood, situated perhaps in the pit of the\r
+stomach or in the pineal gland, and differing in its verdicts, but not\r
+the less valuable as a guide in the total deficit of evidence.\r
+Patients who had chronic diseases or whose lives had long been worn\r
+threadbare, like old Featherstone's, had been at once inclined to try\r
+him; also, many who did not like paying their doctor's bills, thought\r
+agreeably of opening an account with a new doctor and sending for him\r
+without stint if the children's temper wanted a dose, occasions when\r
+the old practitioners were often crusty; and all persons thus inclined\r
+to employ Lydgate held it likely that he was clever. Some considered\r
+that he might do more than others "where there was liver;"--at least\r
+there would be no harm in getting a few bottles of "stuff" from him,\r
+since if these proved useless it would still be possible to return to\r
+the Purifying Pills, which kept you alive if they did not remove the\r
+yellowness. But these were people of minor importance. Good\r
+Middlemarch families were of course not going to change their doctor\r
+without reason shown; and everybody who had employed Mr. Peacock did\r
+not feel obliged to accept a new man merely in the character of his\r
+successor, objecting that he was "not likely to be equal to Peacock."\r
+\r
+But Lydgate had not been long in the town before there were particulars\r
+enough reported of him to breed much more specific expectations and to\r
+intensify differences into partisanship; some of the particulars being\r
+of that impressive order of which the significance is entirely hidden,\r
+like a statistical amount without a standard of comparison, but with a\r
+note of exclamation at the end. The cubic feet of oxygen yearly\r
+swallowed by a full-grown man--what a shudder they might have created\r
+in some Middlemarch circles! "Oxygen! nobody knows what that may\r
+be--is it any wonder the cholera has got to Dantzic? And yet there are\r
+people who say quarantine is no good!"\r
+\r
+One of the facts quickly rumored was that Lydgate did not dispense\r
+drugs. This was offensive both to the physicians whose exclusive\r
+distinction seemed infringed on, and to the surgeon-apothecaries with\r
+whom he ranged himself; and only a little while before, they might have\r
+counted on having the law on their side against a man who without\r
+calling himself a London-made M.D. dared to ask for pay except as a\r
+charge on drugs. But Lydgate had not been experienced enough to\r
+foresee that his new course would be even more offensive to the laity;\r
+and to Mr. Mawmsey, an important grocer in the Top Market, who, though\r
+not one of his patients, questioned him in an affable manner on the\r
+subject, he was injudicious enough to give a hasty popular explanation\r
+of his reasons, pointing out to Mr. Mawmsey that it must lower the\r
+character of practitioners, and be a constant injury to the public, if\r
+their only mode of getting paid for their work was by their making out\r
+long bills for draughts, boluses, and mixtures.\r
+\r
+"It is in that way that hard-working medical men may come to be almost\r
+as mischievous as quacks," said Lydgate, rather thoughtlessly. "To get\r
+their own bread they must overdose the king's lieges; and that's a bad\r
+sort of treason, Mr. Mawmsey--undermines the constitution in a fatal\r
+way."\r
+\r
+Mr. Mawmsey was not only an overseer (it was about a question of\r
+outdoor pay that he was having an interview with Lydgate), he was also\r
+asthmatic and had an increasing family: thus, from a medical point of\r
+view, as well as from his own, he was an important man; indeed, an\r
+exceptional grocer, whose hair was arranged in a flame-like pyramid,\r
+and whose retail deference was of the cordial, encouraging\r
+kind--jocosely complimentary, and with a certain considerate abstinence\r
+from letting out the full force of his mind. It was Mr. Mawmsey's\r
+friendly jocoseness in questioning him which had set the tone of\r
+Lydgate's reply. But let the wise be warned against too great\r
+readiness at explanation: it multiplies the sources of mistake,\r
+lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to go wrong.\r
+\r
+Lydgate smiled as he ended his speech, putting his foot into the\r
+stirrup, and Mr. Mawmsey laughed more than he would have done if he had\r
+known who the king's lieges were, giving his "Good morning, sir,\r
+good-morning, sir," with the air of one who saw everything clearly\r
+enough. But in truth his views were perturbed. For years he had been\r
+paying bills with strictly made items, so that for every half-crown and\r
+eighteen-pence he was certain something measurable had been delivered.\r
+He had done this with satisfaction, including it among his\r
+responsibilities as a husband and father, and regarding a longer bill\r
+than usual as a dignity worth mentioning. Moreover, in addition to the\r
+massive benefit of the drugs to "self and family," he had enjoyed the\r
+pleasure of forming an acute judgment as to their immediate effects, so\r
+as to give an intelligent statement for the guidance of Mr. Gambit--a\r
+practitioner just a little lower in status than Wrench or Toller, and\r
+especially esteemed as an accoucheur, of whose ability Mr. Mawmsey had\r
+the poorest opinion on all other points, but in doctoring, he was wont\r
+to say in an undertone, he placed Gambit above any of them.\r
+\r
+Here were deeper reasons than the superficial talk of a new man, which\r
+appeared still flimsier in the drawing-room over the shop, when they\r
+were recited to Mrs. Mawmsey, a woman accustomed to be made much of as\r
+a fertile mother,--generally under attendance more or less frequent\r
+from Mr. Gambit, and occasionally having attacks which required Dr.\r
+Minchin.\r
+\r
+"Does this Mr. Lydgate mean to say there is no use in taking medicine?"\r
+said Mrs. Mawmsey, who was slightly given to drawling. "I should like\r
+him to tell me how I could bear up at Fair time, if I didn't take\r
+strengthening medicine for a month beforehand. Think of what I have to\r
+provide for calling customers, my dear!"--here Mrs. Mawmsey turned to\r
+an intimate female friend who sat by--"a large veal pie--a stuffed\r
+fillet--a round of beef--ham, tongue, et cetera, et cetera! But what\r
+keeps me up best is the pink mixture, not the brown. I wonder, Mr.\r
+Mawmsey, with _your_ experience, you could have patience to listen. I\r
+should have told him at once that I knew a little better than that."\r
+\r
+"No, no, no," said Mr. Mawmsey; "I was not going to tell him my\r
+opinion. Hear everything and judge for yourself is my motto. But he\r
+didn't know who he was talking to. I was not to be turned on _his_\r
+finger. People often pretend to tell me things, when they might as\r
+well say, 'Mawmsey, you're a fool.' But I smile at it: I humor\r
+everybody's weak place. If physic had done harm to self and family, I\r
+should have found it out by this time."\r
+\r
+The next day Mr. Gambit was told that Lydgate went about saying physic\r
+was of no use.\r
+\r
+"Indeed!" said he, lifting his eyebrows with cautious surprise. (He\r
+was a stout husky man with a large ring on his fourth finger.) "How\r
+will he cure his patients, then?"\r
+\r
+"That is what I say," returned Mrs. Mawmsey, who habitually gave weight\r
+to her speech by loading her pronouns. "Does _he_ suppose that people\r
+will pay him only to come and sit with them and go away again?"\r
+\r
+Mrs. Mawmsey had had a great deal of sitting from Mr. Gambit, including\r
+very full accounts of his own habits of body and other affairs; but of\r
+course he knew there was no innuendo in her remark, since his spare\r
+time and personal narrative had never been charged for. So he replied,\r
+humorously--\r
+\r
+"Well, Lydgate is a good-looking young fellow, you know."\r
+\r
+"Not one that I would employ," said Mrs. Mawmsey. "_Others_ may do as\r
+they please."\r
+\r
+Hence Mr. Gambit could go away from the chief grocer's without fear of\r
+rivalry, but not without a sense that Lydgate was one of those\r
+hypocrites who try to discredit others by advertising their own\r
+honesty, and that it might be worth some people's while to show him up.\r
+Mr. Gambit, however, had a satisfactory practice, much pervaded by the\r
+smells of retail trading which suggested the reduction of cash payments\r
+to a balance. And he did not think it worth his while to show Lydgate\r
+up until he knew how. He had not indeed great resources of education,\r
+and had had to work his own way against a good deal of professional\r
+contempt; but he made none the worse accoucheur for calling the\r
+breathing apparatus "longs."\r
+\r
+Other medical men felt themselves more capable. Mr. Toller shared the\r
+highest practice in the town and belonged to an old Middlemarch family:\r
+there were Tollers in the law and everything else above the line of\r
+retail trade. Unlike our irascible friend Wrench, he had the easiest\r
+way in the world of taking things which might be supposed to annoy him,\r
+being a well-bred, quietly facetious man, who kept a good house, was\r
+very fond of a little sporting when he could get it, very friendly with\r
+Mr. Hawley, and hostile to Mr. Bulstrode. It may seem odd that with\r
+such pleasant habits he should have been given to the heroic treatment,\r
+bleeding and blistering and starving his patients, with a dispassionate\r
+disregard to his personal example; but the incongruity favored the\r
+opinion of his ability among his patients, who commonly observed that\r
+Mr. Toller had lazy manners, but his treatment was as active as you\r
+could desire: no man, said they, carried more seriousness into his\r
+profession: he was a little slow in coming, but when he came, he _did_\r
+something. He was a great favorite in his own circle, and whatever he\r
+implied to any one's disadvantage told doubly from his careless\r
+ironical tone.\r
+\r
+He naturally got tired of smiling and saying, "Ah!" when he was told\r
+that Mr. Peacock's successor did not mean to dispense medicines; and\r
+Mr. Hackbutt one day mentioning it over the wine at a dinner-party, Mr.\r
+Toller said, laughingly, "Dibbitts will get rid of his stale drugs,\r
+then. I'm fond of little Dibbitts--I'm glad he's in luck."\r
+\r
+"I see your meaning, Toller," said Mr. Hackbutt, "and I am entirely of\r
+your opinion. I shall take an opportunity of expressing myself to that\r
+effect. A medical man should be responsible for the quality of the\r
+drugs consumed by his patients. That is the rationale of the system of\r
+charging which has hitherto obtained; and nothing is more offensive\r
+than this ostentation of reform, where there is no real amelioration."\r
+\r
+"Ostentation, Hackbutt?" said Mr. Toller, ironically. "I don't see\r
+that. A man can't very well be ostentatious of what nobody believes\r
+in. There's no reform in the matter: the question is, whether the\r
+profit on the drugs is paid to the medical man by the druggist or by\r
+the patient, and whether there shall be extra pay under the name of\r
+attendance."\r
+\r
+"Ah, to be sure; one of your damned new versions of old humbug," said\r
+Mr. Hawley, passing the decanter to Mr. Wrench.\r
+\r
+Mr. Wrench, generally abstemious, often drank wine rather freely at a\r
+party, getting the more irritable in consequence.\r
+\r
+"As to humbug, Hawley," he said, "that's a word easy to fling about.\r
+But what I contend against is the way medical men are fouling their own\r
+nest, and setting up a cry about the country as if a general\r
+practitioner who dispenses drugs couldn't be a gentleman. I throw back\r
+the imputation with scorn. I say, the most ungentlemanly trick a man\r
+can be guilty of is to come among the members of his profession with\r
+innovations which are a libel on their time-honored procedure. That is\r
+my opinion, and I am ready to maintain it against any one who\r
+contradicts me." Mr. Wrench's voice had become exceedingly sharp.\r
+\r
+"I can't oblige you there, Wrench," said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his\r
+hands into his trouser-pockets.\r
+\r
+"My dear fellow," said Mr. Toller, striking in pacifically, and looking\r
+at Mr. Wrench, "the physicians have their toes trodden on more than we\r
+have. If you come to dignity it is a question for Minchin and Sprague."\r
+\r
+"Does medical jurisprudence provide nothing against these\r
+infringements?" said Mr. Hackbutt, with a disinterested desire to offer\r
+his lights. "How does the law stand, eh, Hawley?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing to be done there," said Mr. Hawley. "I looked into it for\r
+Sprague. You'd only break your nose against a damned judge's decision."\r
+\r
+"Pooh! no need of law," said Mr. Toller. "So far as practice is\r
+concerned the attempt is an absurdity. No patient will like\r
+it--certainly not Peacock's, who have been used to depletion. Pass the\r
+wine."\r
+\r
+Mr. Toller's prediction was partly verified. If Mr. and Mrs. Mawmsey,\r
+who had no idea of employing Lydgate, were made uneasy by his supposed\r
+declaration against drugs, it was inevitable that those who called him\r
+in should watch a little anxiously to see whether he did "use all the\r
+means he might use" in the case. Even good Mr. Powderell, who in his\r
+constant charity of interpretation was inclined to esteem Lydgate the\r
+more for what seemed a conscientious pursuit of a better plan, had his\r
+mind disturbed with doubts during his wife's attack of erysipelas, and\r
+could not abstain from mentioning to Lydgate that Mr. Peacock on a\r
+similar occasion had administered a series of boluses which were not\r
+otherwise definable than by their remarkable effect in bringing Mrs.\r
+Powderell round before Michaelmas from an illness which had begun in a\r
+remarkably hot August. At last, indeed, in the conflict between his\r
+desire not to hurt Lydgate and his anxiety that no "means" should be\r
+lacking, he induced his wife privately to take Widgeon's Purifying\r
+Pills, an esteemed Middlemarch medicine, which arrested every disease\r
+at the fountain by setting to work at once upon the blood. This\r
+co-operative measure was not to be mentioned to Lydgate, and Mr.\r
+Powderell himself had no certain reliance on it, only hoping that it\r
+might be attended with a blessing.\r
+\r
+But in this doubtful stage of Lydgate's introduction he was helped by\r
+what we mortals rashly call good fortune. I suppose no doctor ever\r
+came newly to a place without making cures that surprised somebody--cures\r
+which may be called fortune's testimonials, and deserve as much\r
+credit as the written or printed kind. Various patients got well while\r
+Lydgate was attending them, some even of dangerous illnesses; and it\r
+was remarked that the new doctor with his new ways had at least the\r
+merit of bringing people back from the brink of death. The trash\r
+talked on such occasions was the more vexatious to Lydgate, because it\r
+gave precisely the sort of prestige which an incompetent and\r
+unscrupulous man would desire, and was sure to be imputed to him by the\r
+simmering dislike of the other medical men as an encouragement on his\r
+own part of ignorant puffing. But even his proud outspokenness was\r
+checked by the discernment that it was as useless to fight against the\r
+interpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog; and "good fortune"\r
+insisted on using those interpretations.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Larcher having just become charitably concerned about alarming\r
+symptoms in her charwoman, when Dr. Minchin called, asked him to see\r
+her then and there, and to give her a certificate for the Infirmary;\r
+whereupon after examination he wrote a statement of the case as one of\r
+tumor, and recommended the bearer Nancy Nash as an out-patient. Nancy,\r
+calling at home on her way to the Infirmary, allowed the stay maker and\r
+his wife, in whose attic she lodged, to read Dr. Minchin's paper, and\r
+by this means became a subject of compassionate conversation in the\r
+neighboring shops of Churchyard Lane as being afflicted with a tumor at\r
+first declared to be as large and hard as a duck's egg, but later in\r
+the day to be about the size of "your fist." Most hearers agreed that\r
+it would have to be cut out, but one had known of oil and another of\r
+"squitchineal" as adequate to soften and reduce any lump in the body\r
+when taken enough of into the inside--the oil by gradually "soopling,"\r
+the squitchineal by eating away.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile when Nancy presented herself at the Infirmary, it happened to\r
+be one of Lydgate's days there. After questioning and examining her,\r
+Lydgate said to the house-surgeon in an undertone, "It's not tumor:\r
+it's cramp." He ordered her a blister and some steel mixture, and told\r
+her to go home and rest, giving her at the same time a note to Mrs.\r
+Larcher, who, she said, was her best employer, to testify that she was\r
+in need of good food.\r
+\r
+But by-and-by Nancy, in her attic, became portentously worse, the\r
+supposed tumor having indeed given way to the blister, but only\r
+wandered to another region with angrier pain. The staymaker's wife\r
+went to fetch Lydgate, and he continued for a fortnight to attend Nancy\r
+in her own home, until under his treatment she got quite well and went\r
+to work again. But the case continued to be described as one of tumor\r
+in Churchyard Lane and other streets--nay, by Mrs. Larcher also; for\r
+when Lydgate's remarkable cure was mentioned to Dr. Minchin, he\r
+naturally did not like to say, "The case was not one of tumor, and I\r
+was mistaken in describing it as such," but answered, "Indeed! ah! I\r
+saw it was a surgical case, not of a fatal kind." He had been inwardly\r
+annoyed, however, when he had asked at the Infirmary about the woman he\r
+had recommended two days before, to hear from the house-surgeon, a\r
+youngster who was not sorry to vex Minchin with impunity, exactly what\r
+had occurred: he privately pronounced that it was indecent in a general\r
+practitioner to contradict a physician's diagnosis in that open manner,\r
+and afterwards agreed with Wrench that Lydgate was disagreeably\r
+inattentive to etiquette. Lydgate did not make the affair a ground for\r
+valuing himself or (very particularly) despising Minchin, such\r
+rectification of misjudgments often happening among men of equal\r
+qualifications. But report took up this amazing case of tumor, not\r
+clearly distinguished from cancer, and considered the more awful for\r
+being of the wandering sort; till much prejudice against Lydgate's\r
+method as to drugs was overcome by the proof of his marvellous skill in\r
+the speedy restoration of Nancy Nash after she had been rolling and\r
+rolling in agonies from the presence of a tumor both hard and\r
+obstinate, but nevertheless compelled to yield.\r
+\r
+How could Lydgate help himself? It is offensive to tell a lady when\r
+she is expressing her amazement at your skill, that she is altogether\r
+mistaken and rather foolish in her amazement. And to have entered into\r
+the nature of diseases would only have added to his breaches of medical\r
+propriety. Thus he had to wince under a promise of success given by\r
+that ignorant praise which misses every valid quality.\r
+\r
+In the case of a more conspicuous patient, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull,\r
+Lydgate was conscious of having shown himself something better than an\r
+every-day doctor, though here too it was an equivocal advantage that he\r
+won. The eloquent auctioneer was seized with pneumonia, and having\r
+been a patient of Mr. Peacock's, sent for Lydgate, whom he had\r
+expressed his intention to patronize. Mr Trumbull was a robust man, a\r
+good subject for trying the expectant theory upon--watching the course\r
+of an interesting disease when left as much as possible to itself, so\r
+that the stages might be noted for future guidance; and from the air\r
+with which he described his sensations Lydgate surmised that he would\r
+like to be taken into his medical man's confidence, and be represented\r
+as a partner in his own cure. The auctioneer heard, without much\r
+surprise, that his was a constitution which (always with due watching)\r
+might be left to itself, so as to offer a beautiful example of a\r
+disease with all its phases seen in clear delineation, and that he\r
+probably had the rare strength of mind voluntarily to become the test\r
+of a rational procedure, and thus make the disorder of his pulmonary\r
+functions a general benefit to society.\r
+\r
+Mr. Trumbull acquiesced at once, and entered strongly into the view\r
+that an illness of his was no ordinary occasion for medical science.\r
+\r
+"Never fear, sir; you are not speaking to one who is altogether\r
+ignorant of the vis medicatrix," said he, with his usual superiority of\r
+expression, made rather pathetic by difficulty of breathing. And he\r
+went without shrinking through his abstinence from drugs, much\r
+sustained by application of the thermometer which implied the\r
+importance of his temperature, by the sense that he furnished objects\r
+for the microscope, and by learning many new words which seemed suited\r
+to the dignity of his secretions. For Lydgate was acute enough to\r
+indulge him with a little technical talk.\r
+\r
+It may be imagined that Mr. Trumbull rose from his couch with a\r
+disposition to speak of an illness in which he had manifested the\r
+strength of his mind as well as constitution; and he was not backward\r
+in awarding credit to the medical man who had discerned the quality of\r
+patient he had to deal with. The auctioneer was not an ungenerous man,\r
+and liked to give others their due, feeling that he could afford it.\r
+He had caught the words "expectant method," and rang chimes on this and\r
+other learned phrases to accompany the assurance that Lydgate "knew a\r
+thing or two more than the rest of the doctors--was far better versed\r
+in the secrets of his profession than the majority of his compeers."\r
+\r
+This had happened before the affair of Fred Vincy's illness had given\r
+to Mr. Wrench's enmity towards Lydgate more definite personal ground.\r
+The new-comer already threatened to be a nuisance in the shape of\r
+rivalry, and was certainly a nuisance in the shape of practical\r
+criticism or reflections on his hard-driven elders, who had had\r
+something else to do than to busy themselves with untried notions. His\r
+practice had spread in one or two quarters, and from the first the\r
+report of his high family had led to his being pretty generally\r
+invited, so that the other medical men had to meet him at dinner in the\r
+best houses; and having to meet a man whom you dislike is not observed\r
+always to end in a mutual attachment. There was hardly ever so much\r
+unanimity among them as in the opinion that Lydgate was an arrogant\r
+young fellow, and yet ready for the sake of ultimately predominating to\r
+show a crawling subservience to Bulstrode. That Mr. Farebrother, whose\r
+name was a chief flag of the anti-Bulstrode party, always defended\r
+Lydgate and made a friend of him, was referred to Farebrother's\r
+unaccountable way of fighting on both sides.\r
+\r
+Here was plenty of preparation for the outburst of professional disgust\r
+at the announcement of the laws Mr. Bulstrode was laying down for the\r
+direction of the New Hospital, which were the more exasperating because\r
+there was no present possibility of interfering with his will and\r
+pleasure, everybody except Lord Medlicote having refused help towards\r
+the building, on the ground that they preferred giving to the Old\r
+Infirmary. Mr. Bulstrode met all the expenses, and had ceased to be\r
+sorry that he was purchasing the right to carry out his notions of\r
+improvement without hindrance from prejudiced coadjutors; but he had\r
+had to spend large sums, and the building had lingered. Caleb Garth\r
+had undertaken it, had failed during its progress, and before the\r
+interior fittings were begun had retired from the management of the\r
+business; and when referring to the Hospital he often said that however\r
+Bulstrode might ring if you tried him, he liked good solid carpentry\r
+and masonry, and had a notion both of drains and chimneys. In fact,\r
+the Hospital had become an object of intense interest to Bulstrode, and\r
+he would willingly have continued to spare a large yearly sum that he\r
+might rule it dictatorially without any Board; but he had another\r
+favorite object which also required money for its accomplishment: he\r
+wished to buy some land in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, and\r
+therefore he wished to get considerable contributions towards\r
+maintaining the Hospital. Meanwhile he framed his plan of management.\r
+The Hospital was to be reserved for fever in all its forms; Lydgate was\r
+to be chief medical superintendent, that he might have free authority\r
+to pursue all comparative investigations which his studies,\r
+particularly in Paris, had shown him the importance of, the other\r
+medical visitors having a consultative influence, but no power to\r
+contravene Lydgate's ultimate decisions; and the general management was\r
+to be lodged exclusively in the hands of five directors associated with\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, who were to have votes in the ratio of their\r
+contributions, the Board itself filling up any vacancy in its numbers,\r
+and no mob of small contributors being admitted to a share of\r
+government.\r
+\r
+There was an immediate refusal on the part of every medical man in the\r
+town to become a visitor at the Fever Hospital.\r
+\r
+"Very well," said Lydgate to Mr. Bulstrode, "we have a capital\r
+house-surgeon and dispenser, a clear-headed, neat-handed fellow; we'll\r
+get Webbe from Crabsley, as good a country practitioner as any of them,\r
+to come over twice a-week, and in case of any exceptional operation,\r
+Protheroe will come from Brassing. I must work the harder, that's all,\r
+and I have given up my post at the Infirmary. The plan will flourish\r
+in spite of them, and then they'll be glad to come in. Things can't\r
+last as they are: there must be all sorts of reform soon, and then\r
+young fellows may be glad to come and study here." Lydgate was in high\r
+spirits.\r
+\r
+"I shall not flinch, you may depend upon it, Mr. Lydgate," said Mr.\r
+Bulstrode. "While I see you carrying out high intentions with vigor,\r
+you shall have my unfailing support. And I have humble confidence that\r
+the blessing which has hitherto attended my efforts against the spirit\r
+of evil in this town will not be withdrawn. Suitable directors to\r
+assist me I have no doubt of securing. Mr. Brooke of Tipton has\r
+already given me his concurrence, and a pledge to contribute yearly: he\r
+has not specified the sum--probably not a great one. But he will be a\r
+useful member of the board."\r
+\r
+A useful member was perhaps to be defined as one who would originate\r
+nothing, and always vote with Mr. Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+The medical aversion to Lydgate was hardly disguised now. Neither Dr.\r
+Sprague nor Dr. Minchin said that he disliked Lydgate's knowledge, or\r
+his disposition to improve treatment: what they disliked was his\r
+arrogance, which nobody felt to be altogether deniable. They implied\r
+that he was insolent, pretentious, and given to that reckless\r
+innovation for the sake of noise and show which was the essence of the\r
+charlatan.\r
+\r
+The word charlatan once thrown on the air could not be let drop. In\r
+those days the world was agitated about the wondrous doings of Mr. St.\r
+John Long, "noblemen and gentlemen" attesting his extraction of a fluid\r
+like mercury from the temples of a patient.\r
+\r
+Mr. Toller remarked one day, smilingly, to Mrs. Taft, that "Bulstrode\r
+had found a man to suit him in Lydgate; a charlatan in religion is sure\r
+to like other sorts of charlatans."\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed, I can imagine," said Mrs. Taft, keeping the number of\r
+thirty stitches carefully in her mind all the while; "there are so many\r
+of that sort. I remember Mr. Cheshire, with his irons, trying to make\r
+people straight when the Almighty had made them crooked."\r
+\r
+"No, no," said Mr. Toller, "Cheshire was all right--all fair and above\r
+board. But there's St. John Long--that's the kind of fellow we call a\r
+charlatan, advertising cures in ways nobody knows anything about: a\r
+fellow who wants to make a noise by pretending to go deeper than other\r
+people. The other day he was pretending to tap a man's brain and get\r
+quicksilver out of it."\r
+\r
+"Good gracious! what dreadful trifling with people's constitutions!"\r
+said Mrs. Taft.\r
+\r
+After this, it came to be held in various quarters that Lydgate played\r
+even with respectable constitutions for his own purposes, and how much\r
+more likely that in his flighty experimenting he should make sixes and\r
+sevens of hospital patients. Especially it was to be expected, as the\r
+landlady of the Tankard had said, that he would recklessly cut up their\r
+dead bodies. For Lydgate having attended Mrs. Goby, who died\r
+apparently of a heart-disease not very clearly expressed in the\r
+symptoms, too daringly asked leave of her relatives to open the body,\r
+and thus gave an offence quickly spreading beyond Parley Street, where\r
+that lady had long resided on an income such as made this association\r
+of her body with the victims of Burke and Hare a flagrant insult to her\r
+memory.\r
+\r
+Affairs were in this stage when Lydgate opened the subject of the\r
+Hospital to Dorothea. We see that he was bearing enmity and silly\r
+misconception with much spirit, aware that they were partly created by\r
+his good share of success.\r
+\r
+"They will not drive me away," he said, talking confidentially in Mr.\r
+Farebrother's study. "I have got a good opportunity here, for the ends\r
+I care most about; and I am pretty sure to get income enough for our\r
+wants. By-and-by I shall go on as quietly as possible: I have no\r
+seductions now away from home and work. And I am more and more\r
+convinced that it will be possible to demonstrate the homogeneous\r
+origin of all the tissues. Raspail and others are on the same track,\r
+and I have been losing time."\r
+\r
+"I have no power of prophecy there," said Mr. Farebrother, who had been\r
+puffing at his pipe thoughtfully while Lydgate talked; "but as to the\r
+hostility in the town, you'll weather it if you are prudent."\r
+\r
+"How am I to be prudent?" said Lydgate, "I just do what comes before me\r
+to do. I can't help people's ignorance and spite, any more than\r
+Vesalius could. It isn't possible to square one's conduct to silly\r
+conclusions which nobody can foresee."\r
+\r
+"Quite true; I didn't mean that. I meant only two things. One is,\r
+keep yourself as separable from Bulstrode as you can: of course, you\r
+can go on doing good work of your own by his help; but don't get tied.\r
+Perhaps it seems like personal feeling in me to say so--and there's a\r
+good deal of that, I own--but personal feeling is not always in the\r
+wrong if you boil it down to the impressions which make it simply an\r
+opinion."\r
+\r
+"Bulstrode is nothing to me," said Lydgate, carelessly, "except on\r
+public grounds. As to getting very closely united to him, I am not\r
+fond enough of him for that. But what was the other thing you meant?"\r
+said Lydgate, who was nursing his leg as comfortably as possible, and\r
+feeling in no great need of advice.\r
+\r
+"Why, this. Take care--experto crede--take care not to get hampered\r
+about money matters. I know, by a word you let fall one day, that you\r
+don't like my playing at cards so much for money. You are right enough\r
+there. But try and keep clear of wanting small sums that you haven't\r
+got. I am perhaps talking rather superfluously; but a man likes to\r
+assume superiority over himself, by holding up his bad example and\r
+sermonizing on it."\r
+\r
+Lydgate took Mr. Farebrother's hints very cordially, though he would\r
+hardly have borne them from another man. He could not help remembering\r
+that he had lately made some debts, but these had seemed inevitable,\r
+and he had no intention now to do more than keep house in a simple way.\r
+The furniture for which he owed would not want renewing; nor even the\r
+stock of wine for a long while.\r
+\r
+Many thoughts cheered him at that time--and justly. A man conscious of\r
+enthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained under petty hostilities by the\r
+memory of great workers who had to fight their way not without wounds,\r
+and who hover in his mind as patron saints, invisibly helping. At\r
+home, that same evening when he had been chatting with Mr. Farebrother,\r
+he had his long legs stretched on the sofa, his head thrown back, and\r
+his hands clasped behind it according to his favorite ruminating\r
+attitude, while Rosamond sat at the piano, and played one tune after\r
+another, of which her husband only knew (like the emotional elephant he\r
+was!) that they fell in with his mood as if they had been melodious\r
+sea-breezes.\r
+\r
+There was something very fine in Lydgate's look just then, and any one\r
+might have been encouraged to bet on his achievement. In his dark eyes\r
+and on his mouth and brow there was that placidity which comes from the\r
+fulness of contemplative thought--the mind not searching, but\r
+beholding, and the glance seeming to be filled with what is behind it.\r
+\r
+Presently Rosamond left the piano and seated herself on a chair close\r
+to the sofa and opposite her husband's face.\r
+\r
+"Is that enough music for you, my lord?" she said, folding her hands\r
+before her and putting on a little air of meekness.\r
+\r
+"Yes, dear, if you are tired," said Lydgate, gently, turning his eyes\r
+and resting them on her, but not otherwise moving. Rosamond's presence\r
+at that moment was perhaps no more than a spoonful brought to the lake,\r
+and her woman's instinct in this matter was not dull.\r
+\r
+\r
+"What is absorbing you?" she said, leaning forward and bringing her\r
+face nearer to his.\r
+\r
+He moved his hands and placed them gently behind her shoulders.\r
+\r
+"I am thinking of a great fellow, who was about as old as I am three\r
+hundred years ago, and had already begun a new era in anatomy."\r
+\r
+"I can't guess," said Rosamond, shaking her head. "We used to play at\r
+guessing historical characters at Mrs. Lemon's, but not anatomists."\r
+\r
+"I'll tell you. His name was Vesalius. And the only way he could get\r
+to know anatomy as he did, was by going to snatch bodies at night, from\r
+graveyards and places of execution."\r
+\r
+"Oh!" said Rosamond, with a look of disgust on her pretty face, "I am\r
+very glad you are not Vesalius. I should have thought he might find\r
+some less horrible way than that."\r
+\r
+"No, he couldn't," said Lydgate, going on too earnestly to take much\r
+notice of her answer. "He could only get a complete skeleton by\r
+snatching the whitened bones of a criminal from the gallows, and\r
+burying them, and fetching them away by bits secretly, in the dead of\r
+night."\r
+\r
+"I hope he is not one of your great heroes," said Rosamond, half\r
+playfully, half anxiously, "else I shall have you getting up in the\r
+night to go to St. Peter's churchyard. You know how angry you told me\r
+the people were about Mrs. Goby. You have enemies enough already."\r
+\r
+"So had Vesalius, Rosy. No wonder the medical fogies in Middlemarch\r
+are jealous, when some of the greatest doctors living were fierce upon\r
+Vesalius because they had believed in Galen, and he showed that Galen\r
+was wrong. They called him a liar and a poisonous monster. But the\r
+facts of the human frame were on his side; and so he got the better of\r
+them."\r
+\r
+"And what happened to him afterwards?" said Rosamond, with some\r
+interest.\r
+\r
+"Oh, he had a good deal of fighting to the last. And they did\r
+exasperate him enough at one time to make him burn a good deal of his\r
+work. Then he got shipwrecked just as he was coming from Jerusalem to\r
+take a great chair at Padua. He died rather miserably."\r
+\r
+There was a moment's pause before Rosamond said, "Do you know, Tertius,\r
+I often wish you had not been a medical man."\r
+\r
+"Nay, Rosy, don't say that," said Lydgate, drawing her closer to him.\r
+"That is like saying you wish you had married another man."\r
+\r
+"Not at all; you are clever enough for anything: you might easily have\r
+been something else. And your cousins at Quallingham all think that\r
+you have sunk below them in your choice of a profession."\r
+\r
+"The cousins at Quallingham may go to the devil!" said Lydgate, with\r
+scorn. "It was like their impudence if they said anything of the sort\r
+to you."\r
+\r
+"Still," said Rosamond, "I do _not_ think it is a nice profession,\r
+dear." We know that she had much quiet perseverance in her opinion.\r
+\r
+"It is the grandest profession in the world, Rosamond," said Lydgate,\r
+gravely. "And to say that you love me without loving the medical man\r
+in me, is the same sort of thing as to say that you like eating a peach\r
+but don't like its flavor. Don't say that again, dear, it pains me."\r
+\r
+"Very well, Doctor Grave-face," said Rosy, dimpling, "I will declare in\r
+future that I dote on skeletons, and body-snatchers, and bits of things\r
+in phials, and quarrels with everybody, that end in your dying\r
+miserably."\r
+\r
+"No, no, not so bad as that," said Lydgate, giving up remonstrance and\r
+petting her resignedly.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLVI.\r
+\r
+ Pues no podemos haber aquello que queremos, queramos\r
+ aquello que podremos.\r
+\r
+ Since we cannot get what we like, let us like\r
+ what we can get.\r
+ --Spanish Proverb.\r
+\r
+\r
+While Lydgate, safely married and with the Hospital under his command,\r
+felt himself struggling for Medical Reform against Middlemarch,\r
+Middlemarch was becoming more and more conscious of the national\r
+struggle for another kind of Reform.\r
+\r
+By the time that Lord John Russell's measure was being debated in the\r
+House of Commons, there was a new political animation in Middlemarch,\r
+and a new definition of parties which might show a decided change of\r
+balance if a new election came. And there were some who already\r
+predicted this event, declaring that a Reform Bill would never be\r
+carried by the actual Parliament. This was what Will Ladislaw dwelt on\r
+to Mr. Brooke as a reason for congratulation that he had not yet tried\r
+his strength at the hustings.\r
+\r
+"Things will grow and ripen as if it were a comet year," said Will.\r
+"The public temper will soon get to a cometary heat, now the question\r
+of Reform has set in. There is likely to be another election before\r
+long, and by that time Middlemarch will have got more ideas into its\r
+head. What we have to work at now is the 'Pioneer' and political\r
+meetings."\r
+\r
+"Quite right, Ladislaw; we shall make a new thing of opinion here,"\r
+said Mr. Brooke. "Only I want to keep myself independent about Reform,\r
+you know; I don't want to go too far. I want to take up\r
+Wilberforce's and Romilly's line, you know, and work at Negro\r
+Emancipation, Criminal Law--that kind of thing. But of course I should\r
+support Grey."\r
+\r
+"If you go in for the principle of Reform, you must be prepared to take\r
+what the situation offers," said Will. "If everybody pulled for his\r
+own bit against everybody else, the whole question would go to tatters."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes, I agree with you--I quite take that point of view. I should\r
+put it in that light. I should support Grey, you know. But I don't\r
+want to change the balance of the constitution, and I don't think Grey\r
+would."\r
+\r
+"But that is what the country wants," said Will. "Else there would be\r
+no meaning in political unions or any other movement that knows what\r
+it's about. It wants to have a House of Commons which is not weighted\r
+with nominees of the landed class, but with representatives of the\r
+other interests. And as to contending for a reform short of that, it\r
+is like asking for a bit of an avalanche which has already begun to\r
+thunder."\r
+\r
+"That is fine, Ladislaw: that is the way to put it. Write that down,\r
+now. We must begin to get documents about the feeling of the country,\r
+as well as the machine-breaking and general distress."\r
+\r
+"As to documents," said Will, "a two-inch card will hold plenty. A few\r
+rows of figures are enough to deduce misery from, and a few more will\r
+show the rate at which the political determination of the people is\r
+growing."\r
+\r
+"Good: draw that out a little more at length, Ladislaw. That is an\r
+idea, now: write it out in the 'Pioneer.' Put the figures and deduce\r
+the misery, you know; and put the other figures and deduce--and so on.\r
+You have a way of putting things. Burke, now:--when I think of Burke,\r
+I can't help wishing somebody had a pocket-borough to give you,\r
+Ladislaw. You'd never get elected, you know. And we shall always want\r
+talent in the House: reform as we will, we shall always want talent.\r
+That avalanche and the thunder, now, was really a little like Burke. I\r
+want that sort of thing--not ideas, you know, but a way of putting\r
+them."\r
+\r
+"Pocket-boroughs would be a fine thing," said Ladislaw, "if they were\r
+always in the right pocket, and there were always a Burke at hand."\r
+\r
+Will was not displeased with that complimentary comparison, even from\r
+Mr. Brooke; for it is a little too trying to human flesh to be\r
+conscious of expressing one's self better than others and never to have\r
+it noticed, and in the general dearth of admiration for the right\r
+thing, even a chance bray of applause falling exactly in time is rather\r
+fortifying. Will felt that his literary refinements were usually\r
+beyond the limits of Middlemarch perception; nevertheless, he was\r
+beginning thoroughly to like the work of which when he began he had\r
+said to himself rather languidly, "Why not?"--and he studied the\r
+political situation with as ardent an interest as he had ever given to\r
+poetic metres or mediaevalism. It is undeniable that but for the\r
+desire to be where Dorothea was, and perhaps the want of knowing what\r
+else to do, Will would not at this time have been meditating on the\r
+needs of the English people or criticising English statesmanship: he\r
+would probably have been rambling in Italy sketching plans for several\r
+dramas, trying prose and finding it too jejune, trying verse and\r
+finding it too artificial, beginning to copy "bits" from old pictures,\r
+leaving off because they were "no good," and observing that, after all,\r
+self-culture was the principal point; while in politics he would have\r
+been sympathizing warmly with liberty and progress in general. Our\r
+sense of duty must often wait for some work which shall take the place\r
+of dilettanteism and make us feel that the quality of our action is not\r
+a matter of indifference.\r
+\r
+Ladislaw had now accepted his bit of work, though it was not that\r
+indeterminate loftiest thing which he had once dreamed of as alone\r
+worthy of continuous effort. His nature warmed easily in the presence\r
+of subjects which were visibly mixed with life and action, and the\r
+easily stirred rebellion in him helped the glow of public spirit. In\r
+spite of Mr. Casaubon and the banishment from Lowick, he was rather\r
+happy; getting a great deal of fresh knowledge in a vivid way and for\r
+practical purposes, and making the "Pioneer" celebrated as far as\r
+Brassing (never mind the smallness of the area; the writing was not\r
+worse than much that reaches the four corners of the earth).\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke was occasionally irritating; but Will's impatience was\r
+relieved by the division of his time between visits to the Grange and\r
+retreats to his Middlemarch lodgings, which gave variety to his life.\r
+\r
+"Shift the pegs a little," he said to himself, "and Mr. Brooke might be\r
+in the Cabinet, while I was Under-Secretary. That is the common order\r
+of things: the little waves make the large ones and are of the same\r
+pattern. I am better here than in the sort of life Mr. Casaubon would\r
+have trained me for, where the doing would be all laid down by a\r
+precedent too rigid for me to react upon. I don't care for prestige or\r
+high pay."\r
+\r
+As Lydgate had said of him, he was a sort of gypsy, rather enjoying the\r
+sense of belonging to no class; he had a feeling of romance in his\r
+position, and a pleasant consciousness of creating a little surprise\r
+wherever he went. That sort of enjoyment had been disturbed when he\r
+had felt some new distance between himself and Dorothea in their\r
+accidental meeting at Lydgate's, and his irritation had gone out\r
+towards Mr. Casaubon, who had declared beforehand that Will would lose\r
+caste. "I never had any caste," he would have said, if that prophecy\r
+had been uttered to him, and the quick blood would have come and gone\r
+like breath in his transparent skin. But it is one thing to like\r
+defiance, and another thing to like its consequences.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile, the town opinion about the new editor of the "Pioneer" was\r
+tending to confirm Mr. Casaubon's view. Will's relationship in that\r
+distinguished quarter did not, like Lydgate's high connections, serve\r
+as an advantageous introduction: if it was rumored that young Ladislaw\r
+was Mr. Casaubon's nephew or cousin, it was also rumored that "Mr.\r
+Casaubon would have nothing to do with him."\r
+\r
+"Brooke has taken him up," said Mr. Hawley, "because that is what no\r
+man in his senses could have expected. Casaubon has devilish good\r
+reasons, you may be sure, for turning the cold shoulder on a young\r
+fellow whose bringing-up he paid for. Just like Brooke--one of those\r
+fellows who would praise a cat to sell a horse."\r
+\r
+And some oddities of Will's, more or less poetical, appeared to support\r
+Mr. Keck, the editor of the "Trumpet," in asserting that Ladislaw, if\r
+the truth were known, was not only a Polish emissary but crack-brained,\r
+which accounted for the preternatural quickness and glibness of his\r
+speech when he got on to a platform--as he did whenever he had an\r
+opportunity, speaking with a facility which cast reflections on solid\r
+Englishmen generally. It was disgusting to Keck to see a strip of a\r
+fellow, with light curls round his head, get up and speechify by the\r
+hour against institutions "which had existed when he was in his\r
+cradle." And in a leading article of the "Trumpet," Keck characterized\r
+Ladislaw's speech at a Reform meeting as "the violence of an\r
+energumen--a miserable effort to shroud in the brilliancy of fireworks\r
+the daring of irresponsible statements and the poverty of a knowledge\r
+which was of the cheapest and most recent description."\r
+\r
+"That was a rattling article yesterday, Keck," said Dr. Sprague, with\r
+sarcastic intentions. "But what is an energumen?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, a term that came up in the French Revolution," said Keck.\r
+\r
+This dangerous aspect of Ladislaw was strangely contrasted with other\r
+habits which became matter of remark. He had a fondness, half\r
+artistic, half affectionate, for little children--the smaller they were\r
+on tolerably active legs, and the funnier their clothing, the better\r
+Will liked to surprise and please them. We know that in Rome he was\r
+given to ramble about among the poor people, and the taste did not quit\r
+him in Middlemarch.\r
+\r
+He had somehow picked up a troop of droll children, little hatless boys\r
+with their galligaskins much worn and scant shirting to hang out,\r
+little girls who tossed their hair out of their eyes to look at him,\r
+and guardian brothers at the mature age of seven. This troop he had\r
+led out on gypsy excursions to Halsell Wood at nutting-time, and since\r
+the cold weather had set in he had taken them on a clear day to gather\r
+sticks for a bonfire in the hollow of a hillside, where he drew out a\r
+small feast of gingerbread for them, and improvised a Punch-and-Judy\r
+drama with some private home-made puppets. Here was one oddity.\r
+Another was, that in houses where he got friendly, he was given to\r
+stretch himself at full length on the rug while he talked, and was apt\r
+to be discovered in this attitude by occasional callers for whom such\r
+an irregularity was likely to confirm the notions of his dangerously\r
+mixed blood and general laxity.\r
+\r
+But Will's articles and speeches naturally recommended him in families\r
+which the new strictness of party division had marked off on the side\r
+of Reform. He was invited to Mr. Bulstrode's; but here he could not\r
+lie down on the rug, and Mrs. Bulstrode felt that his mode of talking\r
+about Catholic countries, as if there were any truce with Antichrist,\r
+illustrated the usual tendency to unsoundness in intellectual men.\r
+\r
+At Mr. Farebrother's, however, whom the irony of events had brought on\r
+the same side with Bulstrode in the national movement, Will became a\r
+favorite with the ladies; especially with little Miss Noble, whom it\r
+was one of his oddities to escort when he met her in the street with\r
+her little basket, giving her his arm in the eyes of the town, and\r
+insisting on going with her to pay some call where she distributed her\r
+small filchings from her own share of sweet things.\r
+\r
+But the house where he visited oftenest and lay most on the rug was\r
+Lydgate's. The two men were not at all alike, but they agreed none the\r
+worse. Lydgate was abrupt but not irritable, taking little notice of\r
+megrims in healthy people; and Ladislaw did not usually throw away his\r
+susceptibilities on those who took no notice of them. With Rosamond,\r
+on the other hand, he pouted and was wayward--nay, often\r
+uncomplimentary, much to her inward surprise; nevertheless he was\r
+gradually becoming necessary to her entertainment by his companionship\r
+in her music, his varied talk, and his freedom from the grave\r
+preoccupation which, with all her husband's tenderness and indulgence,\r
+often made his manners unsatisfactory to her, and confirmed her dislike\r
+of the medical profession.\r
+\r
+Lydgate, inclined to be sarcastic on the superstitious faith of the\r
+people in the efficacy of "the bill," while nobody cared about the low\r
+state of pathology, sometimes assailed Will with troublesome questions.\r
+One evening in March, Rosamond in her cherry-colored dress with\r
+swansdown trimming about the throat sat at the tea-table; Lydgate,\r
+lately come in tired from his outdoor work, was seated sideways on an\r
+easy-chair by the fire with one leg over the elbow, his brow looking a\r
+little troubled as his eyes rambled over the columns of the "Pioneer,"\r
+while Rosamond, having noticed that he was perturbed, avoided looking\r
+at him, and inwardly thanked heaven that she herself had not a moody\r
+disposition. Will Ladislaw was stretched on the rug contemplating the\r
+curtain-pole abstractedly, and humming very low the notes of "When\r
+first I saw thy face;" while the house spaniel, also stretched out with\r
+small choice of room, looked from between his paws at the usurper of\r
+the rug with silent but strong objection.\r
+\r
+Rosamond bringing Lydgate his cup of tea, he threw down the paper, and\r
+said to Will, who had started up and gone to the table--\r
+\r
+"It's no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw:\r
+they only pick the more holes in his coat in the 'Trumpet.'"\r
+\r
+"No matter; those who read the 'Pioneer' don't read the 'Trumpet,'"\r
+said Will, swallowing his tea and walking about. "Do you suppose the\r
+public reads with a view to its own conversion? We should have a\r
+witches' brewing with a vengeance then--'Mingle, mingle, mingle,\r
+mingle, You that mingle may'--and nobody would know which side he was\r
+going to take."\r
+\r
+"Farebrother says, he doesn't believe Brooke would get elected if the\r
+opportunity came: the very men who profess to be for him would bring\r
+another member out of the bag at the right moment."\r
+\r
+"There's no harm in trying. It's good to have resident members."\r
+\r
+"Why?" said Lydgate, who was much given to use that inconvenient word\r
+in a curt tone.\r
+\r
+"They represent the local stupidity better," said Will, laughing, and\r
+shaking his curls; "and they are kept on their best behavior in the\r
+neighborhood. Brooke is not a bad fellow, but he has done some good\r
+things on his estate that he never would have done but for this\r
+Parliamentary bite."\r
+\r
+"He's not fitted to be a public man," said Lydgate, with contemptuous\r
+decision. "He would disappoint everybody who counted on him: I can see\r
+that at the Hospital. Only, there Bulstrode holds the reins and drives\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"That depends on how you fix your standard of public men," said Will.\r
+"He's good enough for the occasion: when the people have made up their\r
+mind as they are making it up now, they don't want a man--they only\r
+want a vote."\r
+\r
+"That is the way with you political writers, Ladislaw--crying up a\r
+measure as if it were a universal cure, and crying up men who are a\r
+part of the very disease that wants curing."\r
+\r
+"Why not? Men may help to cure themselves off the face of the land\r
+without knowing it," said Will, who could find reasons impromptu, when\r
+he had not thought of a question beforehand.\r
+\r
+"That is no excuse for encouraging the superstitious exaggeration of\r
+hopes about this particular measure, helping the cry to swallow it\r
+whole and to send up voting popinjays who are good for nothing but to\r
+carry it. You go against rottenness, and there is nothing more\r
+thoroughly rotten than making people believe that society can be cured\r
+by a political hocus-pocus."\r
+\r
+"That's very fine, my dear fellow. But your cure must begin somewhere,\r
+and put it that a thousand things which debase a population can never\r
+be reformed without this particular reform to begin with. Look what\r
+Stanley said the other day--that the House had been tinkering long\r
+enough at small questions of bribery, inquiring whether this or that\r
+voter has had a guinea when everybody knows that the seats have been\r
+sold wholesale. Wait for wisdom and conscience in public\r
+agents--fiddlestick! The only conscience we can trust to is the\r
+massive sense of wrong in a class, and the best wisdom that will work\r
+is the wisdom of balancing claims. That's my text--which side is\r
+injured? I support the man who supports their claims; not the virtuous\r
+upholder of the wrong."\r
+\r
+"That general talk about a particular case is mere question begging,\r
+Ladislaw. When I say, I go in for the dose that cures, it doesn't\r
+follow that I go in for opium in a given case of gout."\r
+\r
+"I am not begging the question we are upon--whether we are to try for\r
+nothing till we find immaculate men to work with. Should you go on\r
+that plan? If there were one man who would carry you a medical reform\r
+and another who would oppose it, should you inquire which had the\r
+better motives or even the better brains?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, of course," said Lydgate, seeing himself checkmated by a move\r
+which he had often used himself, "if one did not work with such men as\r
+are at hand, things must come to a dead-lock. Suppose the worst opinion\r
+in the town about Bulstrode were a true one, that would not make it\r
+less true that he has the sense and the resolution to do what I think\r
+ought to be done in the matters I know and care most about; but that is\r
+the only ground on which I go with him," Lydgate added rather proudly,\r
+bearing in mind Mr. Farebrother's remarks. "He is nothing to me\r
+otherwise; I would not cry him up on any personal ground--I would keep\r
+clear of that."\r
+\r
+"Do you mean that I cry up Brooke on any personal ground?" said Will\r
+Ladislaw, nettled, and turning sharp round. For the first time he felt\r
+offended with Lydgate; not the less so, perhaps, because he would have\r
+declined any close inquiry into the growth of his relation to Mr.\r
+Brooke.\r
+\r
+"Not at all," said Lydgate, "I was simply explaining my own action. I\r
+meant that a man may work for a special end with others whose motives\r
+and general course are equivocal, if he is quite sure of his personal\r
+independence, and that he is not working for his private\r
+interest--either place or money."\r
+\r
+"Then, why don't you extend your liberality to others?" said Will,\r
+still nettled. "My personal independence is as important to me as\r
+yours is to you. You have no more reason to imagine that I have\r
+personal expectations from Brooke, than I have to imagine that you have\r
+personal expectations from Bulstrode. Motives are points of honor, I\r
+suppose--nobody can prove them. But as to money and place in the\r
+world." Will ended, tossing back his head, "I think it is pretty clear\r
+that I am not determined by considerations of that sort."\r
+\r
+"You quite mistake me, Ladislaw," said Lydgate, surprised. He had been\r
+preoccupied with his own vindication, and had been blind to what\r
+Ladislaw might infer on his own account. "I beg your pardon for\r
+unintentionally annoying you. In fact, I should rather attribute to\r
+you a romantic disregard of your own worldly interests. On the\r
+political question, I referred simply to intellectual bias."\r
+\r
+"How very unpleasant you both are this evening!" said Rosamond. "I\r
+cannot conceive why money should have been referred to. Polities and\r
+Medicine are sufficiently disagreeable to quarrel upon. You can both\r
+of you go on quarrelling with all the world and with each other on\r
+those two topics."\r
+\r
+Rosamond looked mildly neutral as she said this, rising to ring the\r
+bell, and then crossing to her work-table.\r
+\r
+"Poor Rosy!" said Lydgate, putting out his hand to her as she was\r
+passing him. "Disputation is not amusing to cherubs. Have some music.\r
+Ask Ladislaw to sing with you."\r
+\r
+When Will was gone Rosamond said to her husband, "What put you out of\r
+temper this evening, Tertius?"\r
+\r
+"Me? It was Ladislaw who was out of temper. He is like a bit of\r
+tinder."\r
+\r
+"But I mean, before that. Something had vexed you before you came in,\r
+you looked cross. And that made you begin to dispute with Mr.\r
+Ladislaw. You hurt me very much when you look so, Tertius."\r
+\r
+"Do I? Then I am a brute," said Lydgate, caressing her penitently.\r
+\r
+"What vexed you?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, outdoor things--business." It was really a letter insisting on\r
+the payment of a bill for furniture. But Rosamond was expecting to\r
+have a baby, and Lydgate wished to save her from any perturbation.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLVII.\r
+\r
+ Was never true love loved in vain,\r
+ For truest love is highest gain.\r
+ No art can make it: it must spring\r
+ Where elements are fostering.\r
+ So in heaven's spot and hour\r
+ Springs the little native flower,\r
+ Downward root and upward eye,\r
+ Shapen by the earth and sky.\r
+\r
+\r
+It happened to be on a Saturday evening that Will Ladislaw had that\r
+little discussion with Lydgate. Its effect when he went to his own\r
+rooms was to make him sit up half the night, thinking over again, under\r
+a new irritation, all that he had before thought of his having settled\r
+in Middlemarch and harnessed himself with Mr. Brooke. Hesitations\r
+before he had taken the step had since turned into susceptibility to\r
+every hint that he would have been wiser not to take it; and hence came\r
+his heat towards Lydgate--a heat which still kept him restless. Was he\r
+not making a fool of himself?--and at a time when he was more than\r
+ever conscious of being something better than a fool? And for what end?\r
+\r
+Well, for no definite end. True, he had dreamy visions of\r
+possibilities: there is no human being who having both passions and\r
+thoughts does not think in consequence of his passions--does not find\r
+images rising in his mind which soothe the passion with hope or sting\r
+it with dread. But this, which happens to us all, happens to some with\r
+a wide difference; and Will was not one of those whose wit "keeps the\r
+roadway:" he had his bypaths where there were little joys of his own\r
+choosing, such as gentlemen cantering on the highroad might have\r
+thought rather idiotic. The way in which he made a sort of happiness\r
+for himself out of his feeling for Dorothea was an example of this. It\r
+may seem strange, but it is the fact, that the ordinary vulgar vision\r
+of which Mr. Casaubon suspected him--namely, that Dorothea might become\r
+a widow, and that the interest he had established in her mind might\r
+turn into acceptance of him as a husband--had no tempting, arresting\r
+power over him; he did not live in the scenery of such an event, and\r
+follow it out, as we all do with that imagined "otherwise" which is our\r
+practical heaven. It was not only that he was unwilling to entertain\r
+thoughts which could be accused of baseness, and was already uneasy in\r
+the sense that he had to justify himself from the charge of\r
+ingratitude--the latent consciousness of many other barriers between\r
+himself and Dorothea besides the existence of her husband, had helped\r
+to turn away his imagination from speculating on what might befall Mr.\r
+Casaubon. And there were yet other reasons. Will, we know, could not\r
+bear the thought of any flaw appearing in his crystal: he was at once\r
+exasperated and delighted by the calm freedom with which Dorothea\r
+looked at him and spoke to him, and there was something so exquisite in\r
+thinking of her just as she was, that he could not long for a change\r
+which must somehow change her. Do we not shun the street version of a\r
+fine melody?--or shrink from the news that the rarity--some bit of\r
+chiselling or engraving perhaps--which we have dwelt on even with\r
+exultation in the trouble it has cost us to snatch glimpses of it, is\r
+really not an uncommon thing, and may be obtained as an every-day\r
+possession? Our good depends on the quality and breadth of our\r
+emotion; and to Will, a creature who cared little for what are called\r
+the solid things of life and greatly for its subtler influences, to\r
+have within him such a feeling as he had towards Dorothea, was like the\r
+inheritance of a fortune. What others might have called the futility\r
+of his passion, made an additional delight for his imagination: he was\r
+conscious of a generous movement, and of verifying in his own\r
+experience that higher love-poetry which had charmed his fancy.\r
+Dorothea, he said to himself, was forever enthroned in his soul: no\r
+other woman could sit higher than her footstool; and if he could have\r
+written out in immortal syllables the effect she wrought within him, he\r
+might have boasted after the example of old Drayton, that,--\r
+\r
+ "Queens hereafter might be glad to live\r
+ Upon the alms of her superfluous praise."\r
+\r
+But this result was questionable. And what else could he do for\r
+Dorothea? What was his devotion worth to her? It was impossible to\r
+tell. He would not go out of her reach. He saw no creature among her\r
+friends to whom he could believe that she spoke with the same simple\r
+confidence as to him. She had once said that she would like him to\r
+stay; and stay he would, whatever fire-breathing dragons might hiss\r
+around her.\r
+\r
+This had always been the conclusion of Will's hesitations. But he was\r
+not without contradictoriness and rebellion even towards his own\r
+resolve. He had often got irritated, as he was on this particular\r
+night, by some outside demonstration that his public exertions with Mr.\r
+Brooke as a chief could not seem as heroic as he would like them to be,\r
+and this was always associated with the other ground of\r
+irritation--that notwithstanding his sacrifice of dignity for\r
+Dorothea's sake, he could hardly ever see her. Whereupon, not being\r
+able to contradict these unpleasant facts, he contradicted his own\r
+strongest bias and said, "I am a fool."\r
+\r
+Nevertheless, since the inward debate necessarily turned on Dorothea,\r
+he ended, as he had done before, only by getting a livelier sense of\r
+what her presence would be to him; and suddenly reflecting that the\r
+morrow would be Sunday, he determined to go to Lowick Church and see\r
+her. He slept upon that idea, but when he was dressing in the rational\r
+morning light, Objection said--\r
+\r
+"That will be a virtual defiance of Mr. Casaubon's prohibition to visit\r
+Lowick, and Dorothea will be displeased."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense!" argued Inclination, "it would be too monstrous for him to\r
+hinder me from going out to a pretty country church on a spring\r
+morning. And Dorothea will be glad."\r
+\r
+"It will be clear to Mr. Casaubon that you have come either to annoy\r
+him or to see Dorothea."\r
+\r
+"It is not true that I go to annoy him, and why should I not go to see\r
+Dorothea? Is he to have everything to himself and be always\r
+comfortable? Let him smart a little, as other people are obliged to\r
+do. I have always liked the quaintness of the church and congregation;\r
+besides, I know the Tuckers: I shall go into their pew."\r
+\r
+Having silenced Objection by force of unreason, Will walked to Lowick\r
+as if he had been on the way to Paradise, crossing Halsell Common and\r
+skirting the wood, where the sunlight fell broadly under the budding\r
+boughs, bringing out the beauties of moss and lichen, and fresh green\r
+growths piercing the brown. Everything seemed to know that it was\r
+Sunday, and to approve of his going to Lowick Church. Will easily felt\r
+happy when nothing crossed his humor, and by this time the thought of\r
+vexing Mr. Casaubon had become rather amusing to him, making his face\r
+break into its merry smile, pleasant to see as the breaking of sunshine\r
+on the water--though the occasion was not exemplary. But most of us\r
+are apt to settle within ourselves that the man who blocks our way is\r
+odious, and not to mind causing him a little of the disgust which his\r
+personality excites in ourselves. Will went along with a small book\r
+under his arm and a hand in each side-pocket, never reading, but\r
+chanting a little, as he made scenes of what would happen in church and\r
+coming out. He was experimenting in tunes to suit some words of his\r
+own, sometimes trying a ready-made melody, sometimes improvising. The\r
+words were not exactly a hymn, but they certainly fitted his Sunday\r
+experience:--\r
+\r
+ "O me, O me, what frugal cheer\r
+ My love doth feed upon!\r
+ A touch, a ray, that is not here,\r
+ A shadow that is gone:\r
+\r
+ "A dream of breath that might be near,\r
+ An inly-echoed tone,\r
+ The thought that one may think me dear,\r
+ The place where one was known,\r
+\r
+ "The tremor of a banished fear,\r
+ An ill that was not done--\r
+ O me, O me, what frugal cheer\r
+ My love doth feed upon!"\r
+\r
+Sometimes, when he took off his hat, shaking his head backward, and\r
+showing his delicate throat as he sang, he looked like an incarnation\r
+of the spring whose spirit filled the air--a bright creature, abundant\r
+in uncertain promises.\r
+\r
+The bells were still ringing when he got to Lowick, and he went into\r
+the curate's pew before any one else arrived there. But he was still\r
+left alone in it when the congregation had assembled. The curate's pew\r
+was opposite the rector's at the entrance of the small chancel, and\r
+Will had time to fear that Dorothea might not come while he looked\r
+round at the group of rural faces which made the congregation from year\r
+to year within the white-washed walls and dark old pews, hardly with\r
+more change than we see in the boughs of a tree which breaks here and\r
+there with age, but yet has young shoots. Mr. Rigg's frog-face was\r
+something alien and unaccountable, but notwithstanding this shock to\r
+the order of things, there were still the Waules and the rural stock of\r
+the Powderells in their pews side by side; brother Samuel's cheek had\r
+the same purple round as ever, and the three generations of decent\r
+cottagers came as of old with a sense of duty to their betters\r
+generally--the smaller children regarding Mr. Casaubon, who wore the\r
+black gown and mounted to the highest box, as probably the chief of all\r
+betters, and the one most awful if offended. Even in 1831 Lowick was\r
+at peace, not more agitated by Reform than by the solemn tenor of the\r
+Sunday sermon. The congregation had been used to seeing Will at church\r
+in former days, and no one took much note of him except the choir, who\r
+expected him to make a figure in the singing.\r
+\r
+Dorothea did at last appear on this quaint background, walking up the\r
+short aisle in her white beaver bonnet and gray cloak--the same she had\r
+worn in the Vatican. Her face being, from her entrance, towards the\r
+chancel, even her shortsighted eyes soon discerned Will, but there was\r
+no outward show of her feeling except a slight paleness and a grave bow\r
+as she passed him. To his own surprise Will felt suddenly\r
+uncomfortable, and dared not look at her after they had bowed to each\r
+other. Two minutes later, when Mr. Casaubon came out of the vestry,\r
+and, entering the pew, seated himself in face of Dorothea, Will felt\r
+his paralysis more complete. He could look nowhere except at the choir\r
+in the little gallery over the vestry-door: Dorothea was perhaps\r
+pained, and he had made a wretched blunder. It was no longer amusing\r
+to vex Mr. Casaubon, who had the advantage probably of watching him and\r
+seeing that he dared not turn his head. Why had he not imagined this\r
+beforehand?--but he could not expect that he should sit in that square\r
+pew alone, unrelieved by any Tuckers, who had apparently departed from\r
+Lowick altogether, for a new clergyman was in the desk. Still he\r
+called himself stupid now for not foreseeing that it would be\r
+impossible for him to look towards Dorothea--nay, that she might feel\r
+his coming an impertinence. There was no delivering himself from his\r
+cage, however; and Will found his places and looked at his book as if\r
+he had been a school-mistress, feeling that the morning service had\r
+never been so immeasurably long before, that he was utterly ridiculous,\r
+out of temper, and miserable. This was what a man got by worshipping\r
+the sight of a woman! The clerk observed with surprise that Mr.\r
+Ladislaw did not join in the tune of Hanover, and reflected that he\r
+might have a cold.\r
+\r
+Mr. Casaubon did not preach that morning, and there was no change in\r
+Will's situation until the blessing had been pronounced and every one\r
+rose. It was the fashion at Lowick for "the betters" to go out first.\r
+With a sudden determination to break the spell that was upon him, Will\r
+looked straight at Mr. Casaubon. But that gentleman's eyes were on the\r
+button of the pew-door, which he opened, allowing Dorothea to pass, and\r
+following her immediately without raising his eyelids. Will's glance\r
+had caught Dorothea's as she turned out of the pew, and again she\r
+bowed, but this time with a look of agitation, as if she were\r
+repressing tears. Will walked out after them, but they went on towards\r
+the little gate leading out of the churchyard into the shrubbery, never\r
+looking round.\r
+\r
+It was impossible for him to follow them, and he could only walk back\r
+sadly at mid-day along the same road which he had trodden hopefully in\r
+the morning. The lights were all changed for him both without and\r
+within.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLVIII\r
+\r
+ Surely the golden hours are turning gray\r
+ And dance no more, and vainly strive to run:\r
+ I see their white locks streaming in the wind--\r
+ Each face is haggard as it looks at me,\r
+ Slow turning in the constant clasping round\r
+ Storm-driven.\r
+\r
+\r
+Dorothea's distress when she was leaving the church came chiefly from\r
+the perception that Mr. Casaubon was determined not to speak to his\r
+cousin, and that Will's presence at church had served to mark more\r
+strongly the alienation between them. Will's coming seemed to her\r
+quite excusable, nay, she thought it an amiable movement in him towards\r
+a reconciliation which she herself had been constantly wishing for. He\r
+had probably imagined, as she had, that if Mr. Casaubon and he could\r
+meet easily, they would shake hands and friendly intercourse might\r
+return. But now Dorothea felt quite robbed of that hope. Will was\r
+banished further than ever, for Mr. Casaubon must have been newly\r
+embittered by this thrusting upon him of a presence which he refused to\r
+recognize.\r
+\r
+He had not been very well that morning, suffering from some difficulty\r
+in breathing, and had not preached in consequence; she was not\r
+surprised, therefore, that he was nearly silent at luncheon, still less\r
+that he made no allusion to Will Ladislaw. For her own part she felt\r
+that she could never again introduce that subject. They usually spent\r
+apart the hours between luncheon and dinner on a Sunday; Mr. Casaubon\r
+in the library dozing chiefly, and Dorothea in her boudoir, where she\r
+was wont to occupy herself with some of her favorite books. There was\r
+a little heap of them on the table in the bow-window--of various sorts,\r
+from Herodotus, which she was learning to read with Mr. Casaubon, to\r
+her old companion Pascal, and Keble's "Christian Year." But to-day\r
+opened one after another, and could read none of them. Everything\r
+seemed dreary: the portents before the birth of Cyrus--Jewish\r
+antiquities--oh dear!--devout epigrams--the sacred chime of favorite\r
+hymns--all alike were as flat as tunes beaten on wood: even the spring\r
+flowers and the grass had a dull shiver in them under the afternoon\r
+clouds that hid the sun fitfully; even the sustaining thoughts which\r
+had become habits seemed to have in them the weariness of long future\r
+days in which she would still live with them for her sole companions.\r
+It was another or rather a fuller sort of companionship that poor\r
+Dorothea was hungering for, and the hunger had grown from the perpetual\r
+effort demanded by her married life. She was always trying to be what\r
+her husband wished, and never able to repose on his delight in what she\r
+was. The thing that she liked, that she spontaneously cared to have,\r
+seemed to be always excluded from her life; for if it was only granted\r
+and not shared by her husband it might as well have been denied. About\r
+Will Ladislaw there had been a difference between them from the first,\r
+and it had ended, since Mr. Casaubon had so severely repulsed\r
+Dorothea's strong feeling about his claims on the family property, by\r
+her being convinced that she was in the right and her husband in the\r
+wrong, but that she was helpless. This afternoon the helplessness was\r
+more wretchedly benumbing than ever: she longed for objects who could\r
+be dear to her, and to whom she could be dear. She longed for work\r
+which would be directly beneficent like the sunshine and the rain, and\r
+now it appeared that she was to live more and more in a virtual tomb,\r
+where there was the apparatus of a ghastly labor producing what would\r
+never see the light. Today she had stood at the door of the tomb and\r
+seen Will Ladislaw receding into the distant world of warm activity and\r
+fellowship--turning his face towards her as he went.\r
+\r
+Books were of no use. Thinking was of no use. It was Sunday, and she\r
+could not have the carriage to go to Celia, who had lately had a baby.\r
+There was no refuge now from spiritual emptiness and discontent, and\r
+Dorothea had to bear her bad mood, as she would have borne a headache.\r
+\r
+After dinner, at the hour when she usually began to read aloud, Mr.\r
+Casaubon proposed that they should go into the library, where, he said,\r
+he had ordered a fire and lights. He seemed to have revived, and to be\r
+thinking intently.\r
+\r
+In the library Dorothea observed that he had newly arranged a row of\r
+his note-books on a table, and now he took up and put into her hand a\r
+well-known volume, which was a table of contents to all the others.\r
+\r
+"You will oblige me, my dear," he said, seating himself, "if instead of\r
+other reading this evening, you will go through this aloud, pencil in\r
+hand, and at each point where I say 'mark,' will make a cross with your\r
+pencil. This is the first step in a sifting process which I have long\r
+had in view, and as we go on I shall be able to indicate to you certain\r
+principles of selection whereby you will, I trust, have an intelligent\r
+participation in my purpose."\r
+\r
+This proposal was only one more sign added to many since his memorable\r
+interview with Lydgate, that Mr. Casaubon's original reluctance to let\r
+Dorothea work with him had given place to the contrary disposition,\r
+namely, to demand much interest and labor from her.\r
+\r
+After she had read and marked for two hours, he said, "We will take the\r
+volume up-stairs--and the pencil, if you please--and in case of\r
+reading in the night, we can pursue this task. It is not wearisome to\r
+you, I trust, Dorothea?"\r
+\r
+"I prefer always reading what you like best to hear," said Dorothea,\r
+who told the simple truth; for what she dreaded was to exert herself in\r
+reading or anything else which left him as joyless as ever.\r
+\r
+It was a proof of the force with which certain characteristics in\r
+Dorothea impressed those around her, that her husband, with all his\r
+jealousy and suspicion, had gathered implicit trust in the integrity of\r
+her promises, and her power of devoting herself to her idea of the\r
+right and best. Of late he had begun to feel that these qualities were\r
+a peculiar possession for himself, and he wanted to engross them.\r
+\r
+The reading in the night did come. Dorothea in her young weariness had\r
+slept soon and fast: she was awakened by a sense of light, which seemed\r
+to her at first like a sudden vision of sunset after she had climbed a\r
+steep hill: she opened her eyes and saw her husband wrapped in his warm\r
+gown seating himself in the arm-chair near the fire-place where the\r
+embers were still glowing. He had lit two candles, expecting that\r
+Dorothea would awake, but not liking to rouse her by more direct means.\r
+\r
+"Are you ill, Edward?" she said, rising immediately.\r
+\r
+"I felt some uneasiness in a reclining posture. I will sit here for a\r
+time." She threw wood on the fire, wrapped herself up, and said, "You\r
+would like me to read to you?"\r
+\r
+"You would oblige me greatly by doing so, Dorothea," said Mr. Casaubon,\r
+with a shade more meekness than usual in his polite manner. "I am\r
+wakeful: my mind is remarkably lucid."\r
+\r
+"I fear that the excitement may be too great for you," said Dorothea,\r
+remembering Lydgate's cautions.\r
+\r
+"No, I am not conscious of undue excitement. Thought is easy."\r
+Dorothea dared not insist, and she read for an hour or more on the same\r
+plan as she had done in the evening, but getting over the pages with\r
+more quickness. Mr. Casaubon's mind was more alert, and he seemed to\r
+anticipate what was coming after a very slight verbal indication,\r
+saying, "That will do--mark that"--or "Pass on to the next head--I omit\r
+the second excursus on Crete." Dorothea was amazed to think of the\r
+bird-like speed with which his mind was surveying the ground where it\r
+had been creeping for years. At last he said--\r
+\r
+"Close the book now, my dear. We will resume our work to-morrow. I\r
+have deferred it too long, and would gladly see it completed. But you\r
+observe that the principle on which my selection is made, is to give\r
+adequate, and not disproportionate illustration to each of the theses\r
+enumerated in my introduction, as at present sketched. You have\r
+perceived that distinctly, Dorothea?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Dorothea, rather tremulously. She felt sick at heart.\r
+\r
+"And now I think that I can take some repose," said Mr. Casaubon. He\r
+laid down again and begged her to put out the lights. When she had\r
+lain down too, and there was a darkness only broken by a dull glow on\r
+the hearth, he said--\r
+\r
+"Before I sleep, I have a request to make, Dorothea."\r
+\r
+"What is it?" said Dorothea, with dread in her mind.\r
+\r
+"It is that you will let me know, deliberately, whether, in case of my\r
+death, you will carry out my wishes: whether you will avoid doing what\r
+I should deprecate, and apply yourself to do what I should desire."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was not taken by surprise: many incidents had been leading her\r
+to the conjecture of some intention on her husband's part which might\r
+make a new yoke for her. She did not answer immediately.\r
+\r
+"You refuse?" said Mr. Casaubon, with more edge in his tone.\r
+\r
+"No, I do not yet refuse," said Dorothea, in a clear voice, the need of\r
+freedom asserting itself within her; "but it is too solemn--I think it\r
+is not right--to make a promise when I am ignorant what it will bind me\r
+to. Whatever affection prompted I would do without promising."\r
+\r
+"But you would use your own judgment: I ask you to obey mine; you\r
+refuse."\r
+\r
+"No, dear, no!" said Dorothea, beseechingly, crushed by opposing fears.\r
+"But may I wait and reflect a little while? I desire with my whole\r
+soul to do what will comfort you; but I cannot give any pledge\r
+suddenly--still less a pledge to do I know not what."\r
+\r
+"You cannot then confide in the nature of my wishes?"\r
+\r
+"Grant me till to-morrow," said Dorothea, beseechingly.\r
+\r
+"Till to-morrow then," said Mr. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+Soon she could hear that he was sleeping, but there was no more sleep\r
+for her. While she constrained herself to lie still lest she should\r
+disturb him, her mind was carrying on a conflict in which imagination\r
+ranged its forces first on one side and then on the other. She had no\r
+presentiment that the power which her husband wished to establish over\r
+her future action had relation to anything else than his work. But it\r
+was clear enough to her that he would expect her to devote herself to\r
+sifting those mixed heaps of material, which were to be the doubtful\r
+illustration of principles still more doubtful. The poor child had\r
+become altogether unbelieving as to the trustworthiness of that Key\r
+which had made the ambition and the labor of her husband's life. It\r
+was not wonderful that, in spite of her small instruction, her judgment\r
+in this matter was truer than his: for she looked with unbiassed\r
+comparison and healthy sense at probabilities on which he had risked\r
+all his egoism. And now she pictured to herself the days, and months,\r
+and years which she must spend in sorting what might be called\r
+shattered mummies, and fragments of a tradition which was itself a\r
+mosaic wrought from crushed ruins--sorting them as food for a theory\r
+which was already withered in the birth like an elfin child. Doubtless\r
+a vigorous error vigorously pursued has kept the embryos of truth\r
+a-breathing: the quest of gold being at the same time a questioning of\r
+substances, the body of chemistry is prepared for its soul, and\r
+Lavoisier is born. But Mr. Casaubon's theory of the elements which\r
+made the seed of all tradition was not likely to bruise itself unawares\r
+against discoveries: it floated among flexible conjectures no more\r
+solid than those etymologies which seemed strong because of likeness in\r
+sound until it was shown that likeness in sound made them impossible:\r
+it was a method of interpretation which was not tested by the necessity\r
+of forming anything which had sharper collisions than an elaborate\r
+notion of Gog and Magog: it was as free from interruption as a plan for\r
+threading the stars together. And Dorothea had so often had to check\r
+her weariness and impatience over this questionable riddle-guessing, as\r
+it revealed itself to her instead of the fellowship in high knowledge\r
+which was to make life worthier! She could understand well enough now\r
+why her husband had come to cling to her, as possibly the only hope\r
+left that his labors would ever take a shape in which they could be\r
+given to the world. At first it had seemed that he wished to keep even\r
+her aloof from any close knowledge of what he was doing; but gradually\r
+the terrible stringency of human need--the prospect of a too speedy\r
+death--\r
+\r
+And here Dorothea's pity turned from her own future to her husband's\r
+past--nay, to his present hard struggle with a lot which had grown out\r
+of that past: the lonely labor, the ambition breathing hardly under the\r
+pressure of self-distrust; the goal receding, and the heavier limbs;\r
+and now at last the sword visibly trembling above him! And had she not\r
+wished to marry him that she might help him in his life's labor?--But\r
+she had thought the work was to be something greater, which she could\r
+serve in devoutly for its own sake. Was it right, even to soothe his\r
+grief--would it be possible, even if she promised--to work as in a\r
+treadmill fruitlessly?\r
+\r
+And yet, could she deny him? Could she say, "I refuse to content this\r
+pining hunger?" It would be refusing to do for him dead, what she was\r
+almost sure to do for him living. If he lived as Lydgate had said he\r
+might, for fifteen years or more, her life would certainly be spent in\r
+helping him and obeying him.\r
+\r
+Still, there was a deep difference between that devotion to the living\r
+and that indefinite promise of devotion to the dead. While he lived,\r
+he could claim nothing that she would not still be free to remonstrate\r
+against, and even to refuse. But--the thought passed through her mind\r
+more than once, though she could not believe in it--might he not mean\r
+to demand something more from her than she had been able to imagine,\r
+since he wanted her pledge to carry out his wishes without telling her\r
+exactly what they were? No; his heart was bound up in his work only:\r
+that was the end for which his failing life was to be eked out by hers.\r
+\r
+And now, if she were to say, "No! if you die, I will put no finger to\r
+your work"--it seemed as if she would be crushing that bruised heart.\r
+\r
+For four hours Dorothea lay in this conflict, till she felt ill and\r
+bewildered, unable to resolve, praying mutely. Helpless as a child\r
+which has sobbed and sought too long, she fell into a late morning\r
+sleep, and when she waked Mr. Casaubon was already up. Tantripp told\r
+her that he had read prayers, breakfasted, and was in the library.\r
+\r
+"I never saw you look so pale, madam," said Tantripp, a solid-figured\r
+woman who had been with the sisters at Lausanne.\r
+\r
+"Was I ever high-colored, Tantripp?" said Dorothea, smiling faintly.\r
+\r
+"Well, not to say high-colored, but with a bloom like a Chiny rose.\r
+But always smelling those leather books, what can be expected? Do rest\r
+a little this morning, madam. Let me say you are ill and not able to\r
+go into that close library."\r
+\r
+"Oh no, no! let me make haste," said Dorothea. "Mr. Casaubon wants me\r
+particularly."\r
+\r
+When she went down she felt sure that she should promise to fulfil his\r
+wishes; but that would be later in the day--not yet.\r
+\r
+As Dorothea entered the library, Mr. Casaubon turned round from the\r
+table where he had been placing some books, and said--\r
+\r
+"I was waiting for your appearance, my dear. I had hoped to set to\r
+work at once this morning, but I find myself under some indisposition,\r
+probably from too much excitement yesterday. I am going now to take a\r
+turn in the shrubbery, since the air is milder."\r
+\r
+"I am glad to hear that," said Dorothea. "Your mind, I feared, was too\r
+active last night."\r
+\r
+"I would fain have it set at rest on the point I last spoke of,\r
+Dorothea. You can now, I hope, give me an answer."\r
+\r
+"May I come out to you in the garden presently?" said Dorothea, winning\r
+a little breathing space in that way.\r
+\r
+"I shall be in the Yew-tree Walk for the next half-hour," said Mr.\r
+Casaubon, and then he left her.\r
+\r
+Dorothea, feeling very weary, rang and asked Tantripp to bring her some\r
+wraps. She had been sitting still for a few minutes, but not in any\r
+renewal of the former conflict: she simply felt that she was going to\r
+say "Yes" to her own doom: she was too weak, too full of dread at the\r
+thought of inflicting a keen-edged blow on her husband, to do anything\r
+but submit completely. She sat still and let Tantripp put on her\r
+bonnet and shawl, a passivity which was unusual with her, for she liked\r
+to wait on herself.\r
+\r
+"God bless you, madam!" said Tantripp, with an irrepressible movement\r
+of love towards the beautiful, gentle creature for whom she felt unable\r
+to do anything more, now that she had finished tying the bonnet.\r
+\r
+This was too much for Dorothea's highly-strung feeling, and she burst\r
+into tears, sobbing against Tantripp's arm. But soon she checked\r
+herself, dried her eyes, and went out at the glass door into the\r
+shrubbery.\r
+\r
+"I wish every book in that library was built into a caticom for your\r
+master," said Tantripp to Pratt, the butler, finding him in the\r
+breakfast-room. She had been at Rome, and visited the antiquities, as\r
+we know; and she always declined to call Mr. Casaubon anything but\r
+"your master," when speaking to the other servants.\r
+\r
+Pratt laughed. He liked his master very well, but he liked Tantripp\r
+better.\r
+\r
+When Dorothea was out on the gravel walks, she lingered among the\r
+nearer clumps of trees, hesitating, as she had done once before, though\r
+from a different cause. Then she had feared lest her effort at\r
+fellowship should be unwelcome; now she dreaded going to the spot where\r
+she foresaw that she must bind herself to a fellowship from which she\r
+shrank. Neither law nor the world's opinion compelled her to\r
+this--only her husband's nature and her own compassion, only the ideal\r
+and not the real yoke of marriage. She saw clearly enough the whole\r
+situation, yet she was fettered: she could not smite the stricken soul\r
+that entreated hers. If that were weakness, Dorothea was weak. But\r
+the half-hour was passing, and she must not delay longer. When she\r
+entered the Yew-tree Walk she could not see her husband; but the walk\r
+had bends, and she went, expecting to catch sight of his figure wrapped\r
+in a blue cloak, which, with a warm velvet cap, was his outer garment\r
+on chill days for the garden. It occurred to her that he might be\r
+resting in the summer-house, towards which the path diverged a little.\r
+Turning the angle, she could see him seated on the bench, close to a\r
+stone table. His arms were resting on the table, and his brow was\r
+bowed down on them, the blue cloak being dragged forward and screening\r
+his face on each side.\r
+\r
+"He exhausted himself last night," Dorothea said to herself, thinking\r
+at first that he was asleep, and that the summer-house was too damp a\r
+place to rest in. But then she remembered that of late she had seen\r
+him take that attitude when she was reading to him, as if he found it\r
+easier than any other; and that he would sometimes speak, as well as\r
+listen, with his face down in that way. She went into the summerhouse\r
+and said, "I am come, Edward; I am ready."\r
+\r
+He took no notice, and she thought that he must be fast asleep. She\r
+laid her hand on his shoulder, and repeated, "I am ready!" Still he was\r
+motionless; and with a sudden confused fear, she leaned down to him,\r
+took off his velvet cap, and leaned her cheek close to his head, crying\r
+in a distressed tone--\r
+\r
+"Wake, dear, wake! Listen to me. I am come to answer." But Dorothea\r
+never gave her answer.\r
+\r
+Later in the day, Lydgate was seated by her bedside, and she was\r
+talking deliriously, thinking aloud, and recalling what had gone\r
+through her mind the night before. She knew him, and called him by his\r
+name, but appeared to think it right that she should explain everything\r
+to him; and again, and again, begged him to explain everything to her\r
+husband.\r
+\r
+"Tell him I shall go to him soon: I am ready to promise. Only,\r
+thinking about it was so dreadful--it has made me ill. Not very ill.\r
+I shall soon be better. Go and tell him."\r
+\r
+But the silence in her husband's ear was never more to be broken.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XLIX.\r
+\r
+ A task too strong for wizard spells\r
+ This squire had brought about;\r
+ 'T is easy dropping stones in wells,\r
+ But who shall get them out?"\r
+\r
+\r
+"I wish to God we could hinder Dorothea from knowing this," said Sir\r
+James Chettam, with a little frown on his brow, and an expression of\r
+intense disgust about his mouth.\r
+\r
+He was standing on the hearth-rug in the library at Lowick Grange, and\r
+speaking to Mr. Brooke. It was the day after Mr. Casaubon had been\r
+buried, and Dorothea was not yet able to leave her room.\r
+\r
+"That would be difficult, you know, Chettam, as she is an executrix,\r
+and she likes to go into these things--property, land, that kind of\r
+thing. She has her notions, you know," said Mr. Brooke, sticking his\r
+eye-glasses on nervously, and exploring the edges of a folded paper\r
+which he held in his hand; "and she would like to act--depend upon it,\r
+as an executrix Dorothea would want to act. And she was twenty-one\r
+last December, you know. I can hinder nothing."\r
+\r
+Sir James looked at the carpet for a minute in silence, and then\r
+lifting his eyes suddenly fixed them on Mr. Brooke, saying, "I will\r
+tell you what we can do. Until Dorothea is well, all business must be\r
+kept from her, and as soon as she is able to be moved she must come to\r
+us. Being with Celia and the baby will be the best thing in the world\r
+for her, and will pass away the time. And meanwhile you must get rid\r
+of Ladislaw: you must send him out of the country." Here Sir James's\r
+look of disgust returned in all its intensity.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke put his hands behind him, walked to the window and\r
+straightened his back with a little shake before he replied.\r
+\r
+"That is easily said, Chettam, easily said, you know."\r
+\r
+"My dear sir," persisted Sir James, restraining his indignation within\r
+respectful forms, "it was you who brought him here, and you who keep\r
+him here--I mean by the occupation you give him."\r
+\r
+"Yes, but I can't dismiss him in an instant without assigning reasons,\r
+my dear Chettam. Ladislaw has been invaluable, most satisfactory. I\r
+consider that I have done this part of the country a service by\r
+bringing him--by bringing him, you know." Mr. Brooke ended with a nod,\r
+turning round to give it.\r
+\r
+"It's a pity this part of the country didn't do without him, that's all\r
+I have to say about it. At any rate, as Dorothea's brother-in-law, I\r
+feel warranted in objecting strongly to his being kept here by any\r
+action on the part of her friends. You admit, I hope, that I have a\r
+right to speak about what concerns the dignity of my wife's sister?"\r
+\r
+Sir James was getting warm.\r
+\r
+"Of course, my dear Chettam, of course. But you and I have different\r
+ideas--different--"\r
+\r
+"Not about this action of Casaubon's, I should hope," interrupted Sir\r
+James. "I say that he has most unfairly compromised Dorothea. I say\r
+that there never was a meaner, more ungentlemanly action than this--a\r
+codicil of this sort to a will which he made at the time of his\r
+marriage with the knowledge and reliance of her family--a positive\r
+insult to Dorothea!"\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, Casaubon was a little twisted about Ladislaw.\r
+Ladislaw has told me the reason--dislike of the bent he took, you\r
+know--Ladislaw didn't think much of Casaubon's notions, Thoth and\r
+Dagon--that sort of thing: and I fancy that Casaubon didn't like the\r
+independent position Ladislaw had taken up. I saw the letters between\r
+them, you know. Poor Casaubon was a little buried in books--he didn't\r
+know the world."\r
+\r
+"It's all very well for Ladislaw to put that color on it," said Sir\r
+James. "But I believe Casaubon was only jealous of him on Dorothea's\r
+account, and the world will suppose that she gave him some reason; and\r
+that is what makes it so abominable--coupling her name with this young\r
+fellow's."\r
+\r
+"My dear Chettam, it won't lead to anything, you know," said Mr.\r
+Brooke, seating himself and sticking on his eye-glass again. "It's all\r
+of a piece with Casaubon's oddity. This paper, now, 'Synoptical\r
+Tabulation' and so on, 'for the use of Mrs. Casaubon,' it was locked up\r
+in the desk with the will. I suppose he meant Dorothea to publish his\r
+researches, eh? and she'll do it, you know; she has gone into his\r
+studies uncommonly."\r
+\r
+"My dear sir," said Sir James, impatiently, "that is neither here nor\r
+there. The question is, whether you don't see with me the propriety of\r
+sending young Ladislaw away?"\r
+\r
+"Well, no, not the urgency of the thing. By-and-by, perhaps, it may\r
+come round. As to gossip, you know, sending him away won't hinder\r
+gossip. People say what they like to say, not what they have chapter\r
+and verse for," said Mr Brooke, becoming acute about the truths that\r
+lay on the side of his own wishes. "I might get rid of Ladislaw up to\r
+a certain point--take away the 'Pioneer' from him, and that sort of\r
+thing; but I couldn't send him out of the country if he didn't choose\r
+to go--didn't choose, you know."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke, persisting as quietly as if he were only discussing the\r
+nature of last year's weather, and nodding at the end with his usual\r
+amenity, was an exasperating form of obstinacy.\r
+\r
+"Good God!" said Sir James, with as much passion as he ever showed,\r
+"let us get him a post; let us spend money on him. If he could go in\r
+the suite of some Colonial Governor! Grampus might take him--and I\r
+could write to Fulke about it."\r
+\r
+"But Ladislaw won't be shipped off like a head of cattle, my dear\r
+fellow; Ladislaw has his ideas. It's my opinion that if he were to\r
+part from me to-morrow, you'd only hear the more of him in the country.\r
+With his talent for speaking and drawing up documents, there are few\r
+men who could come up to him as an agitator--an agitator, you know."\r
+\r
+"Agitator!" said Sir James, with bitter emphasis, feeling that the\r
+syllables of this word properly repeated were a sufficient exposure of\r
+its hatefulness.\r
+\r
+"But be reasonable, Chettam. Dorothea, now. As you say, she had\r
+better go to Celia as soon as possible. She can stay under your roof,\r
+and in the mean time things may come round quietly. Don't let us be\r
+firing off our guns in a hurry, you know. Standish will keep our\r
+counsel, and the news will be old before it's known. Twenty things may\r
+happen to carry off Ladislaw--without my doing anything, you know."\r
+\r
+"Then I am to conclude that you decline to do anything?"\r
+\r
+"Decline, Chettam?--no--I didn't say decline. But I really don't see\r
+what I could do. Ladislaw is a gentleman."\r
+\r
+"I am glad to hear it!" said Sir James, his irritation making him\r
+forget himself a little. "I am sure Casaubon was not."\r
+\r
+"Well, it would have been worse if he had made the codicil to hinder\r
+her from marrying again at all, you know."\r
+\r
+"I don't know that," said Sir James. "It would have been less\r
+indelicate."\r
+\r
+"One of poor Casaubon's freaks! That attack upset his brain a little.\r
+It all goes for nothing. She doesn't _want_ to marry Ladislaw."\r
+\r
+"But this codicil is framed so as to make everybody believe that she\r
+did. I don't believe anything of the sort about Dorothea," said Sir\r
+James--then frowningly, "but I suspect Ladislaw. I tell you frankly,\r
+I suspect Ladislaw."\r
+\r
+"I couldn't take any immediate action on that ground, Chettam. In\r
+fact, if it were possible to pack him off--send him to Norfolk\r
+Island--that sort of thing--it would look all the worse for Dorothea\r
+to those who knew about it. It would seem as if we distrusted\r
+her--distrusted her, you know."\r
+\r
+That Mr. Brooke had hit on an undeniable argument, did not tend to\r
+soothe Sir James. He put out his hand to reach his hat, implying that\r
+he did not mean to contend further, and said, still with some heat--\r
+\r
+"Well, I can only say that I think Dorothea was sacrificed once,\r
+because her friends were too careless. I shall do what I can, as her\r
+brother, to protect her now."\r
+\r
+"You can't do better than get her to Freshitt as soon as possible,\r
+Chettam. I approve that plan altogether," said Mr. Brooke, well\r
+pleased that he had won the argument. It would have been highly\r
+inconvenient to him to part with Ladislaw at that time, when a\r
+dissolution might happen any day, and electors were to be convinced of\r
+the course by which the interests of the country would be best served.\r
+Mr. Brooke sincerely believed that this end could be secured by his own\r
+return to Parliament: he offered the forces of his mind honestly to the\r
+nation.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER L.\r
+\r
+ "'This Loller here wol precilen us somewhat.'\r
+ 'Nay by my father's soule! that schal he nat,'\r
+ Sayde the Schipman, 'here schal he not preche,\r
+ We schal no gospel glosen here ne teche.\r
+ We leven all in the gret God,' quod he.\r
+ He wolden sowen some diffcultee."\r
+ Canterbury Tales.\r
+\r
+\r
+Dorothea had been safe at Freshitt Hall nearly a week before she had\r
+asked any dangerous questions. Every morning now she sat with Celia in\r
+the prettiest of up-stairs sitting-rooms, opening into a small\r
+conservatory--Celia all in white and lavender like a bunch of mixed\r
+violets, watching the remarkable acts of the baby, which were so\r
+dubious to her inexperienced mind that all conversation was interrupted\r
+by appeals for their interpretation made to the oracular nurse.\r
+Dorothea sat by in her widow's dress, with an expression which rather\r
+provoked Celia, as being much too sad; for not only was baby quite\r
+well, but really when a husband had been so dull and troublesome while\r
+he lived, and besides that had--well, well! Sir James, of course, had\r
+told Celia everything, with a strong representation how important it\r
+was that Dorothea should not know it sooner than was inevitable.\r
+\r
+But Mr. Brooke had been right in predicting that Dorothea would not\r
+long remain passive where action had been assigned to her; she knew the\r
+purport of her husband's will made at the time of their marriage, and\r
+her mind, as soon as she was clearly conscious of her position, was\r
+silently occupied with what she ought to do as the owner of Lowick\r
+Manor with the patronage of the living attached to it.\r
+\r
+One morning when her uncle paid his usual visit, though with an unusual\r
+alacrity in his manner which he accounted for by saying that it was now\r
+pretty certain Parliament would be dissolved forthwith, Dorothea said--\r
+\r
+"Uncle, it is right now that I should consider who is to have the\r
+living at Lowick. After Mr. Tucker had been provided for, I never\r
+heard my husband say that he had any clergyman in his mind as a\r
+successor to himself. I think I ought to have the keys now and go to\r
+Lowick to examine all my husband's papers. There may be something that\r
+would throw light on his wishes."\r
+\r
+"No hurry, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, quietly. "By-and-by, you know,\r
+you can go, if you like. But I cast my eyes over things in the desks\r
+and drawers--there was nothing--nothing but deep subjects, you\r
+know--besides the will. Everything can be done by-and-by. As to the\r
+living, I have had an application for interest already--I should say\r
+rather good. Mr. Tyke has been strongly recommended to me--I had\r
+something to do with getting him an appointment before. An apostolic\r
+man, I believe--the sort of thing that would suit you, my dear."\r
+\r
+"I should like to have fuller knowledge about him, uncle, and judge for\r
+myself, if Mr. Casaubon has not left any expression of his wishes. He\r
+has perhaps made some addition to his will--there may be some\r
+instructions for me," said Dorothea, who had all the while had this\r
+conjecture in her mind with relation to her husband's work.\r
+\r
+"Nothing about the rectory, my dear--nothing," said Mr. Brooke, rising\r
+to go away, and putting out his hand to his nieces: "nor about his\r
+researches, you know. Nothing in the will."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's lip quivered.\r
+\r
+"Come, you must not think of these things yet, my dear. By-and-by, you\r
+know."\r
+\r
+"I am quite well now, uncle; I wish to exert myself."\r
+\r
+"Well, well, we shall see. But I must run away now--I have no end of\r
+work now--it's a crisis--a political crisis, you know. And here is\r
+Celia and her little man--you are an aunt, you know, now, and I am a\r
+sort of grandfather," said Mr. Brooke, with placid hurry, anxious to\r
+get away and tell Chettam that it would not be his (Mr. Brooke's) fault\r
+if Dorothea insisted on looking into everything.\r
+\r
+Dorothea sank back in her chair when her uncle had left the room, and\r
+cast her eyes down meditatively on her crossed hands.\r
+\r
+"Look, Dodo! look at him! Did you ever see anything like that?" said\r
+Celia, in her comfortable staccato.\r
+\r
+"What, Kitty?" said Dorothea, lifting her eyes rather absently.\r
+\r
+"What? why, his upper lip; see how he is drawing it down, as if he\r
+meant to make a face. Isn't it wonderful! He may have his little\r
+thoughts. I wish nurse were here. Do look at him."\r
+\r
+A large tear which had been for some time gathering, rolled down\r
+Dorothea's cheek as she looked up and tried to smile.\r
+\r
+"Don't be sad, Dodo; kiss baby. What are you brooding over so? I am\r
+sure you did everything, and a great deal too much. You should be\r
+happy now."\r
+\r
+"I wonder if Sir James would drive me to Lowick. I want to look over\r
+everything--to see if there were any words written for me."\r
+\r
+"You are not to go till Mr. Lydgate says you may go. And he has not\r
+said so yet (here you are, nurse; take baby and walk up and down the\r
+gallery). Besides, you have got a wrong notion in your head as usual,\r
+Dodo--I can see that: it vexes me."\r
+\r
+"Where am I wrong, Kitty?" said Dorothea, quite meekly. She was almost\r
+ready now to think Celia wiser than herself, and was really wondering\r
+with some fear what her wrong notion was. Celia felt her advantage,\r
+and was determined to use it. None of them knew Dodo as well as she\r
+did, or knew how to manage her. Since Celia's baby was born, she had\r
+had a new sense of her mental solidity and calm wisdom. It seemed\r
+clear that where there was a baby, things were right enough, and that\r
+error, in general, was a mere lack of that central poising force.\r
+\r
+"I can see what you are thinking of as well as can be, Dodo," said\r
+Celia. "You are wanting to find out if there is anything uncomfortable\r
+for you to do now, only because Mr. Casaubon wished it. As if you had\r
+not been uncomfortable enough before. And he doesn't deserve it, and\r
+you will find that out. He has behaved very badly. James is as angry\r
+with him as can be. And I had better tell you, to prepare you."\r
+\r
+"Celia," said Dorothea, entreatingly, "you distress me. Tell me at\r
+once what you mean." It glanced through her mind that Mr. Casaubon\r
+had left the property away from her--which would not be so very\r
+distressing.\r
+\r
+"Why, he has made a codicil to his will, to say the property was all to\r
+go away from you if you married--I mean--"\r
+\r
+"That is of no consequence," said Dorothea, breaking in impetuously.\r
+\r
+"But if you married Mr. Ladislaw, not anybody else," Celia went on with\r
+persevering quietude. "Of course that is of no consequence in one\r
+way--you never _would_ marry Mr. Ladislaw; but that only makes it worse\r
+of Mr. Casaubon."\r
+\r
+The blood rushed to Dorothea's face and neck painfully. But Celia was\r
+administering what she thought a sobering dose of fact. It was taking\r
+up notions that had done Dodo's health so much harm. So she went on in\r
+her neutral tone, as if she had been remarking on baby's robes.\r
+\r
+"James says so. He says it is abominable, and not like a gentleman.\r
+And there never was a better judge than James. It is as if Mr.\r
+Casaubon wanted to make people believe that you would wish to marry Mr.\r
+Ladislaw--which is ridiculous. Only James says it was to hinder Mr.\r
+Ladislaw from wanting to marry you for your money--just as if he ever\r
+would think of making you an offer. Mrs. Cadwallader said you might as\r
+well marry an Italian with white mice! But I must just go and look at\r
+baby," Celia added, without the least change of tone, throwing a light\r
+shawl over her, and tripping away.\r
+\r
+Dorothea by this time had turned cold again, and now threw herself back\r
+helplessly in her chair. She might have compared her experience at\r
+that moment to the vague, alarmed consciousness that her life was\r
+taking on a new form, that she was undergoing a metamorphosis in which\r
+memory would not adjust itself to the stirring of new organs.\r
+Everything was changing its aspect: her husband's conduct, her own\r
+duteous feeling towards him, every struggle between them--and yet\r
+more, her whole relation to Will Ladislaw. Her world was in a state of\r
+convulsive change; the only thing she could say distinctly to herself\r
+was, that she must wait and think anew. One change terrified her as if\r
+it had been a sin; it was a violent shock of repulsion from her\r
+departed husband, who had had hidden thoughts, perhaps perverting\r
+everything she said and did. Then again she was conscious of another\r
+change which also made her tremulous; it was a sudden strange yearning\r
+of heart towards Will Ladislaw. It had never before entered her mind\r
+that he could, under any circumstances, be her lover: conceive the\r
+effect of the sudden revelation that another had thought of him in that\r
+light--that perhaps he himself had been conscious of such a\r
+possibility,--and this with the hurrying, crowding vision of unfitting\r
+conditions, and questions not soon to be solved.\r
+\r
+It seemed a long while--she did not know how long--before she heard\r
+Celia saying, "That will do, nurse; he will be quiet on my lap now.\r
+You can go to lunch, and let Garratt stay in the next room." "What I\r
+think, Dodo," Celia went on, observing nothing more than that Dorothea\r
+was leaning back in her chair, and likely to be passive, "is that Mr.\r
+Casaubon was spiteful. I never did like him, and James never did. I\r
+think the corners of his mouth were dreadfully spiteful. And now he\r
+has behaved in this way, I am sure religion does not require you to\r
+make yourself uncomfortable about him. If he has been taken away, that\r
+is a mercy, and you ought to be grateful. We should not grieve, should\r
+we, baby?" said Celia confidentially to that unconscious centre and\r
+poise of the world, who had the most remarkable fists all complete even\r
+to the nails, and hair enough, really, when you took his cap off, to\r
+make--you didn't know what:--in short, he was Bouddha in a Western\r
+form.\r
+\r
+At this crisis Lydgate was announced, and one of the first things he\r
+said was, "I fear you are not so well as you were, Mrs. Casaubon; have\r
+you been agitated? allow me to feel your pulse." Dorothea's hand was\r
+of a marble coldness.\r
+\r
+"She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers," said Celia. "She\r
+ought not, ought she?"\r
+\r
+Lydgate did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, looking at\r
+Dorothea. "I hardly know. In my opinion Mrs. Casaubon should do what\r
+would give her the most repose of mind. That repose will not always\r
+come from being forbidden to act."\r
+\r
+"Thank you," said Dorothea, exerting herself, "I am sure that is wise.\r
+There are so many things which I ought to attend to. Why should I sit\r
+here idle?" Then, with an effort to recall subjects not connected with\r
+her agitation, she added, abruptly, "You know every one in Middlemarch,\r
+I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell me a great deal. I have\r
+serious things to do now. I have a living to give away. You know Mr.\r
+Tyke and all the--" But Dorothea's effort was too much for her; she\r
+broke off and burst into sobs. Lydgate made her drink a dose of sal\r
+volatile.\r
+\r
+"Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes," he said to Sir James, whom he\r
+asked to see before quitting the house. "She wants perfect freedom, I\r
+think, more than any other prescription."\r
+\r
+His attendance on Dorothea while her brain was excited, had enabled him\r
+to form some true conclusions concerning the trials of her life. He\r
+felt sure that she had been suffering from the strain and conflict of\r
+self-repression; and that she was likely now to feel herself only in\r
+another sort of pinfold than that from which she had been released.\r
+\r
+Lydgate's advice was all the easier for Sir James to follow when he\r
+found that Celia had already told Dorothea the unpleasant fact about\r
+the will. There was no help for it now--no reason for any further\r
+delay in the execution of necessary business. And the next day Sir\r
+James complied at once with her request that he would drive her to\r
+Lowick.\r
+\r
+"I have no wish to stay there at present," said Dorothea; "I could\r
+hardly bear it. I am much happier at Freshitt with Celia. I shall be\r
+able to think better about what should be done at Lowick by looking at\r
+it from a distance. And I should like to be at the Grange a little\r
+while with my uncle, and go about in all the old walks and among the\r
+people in the village."\r
+\r
+"Not yet, I think. Your uncle is having political company, and you are\r
+better out of the way of such doings," said Sir James, who at that\r
+moment thought of the Grange chiefly as a haunt of young Ladislaw's.\r
+But no word passed between him and Dorothea about the objectionable\r
+part of the will; indeed, both of them felt that the mention of it\r
+between them would be impossible. Sir James was shy, even with men,\r
+about disagreeable subjects; and the one thing that Dorothea would have\r
+chosen to say, if she had spoken on the matter at all, was forbidden to\r
+her at present because it seemed to be a further exposure of her\r
+husband's injustice. Yet she did wish that Sir James could know what\r
+had passed between her and her husband about Will Ladislaw's moral\r
+claim on the property: it would then, she thought, be apparent to him\r
+as it was to her, that her husband's strange indelicate proviso had\r
+been chiefly urged by his bitter resistance to that idea of claim, and\r
+not merely by personal feelings more difficult to talk about. Also, it\r
+must be admitted, Dorothea wished that this could be known for Will's\r
+sake, since her friends seemed to think of him as simply an object of\r
+Mr. Casaubon's charity. Why should he be compared with an Italian\r
+carrying white mice? That word quoted from Mrs. Cadwallader seemed\r
+like a mocking travesty wrought in the dark by an impish finger.\r
+\r
+At Lowick Dorothea searched desk and drawer--searched all her husband's\r
+places of deposit for private writing, but found no paper addressed\r
+especially to her, except that "Synoptical Tabulation," which was\r
+probably only the beginning of many intended directions for her\r
+guidance. In carrying out this bequest of labor to Dorothea, as in all\r
+else, Mr. Casaubon had been slow and hesitating, oppressed in the plan\r
+of transmitting his work, as he had been in executing it, by the sense\r
+of moving heavily in a dim and clogging medium: distrust of Dorothea's\r
+competence to arrange what he had prepared was subdued only by distrust\r
+of any other redactor. But he had come at last to create a trust for\r
+himself out of Dorothea's nature: she could do what she resolved to do:\r
+and he willingly imagined her toiling under the fetters of a promise to\r
+erect a tomb with his name upon it. (Not that Mr. Casaubon called the\r
+future volumes a tomb; he called them the Key to all Mythologies.) But\r
+the months gained on him and left his plans belated: he had only had\r
+time to ask for that promise by which he sought to keep his cold grasp\r
+on Dorothea's life.\r
+\r
+The grasp had slipped away. Bound by a pledge given from the depths of\r
+her pity, she would have been capable of undertaking a toil which her\r
+judgment whispered was vain for all uses except that consecration of\r
+faithfulness which is a supreme use. But now her judgment, instead of\r
+being controlled by duteous devotion, was made active by the\r
+imbittering discovery that in her past union there had lurked the\r
+hidden alienation of secrecy and suspicion. The living, suffering man\r
+was no longer before her to awaken her pity: there remained only the\r
+retrospect of painful subjection to a husband whose thoughts had been\r
+lower than she had believed, whose exorbitant claims for himself had\r
+even blinded his scrupulous care for his own character, and made him\r
+defeat his own pride by shocking men of ordinary honor. As for the\r
+property which was the sign of that broken tie, she would have been\r
+glad to be free from it and have nothing more than her original fortune\r
+which had been settled on her, if there had not been duties attached to\r
+ownership, which she ought not to flinch from. About this property\r
+many troublous questions insisted on rising: had she not been right in\r
+thinking that the half of it ought to go to Will Ladislaw?--but was it\r
+not impossible now for her to do that act of justice? Mr. Casaubon had\r
+taken a cruelly effective means of hindering her: even with indignation\r
+against him in her heart, any act that seemed a triumphant eluding of\r
+his purpose revolted her.\r
+\r
+After collecting papers of business which she wished to examine, she\r
+locked up again the desks and drawers--all empty of personal words for\r
+her--empty of any sign that in her husband's lonely brooding his heart\r
+had gone out to her in excuse or explanation; and she went back to\r
+Freshitt with the sense that around his last hard demand and his last\r
+injurious assertion of his power, the silence was unbroken.\r
+\r
+Dorothea tried now to turn her thoughts towards immediate duties, and\r
+one of these was of a kind which others were determined to remind her\r
+of. Lydgate's ear had caught eagerly her mention of the living, and as\r
+soon as he could, he reopened the subject, seeing here a possibility of\r
+making amends for the casting-vote he had once given with an\r
+ill-satisfied conscience. "Instead of telling you anything about Mr.\r
+Tyke," he said, "I should like to speak of another man--Mr.\r
+Farebrother, the Vicar of St. Botolph's. His living is a poor one, and\r
+gives him a stinted provision for himself and his family. His mother,\r
+aunt, and sister all live with him, and depend upon him. I believe he\r
+has never married because of them. I never heard such good preaching\r
+as his--such plain, easy eloquence. He would have done to preach at\r
+St. Paul's Cross after old Latimer. His talk is just as good about all\r
+subjects: original, simple, clear. I think him a remarkable fellow: he\r
+ought to have done more than he has done."\r
+\r
+"Why has he not done more?" said Dorothea, interested now in all who\r
+had slipped below their own intention.\r
+\r
+"That's a hard question," said Lydgate. "I find myself that it's\r
+uncommonly difficult to make the right thing work: there are so many\r
+strings pulling at once. Farebrother often hints that he has got into\r
+the wrong profession; he wants a wider range than that of a poor\r
+clergyman, and I suppose he has no interest to help him on. He is very\r
+fond of Natural History and various scientific matters, and he is\r
+hampered in reconciling these tastes with his position. He has no\r
+money to spare--hardly enough to use; and that has led him into\r
+card-playing--Middlemarch is a great place for whist. He does play for\r
+money, and he wins a good deal. Of course that takes him into company\r
+a little beneath him, and makes him slack about some things; and yet,\r
+with all that, looking at him as a whole, I think he is one of the most\r
+blameless men I ever knew. He has neither venom nor doubleness in him,\r
+and those often go with a more correct outside."\r
+\r
+"I wonder whether he suffers in his conscience because of that habit,"\r
+said Dorothea; "I wonder whether he wishes he could leave it off."\r
+\r
+"I have no doubt he would leave it off, if he were transplanted into\r
+plenty: he would be glad of the time for other things."\r
+\r
+"My uncle says that Mr. Tyke is spoken of as an apostolic man," said\r
+Dorothea, meditatively. She was wishing it were possible to restore\r
+the times of primitive zeal, and yet thinking of Mr. Farebrother with a\r
+strong desire to rescue him from his chance-gotten money.\r
+\r
+"I don't pretend to say that Farebrother is apostolic," said Lydgate.\r
+"His position is not quite like that of the Apostles: he is only a\r
+parson among parishioners whose lives he has to try and make better.\r
+Practically I find that what is called being apostolic now, is an\r
+impatience of everything in which the parson doesn't cut the principal\r
+figure. I see something of that in Mr. Tyke at the Hospital: a good\r
+deal of his doctrine is a sort of pinching hard to make people\r
+uncomfortably aware of him. Besides, an apostolic man at Lowick!--he\r
+ought to think, as St. Francis did, that it is needful to preach to the\r
+birds."\r
+\r
+"True," said Dorothea. "It is hard to imagine what sort of notions our\r
+farmers and laborers get from their teaching. I have been looking into\r
+a volume of sermons by Mr. Tyke: such sermons would be of no use at\r
+Lowick--I mean, about imputed righteousness and the prophecies in the\r
+Apocalypse. I have always been thinking of the different ways in which\r
+Christianity is taught, and whenever I find one way that makes it a\r
+wider blessing than any other, I cling to that as the truest--I mean\r
+that which takes in the most good of all kinds, and brings in the most\r
+people as sharers in it. It is surely better to pardon too much, than\r
+to condemn too much. But I should like to see Mr. Farebrother and hear\r
+him preach."\r
+\r
+"Do," said Lydgate; "I trust to the effect of that. He is very much\r
+beloved, but he has his enemies too: there are always people who can't\r
+forgive an able man for differing from them. And that money-winning\r
+business is really a blot. You don't, of course, see many Middlemarch\r
+people: but Mr. Ladislaw, who is constantly seeing Mr. Brooke, is a\r
+great friend of Mr. Farebrother's old ladies, and would be glad to sing\r
+the Vicar's praises. One of the old ladies--Miss Noble, the aunt--is a\r
+wonderfully quaint picture of self-forgetful goodness, and Ladislaw\r
+gallants her about sometimes. I met them one day in a back street: you\r
+know Ladislaw's look--a sort of Daphnis in coat and waistcoat; and this\r
+little old maid reaching up to his arm--they looked like a couple\r
+dropped out of a romantic comedy. But the best evidence about\r
+Farebrother is to see him and hear him."\r
+\r
+Happily Dorothea was in her private sitting-room when this conversation\r
+occurred, and there was no one present to make Lydgate's innocent\r
+introduction of Ladislaw painful to her. As was usual with him in\r
+matters of personal gossip, Lydgate had quite forgotten Rosamond's\r
+remark that she thought Will adored Mrs. Casaubon. At that moment he\r
+was only caring for what would recommend the Farebrother family; and he\r
+had purposely given emphasis to the worst that could be said about the\r
+Vicar, in order to forestall objections. In the weeks since Mr.\r
+Casaubon's death he had hardly seen Ladislaw, and he had heard no rumor\r
+to warn him that Mr. Brooke's confidential secretary was a dangerous\r
+subject with Mrs. Casaubon. When he was gone, his picture of Ladislaw\r
+lingered in her mind and disputed the ground with that question of the\r
+Lowick living. What was Will Ladislaw thinking about her? Would he\r
+hear of that fact which made her cheeks burn as they never used to do?\r
+And how would he feel when he heard it?--But she could see as well as\r
+possible how he smiled down at the little old maid. An Italian with\r
+white mice!--on the contrary, he was a creature who entered into every\r
+one's feelings, and could take the pressure of their thought instead of\r
+urging his own with iron resistance.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LI.\r
+\r
+ Party is Nature too, and you shall see\r
+ By force of Logic how they both agree:\r
+ The Many in the One, the One in Many;\r
+ All is not Some, nor Some the same as Any:\r
+ Genus holds species, both are great or small;\r
+ One genus highest, one not high at all;\r
+ Each species has its differentia too,\r
+ This is not That, and He was never You,\r
+ Though this and that are AYES, and you and he\r
+ Are like as one to one, or three to three.\r
+\r
+\r
+No gossip about Mr. Casaubon's will had yet reached Ladislaw: the air\r
+seemed to be filled with the dissolution of Parliament and the coming\r
+election, as the old wakes and fairs were filled with the rival clatter\r
+of itinerant shows; and more private noises were taken little notice\r
+of. The famous "dry election" was at hand, in which the depths of\r
+public feeling might be measured by the low flood-mark of drink. Will\r
+Ladislaw was one of the busiest at this time; and though Dorothea's\r
+widowhood was continually in his thought, he was so far from wishing to\r
+be spoken to on the subject, that when Lydgate sought him out to tell\r
+him what had passed about the Lowick living, he answered rather\r
+waspishly--\r
+\r
+"Why should you bring me into the matter? I never see Mrs. Casaubon,\r
+and am not likely to see her, since she is at Freshitt. I never go\r
+there. It is Tory ground, where I and the 'Pioneer' are no more\r
+welcome than a poacher and his gun."\r
+\r
+The fact was that Will had been made the more susceptible by observing\r
+that Mr. Brooke, instead of wishing him, as before, to come to the\r
+Grange oftener than was quite agreeable to himself, seemed now to\r
+contrive that he should go there as little as possible. This was a\r
+shuffling concession of Mr. Brooke's to Sir James Chettam's indignant\r
+remonstrance; and Will, awake to the slightest hint in this direction,\r
+concluded that he was to be kept away from the Grange on Dorothea's\r
+account. Her friends, then, regarded him with some suspicion? Their\r
+fears were quite superfluous: they were very much mistaken if they\r
+imagined that he would put himself forward as a needy adventurer trying\r
+to win the favor of a rich woman.\r
+\r
+Until now Will had never fully seen the chasm between himself and\r
+Dorothea--until now that he was come to the brink of it, and saw her on\r
+the other side. He began, not without some inward rage, to think of\r
+going away from the neighborhood: it would be impossible for him to\r
+show any further interest in Dorothea without subjecting himself to\r
+disagreeable imputations--perhaps even in her mind, which others might\r
+try to poison.\r
+\r
+"We are forever divided," said Will. "I might as well be at Rome; she\r
+would be no farther from me." But what we call our despair is often\r
+only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. There were plenty of reasons\r
+why he should not go--public reasons why he should not quit his post at\r
+this crisis, leaving Mr. Brooke in the lurch when he needed "coaching"\r
+for the election, and when there was so much canvassing, direct and\r
+indirect, to be carried on. Will could not like to leave his own\r
+chessmen in the heat of a game; and any candidate on the right side,\r
+even if his brain and marrow had been as soft as was consistent with a\r
+gentlemanly bearing, might help to turn a majority. To coach Mr.\r
+Brooke and keep him steadily to the idea that he must pledge himself to\r
+vote for the actual Reform Bill, instead of insisting on his\r
+independence and power of pulling up in time, was not an easy task.\r
+Mr. Farebrother's prophecy of a fourth candidate "in the bag" had not\r
+yet been fulfilled, neither the Parliamentary Candidate Society nor any\r
+other power on the watch to secure a reforming majority seeing a worthy\r
+nodus for interference while there was a second reforming candidate\r
+like Mr. Brooke, who might be returned at his own expense; and the\r
+fight lay entirely between Pinkerton the old Tory member, Bagster the\r
+new Whig member returned at the last election, and Brooke the future\r
+independent member, who was to fetter himself for this occasion only.\r
+Mr. Hawley and his party would bend all their forces to the return of\r
+Pinkerton, and Mr. Brooke's success must depend either on plumpers\r
+which would leave Bagster in the rear, or on the new minting of Tory\r
+votes into reforming votes. The latter means, of course, would be\r
+preferable.\r
+\r
+This prospect of converting votes was a dangerous distraction to Mr.\r
+Brooke: his impression that waverers were likely to be allured by\r
+wavering statements, and also the liability of his mind to stick afresh\r
+at opposing arguments as they turned up in his memory, gave Will\r
+Ladislaw much trouble.\r
+\r
+"You know there are tactics in these things," said Mr. Brooke; "meeting\r
+people half-way--tempering your ideas--saying, 'Well now, there's\r
+something in that,' and so on. I agree with you that this is a\r
+peculiar occasion--the country with a will of its own--political\r
+unions--that sort of thing--but we sometimes cut with rather too sharp\r
+a knife, Ladislaw. These ten-pound householders, now: why ten? Draw\r
+the line somewhere--yes: but why just at ten? That's a difficult\r
+question, now, if you go into it."\r
+\r
+"Of course it is," said Will, impatiently. "But if you are to wait\r
+till we get a logical Bill, you must put yourself forward as a\r
+revolutionist, and then Middlemarch would not elect you, I fancy. As\r
+for trimming, this is not a time for trimming."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke always ended by agreeing with Ladislaw, who still appeared\r
+to him a sort of Burke with a leaven of Shelley; but after an interval\r
+the wisdom of his own methods reasserted itself, and he was again drawn\r
+into using them with much hopefulness. At this stage of affairs he was\r
+in excellent spirits, which even supported him under large advances of\r
+money; for his powers of convincing and persuading had not yet been\r
+tested by anything more difficult than a chairman's speech introducing\r
+other orators, or a dialogue with a Middlemarch voter, from which he\r
+came away with a sense that he was a tactician by nature, and that it\r
+was a pity he had not gone earlier into this kind of thing. He was a\r
+little conscious of defeat, however, with Mr. Mawmsey, a chief\r
+representative in Middlemarch of that great social power, the retail\r
+trader, and naturally one of the most doubtful voters in the\r
+borough--willing for his own part to supply an equal quality of teas\r
+and sugars to reformer and anti-reformer, as well as to agree\r
+impartially with both, and feeling like the burgesses of old that this\r
+necessity of electing members was a great burthen to a town; for even\r
+if there were no danger in holding out hopes to all parties beforehand,\r
+there would be the painful necessity at last of disappointing\r
+respectable people whose names were on his books. He was accustomed to\r
+receive large orders from Mr. Brooke of Tipton; but then, there were\r
+many of Pinkerton's committee whose opinions had a great weight of\r
+grocery on their side. Mr. Mawmsey thinking that Mr. Brooke, as not\r
+too "clever in his intellects," was the more likely to forgive a grocer\r
+who gave a hostile vote under pressure, had become confidential in his\r
+back parlor.\r
+\r
+"As to Reform, sir, put it in a family light," he said, rattling the\r
+small silver in his pocket, and smiling affably. "Will it support Mrs.\r
+Mawmsey, and enable her to bring up six children when I am no more? I\r
+put the question _fictiously_, knowing what must be the answer. Very\r
+well, sir. I ask you what, as a husband and a father, I am to do when\r
+gentlemen come to me and say, 'Do as you like, Mawmsey; but if you vote\r
+against us, I shall get my groceries elsewhere: when I sugar my liquor\r
+I like to feel that I am benefiting the country by maintaining\r
+tradesmen of the right color.' Those very words have been spoken to\r
+me, sir, in the very chair where you are now sitting. I don't mean by\r
+your honorable self, Mr. Brooke."\r
+\r
+"No, no, no--that's narrow, you know. Until my butler complains to me\r
+of your goods, Mr. Mawmsey," said Mr. Brooke, soothingly, "until I hear\r
+that you send bad sugars, spices--that sort of thing--I shall never\r
+order him to go elsewhere."\r
+\r
+"Sir, I am your humble servant, and greatly obliged," said Mr. Mawmsey,\r
+feeling that politics were clearing up a little. "There would be some\r
+pleasure in voting for a gentleman who speaks in that honorable manner."\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, Mr. Mawmsey, you would find it the right thing to put\r
+yourself on our side. This Reform will touch everybody by-and-by--a\r
+thoroughly popular measure--a sort of A, B, C, you know, that must come\r
+first before the rest can follow. I quite agree with you that you've\r
+got to look at the thing in a family light: but public spirit, now.\r
+We're all one family, you know--it's all one cupboard. Such a thing\r
+as a vote, now: why, it may help to make men's fortunes at the\r
+Cape--there's no knowing what may be the effect of a vote," Mr. Brooke\r
+ended, with a sense of being a little out at sea, though finding it\r
+still enjoyable. But Mr. Mawmsey answered in a tone of decisive check.\r
+\r
+"I beg your pardon, sir, but I can't afford that. When I give a vote I\r
+must know what I am doing; I must look to what will be the effects on\r
+my till and ledger, speaking respectfully. Prices, I'll admit, are\r
+what nobody can know the merits of; and the sudden falls after you've\r
+bought in currants, which are a goods that will not keep--I've never;\r
+myself seen into the ins and outs there; which is a rebuke to human\r
+pride. But as to one family, there's debtor and creditor, I hope;\r
+they're not going to reform that away; else I should vote for things\r
+staying as they are. Few men have less need to cry for change than I\r
+have, personally speaking--that is, for self and family. I am not one\r
+of those who have nothing to lose: I mean as to respectability both in\r
+parish and private business, and noways in respect of your honorable\r
+self and custom, which you was good enough to say you would not\r
+withdraw from me, vote or no vote, while the article sent in was\r
+satisfactory."\r
+\r
+After this conversation Mr. Mawmsey went up and boasted to his wife\r
+that he had been rather too many for Brooke of Tipton, and that he\r
+didn't mind so much now about going to the poll.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke on this occasion abstained from boasting of his tactics to\r
+Ladislaw, who for his part was glad enough to persuade himself that he\r
+had no concern with any canvassing except the purely argumentative\r
+sort, and that he worked no meaner engine than knowledge. Mr. Brooke,\r
+necessarily, had his agents, who understood the nature of the\r
+Middlemarch voter and the means of enlisting his ignorance on the side\r
+of the Bill--which were remarkably similar to the means of enlisting it\r
+on the side against the Bill. Will stopped his ears. Occasionally\r
+Parliament, like the rest of our lives, even to our eating and apparel,\r
+could hardly go on if our imaginations were too active about processes.\r
+There were plenty of dirty-handed men in the world to do dirty\r
+business; and Will protested to himself that his share in bringing Mr.\r
+Brooke through would be quite innocent.\r
+\r
+But whether he should succeed in that mode of contributing to the\r
+majority on the right side was very doubtful to him. He had written\r
+out various speeches and memoranda for speeches, but he had begun to\r
+perceive that Mr. Brooke's mind, if it had the burthen of remembering\r
+any train of thought, would let it drop, run away in search of it, and\r
+not easily come back again. To collect documents is one mode of\r
+serving your country, and to remember the contents of a document is\r
+another. No! the only way in which Mr. Brooke could be coerced into\r
+thinking of the right arguments at the right time was to be well plied\r
+with them till they took up all the room in his brain. But here there\r
+was the difficulty of finding room, so many things having been taken in\r
+beforehand. Mr. Brooke himself observed that his ideas stood rather in\r
+his way when he was speaking.\r
+\r
+However, Ladislaw's coaching was forthwith to be put to the test, for\r
+before the day of nomination Mr. Brooke was to explain himself to the\r
+worthy electors of Middlemarch from the balcony of the White Hart,\r
+which looked out advantageously at an angle of the market-place,\r
+commanding a large area in front and two converging streets. It was a\r
+fine May morning, and everything seemed hopeful: there was some\r
+prospect of an understanding between Bagster's committee and Brooke's,\r
+to which Mr. Bulstrode, Mr. Standish as a Liberal lawyer, and such\r
+manufacturers as Mr. Plymdale and Mr. Vincy, gave a solidity which\r
+almost counterbalanced Mr. Hawley and his associates who sat for\r
+Pinkerton at the Green Dragon. Mr. Brooke, conscious of having\r
+weakened the blasts of the "Trumpet" against him, by his reforms as a\r
+landlord in the last half year, and hearing himself cheered a little as\r
+he drove into the town, felt his heart tolerably light under his\r
+buff-colored waistcoat. But with regard to critical occasions, it\r
+often happens that all moments seem comfortably remote until the last.\r
+\r
+"This looks well, eh?" said Mr. Brooke as the crowd gathered. "I shall\r
+have a good audience, at any rate. I like this, now--this kind of\r
+public made up of one's own neighbors, you know."\r
+\r
+The weavers and tanners of Middlemarch, unlike Mr. Mawmsey, had never\r
+thought of Mr. Brooke as a neighbor, and were not more attached to him\r
+than if he had been sent in a box from London. But they listened\r
+without much disturbance to the speakers who introduced the candidate,\r
+one of them--a political personage from Brassing, who came to tell\r
+Middlemarch its duty--spoke so fully, that it was alarming to think\r
+what the candidate could find to say after him. Meanwhile the crowd\r
+became denser, and as the political personage neared the end of his\r
+speech, Mr. Brooke felt a remarkable change in his sensations while he\r
+still handled his eye-glass, trifled with documents before him, and\r
+exchanged remarks with his committee, as a man to whom the moment of\r
+summons was indifferent.\r
+\r
+"I'll take another glass of sherry, Ladislaw," he said, with an easy\r
+air, to Will, who was close behind him, and presently handed him the\r
+supposed fortifier. It was ill-chosen; for Mr. Brooke was an\r
+abstemious man, and to drink a second glass of sherry quickly at no\r
+great interval from the first was a surprise to his system which tended\r
+to scatter his energies instead of collecting them. Pray pity him: so\r
+many English gentlemen make themselves miserable by speechifying on\r
+entirely private grounds! whereas Mr. Brooke wished to serve his\r
+country by standing for Parliament--which, indeed, may also be done on\r
+private grounds, but being once undertaken does absolutely demand some\r
+speechifying.\r
+\r
+It was not about the beginning of his speech that Mr. Brooke was at all\r
+anxious; this, he felt sure, would be all right; he should have it\r
+quite pat, cut out as neatly as a set of couplets from Pope. Embarking\r
+would be easy, but the vision of open sea that might come after was\r
+alarming. "And questions, now," hinted the demon just waking up in his\r
+stomach, "somebody may put questions about the schedules.--Ladislaw,"\r
+he continued, aloud, "just hand me the memorandum of the schedules."\r
+\r
+When Mr. Brooke presented himself on the balcony, the cheers were quite\r
+loud enough to counterbalance the yells, groans, brayings, and other\r
+expressions of adverse theory, which were so moderate that Mr. Standish\r
+(decidedly an old bird) observed in the ear next to him, "This looks\r
+dangerous, by God! Hawley has got some deeper plan than this." Still,\r
+the cheers were exhilarating, and no candidate could look more amiable\r
+than Mr. Brooke, with the memorandum in his breast-pocket, his left\r
+hand on the rail of the balcony, and his right trifling with his\r
+eye-glass. The striking points in his appearance were his buff\r
+waistcoat, short-clipped blond hair, and neutral physiognomy. He began\r
+with some confidence.\r
+\r
+"Gentlemen--Electors of Middlemarch!"\r
+\r
+This was so much the right thing that a little pause after it seemed\r
+natural.\r
+\r
+"I'm uncommonly glad to be here--I was never so proud and happy in my\r
+life--never so happy, you know."\r
+\r
+This was a bold figure of speech, but not exactly the right thing; for,\r
+unhappily, the pat opening had slipped away--even couplets from Pope\r
+may be but "fallings from us, vanishings," when fear clutches us, and a\r
+glass of sherry is hurrying like smoke among our ideas. Ladislaw, who\r
+stood at the window behind the speaker, thought, "it's all up now. The\r
+only chance is that, since the best thing won't always do, floundering\r
+may answer for once." Mr. Brooke, meanwhile, having lost other clews,\r
+fell back on himself and his qualifications--always an appropriate\r
+graceful subject for a candidate.\r
+\r
+"I am a close neighbor of yours, my good friends--you've known me on\r
+the bench a good while--I've always gone a good deal into public\r
+questions--machinery, now, and machine-breaking--you're many of you\r
+concerned with machinery, and I've been going into that lately. It\r
+won't do, you know, breaking machines: everything must go on--trade,\r
+manufactures, commerce, interchange of staples--that kind of\r
+thing--since Adam Smith, that must go on. We must look all over the\r
+globe:--'Observation with extensive view,' must look everywhere, 'from\r
+China to Peru,' as somebody says--Johnson, I think, 'The Rambler,' you\r
+know. That is what I have done up to a certain point--not as far as\r
+Peru; but I've not always stayed at home--I saw it wouldn't do. I've\r
+been in the Levant, where some of your Middlemarch goods go--and then,\r
+again, in the Baltic. The Baltic, now."\r
+\r
+Plying among his recollections in this way, Mr. Brooke might have got\r
+along, easily to himself, and would have come back from the remotest\r
+seas without trouble; but a diabolical procedure had been set up by the\r
+enemy. At one and the same moment there had risen above the shoulders\r
+of the crowd, nearly opposite Mr. Brooke, and within ten yards of him,\r
+the effigy of himself: buff-colored waistcoat, eye-glass, and neutral\r
+physiognomy, painted on rag; and there had arisen, apparently in the\r
+air, like the note of the cuckoo, a parrot-like, Punch-voiced echo of\r
+his words. Everybody looked up at the open windows in the houses at\r
+the opposite angles of the converging streets; but they were either\r
+blank, or filled by laughing listeners. The most innocent echo has an\r
+impish mockery in it when it follows a gravely persistent speaker, and\r
+this echo was not at all innocent; if it did not follow with the\r
+precision of a natural echo, it had a wicked choice of the words it\r
+overtook. By the time it said, "The Baltic, now," the laugh which had\r
+been running through the audience became a general shout, and but for\r
+the sobering effects of party and that great public cause which the\r
+entanglement of things had identified with "Brooke of Tipton," the\r
+laugh might have caught his committee. Mr. Bulstrode asked,\r
+reprehensively, what the new police was doing; but a voice could not\r
+well be collared, and an attack on the effigy of the candidate would\r
+have been too equivocal, since Hawley probably meant it to be pelted.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke himself was not in a position to be quickly conscious of\r
+anything except a general slipping away of ideas within himself: he had\r
+even a little singing in the ears, and he was the only person who had\r
+not yet taken distinct account of the echo or discerned the image of\r
+himself. Few things hold the perceptions more thoroughly captive than\r
+anxiety about what we have got to say. Mr. Brooke heard the laughter;\r
+but he had expected some Tory efforts at disturbance, and he was at\r
+this moment additionally excited by the tickling, stinging sense that\r
+his lost exordium was coming back to fetch him from the Baltic.\r
+\r
+"That reminds me," he went on, thrusting a hand into his side-pocket,\r
+with an easy air, "if I wanted a precedent, you know--but we never want\r
+a precedent for the right thing--but there is Chatham, now; I can't say\r
+I should have supported Chatham, or Pitt, the younger Pitt--he was not\r
+a man of ideas, and we want ideas, you know."\r
+\r
+"Blast your ideas! we want the Bill," said a loud rough voice from the\r
+crowd below.\r
+\r
+Immediately the invisible Punch, who had hitherto followed Mr. Brooke,\r
+repeated, "Blast your ideas! we want the Bill." The laugh was louder\r
+than ever, and for the first time Mr. Brooke being himself silent,\r
+heard distinctly the mocking echo. But it seemed to ridicule his\r
+interrupter, and in that light was encouraging; so he replied with\r
+amenity--\r
+\r
+"There is something in what you say, my good friend, and what do we\r
+meet for but to speak our minds--freedom of opinion, freedom of the\r
+press, liberty--that kind of thing? The Bill, now--you shall have the\r
+Bill"--here Mr. Brooke paused a moment to fix on his eye-glass and take\r
+the paper from his breast-pocket, with a sense of being practical and\r
+coming to particulars. The invisible Punch followed:--\r
+\r
+"You shall have the Bill, Mr. Brooke, per electioneering contest, and a\r
+seat outside Parliament as delivered, five thousand pounds, seven\r
+shillings, and fourpence."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke, amid the roars of laughter, turned red, let his eye-glass\r
+fall, and looking about him confusedly, saw the image of himself, which\r
+had come nearer. The next moment he saw it dolorously bespattered with\r
+eggs. His spirit rose a little, and his voice too.\r
+\r
+"Buffoonery, tricks, ridicule the test of truth--all that is very\r
+well"--here an unpleasant egg broke on Mr. Brooke's shoulder, as the\r
+echo said, "All that is very well;" then came a hail of eggs, chiefly\r
+aimed at the image, but occasionally hitting the original, as if by\r
+chance. There was a stream of new men pushing among the crowd;\r
+whistles, yells, bellowings, and fifes made all the greater hubbub\r
+because there was shouting and struggling to put them down. No voice\r
+would have had wing enough to rise above the uproar, and Mr. Brooke,\r
+disagreeably anointed, stood his ground no longer. The frustration\r
+would have been less exasperating if it had been less gamesome and\r
+boyish: a serious assault of which the newspaper reporter "can aver\r
+that it endangered the learned gentleman's ribs," or can respectfully\r
+bear witness to "the soles of that gentleman's boots having been\r
+visible above the railing," has perhaps more consolations attached to\r
+it.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke re-entered the committee-room, saying, as carelessly as he\r
+could, "This is a little too bad, you know. I should have got the ear\r
+of the people by-and-by--but they didn't give me time. I should have\r
+gone into the Bill by-and-by, you know," he added, glancing at\r
+Ladislaw. "However, things will come all right at the nomination."\r
+\r
+But it was not resolved unanimously that things would come right; on\r
+the contrary, the committee looked rather grim, and the political\r
+personage from Brassing was writing busily, as if he were brewing new\r
+devices.\r
+\r
+"It was Bowyer who did it," said Mr. Standish, evasively. "I know it\r
+as well as if he had been advertised. He's uncommonly good at\r
+ventriloquism, and he did it uncommonly well, by God! Hawley has been\r
+having him to dinner lately: there's a fund of talent in Bowyer."\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, you never mentioned him to me, Standish, else I would\r
+have invited him to dine," said poor Mr. Brooke, who had gone through a\r
+great deal of inviting for the good of his country.\r
+\r
+"There's not a more paltry fellow in Middlemarch than Bowyer," said\r
+Ladislaw, indignantly, "but it seems as if the paltry fellows were\r
+always to turn the scale."\r
+\r
+Will was thoroughly out of temper with himself as well as with his\r
+"principal," and he went to shut himself in his rooms with a\r
+half-formed resolve to throw up the "Pioneer" and Mr. Brooke together.\r
+Why should he stay? If the impassable gulf between himself and\r
+Dorothea were ever to be filled up, it must rather be by his going away\r
+and getting into a thoroughly different position than by staying here\r
+and slipping into deserved contempt as an understrapper of Brooke's.\r
+Then came the young dream of wonders that he might do--in five years,\r
+for example: political writing, political speaking, would get a higher\r
+value now public life was going to be wider and more national, and they\r
+might give him such distinction that he would not seem to be asking\r
+Dorothea to step down to him. Five years:--if he could only be sure\r
+that she cared for him more than for others; if he could only make her\r
+aware that he stood aloof until he could tell his love without lowering\r
+himself--then he could go away easily, and begin a career which at\r
+five-and-twenty seemed probable enough in the inward order of things,\r
+where talent brings fame, and fame everything else which is delightful.\r
+He could speak and he could write; he could master any subject if he\r
+chose, and he meant always to take the side of reason and justice, on\r
+which he would carry all his ardor. Why should he not one day be\r
+lifted above the shoulders of the crowd, and feel that he had won that\r
+eminence well? Without doubt he would leave Middlemarch, go to town,\r
+and make himself fit for celebrity by "eating his dinners."\r
+\r
+But not immediately: not until some kind of sign had passed between him\r
+and Dorothea. He could not be satisfied until she knew why, even if he\r
+were the man she would choose to marry, he would not marry her. Hence\r
+he must keep his post and bear with Mr. Brooke a little longer.\r
+\r
+But he soon had reason to suspect that Mr. Brooke had anticipated him\r
+in the wish to break up their connection. Deputations without and\r
+voices within had concurred in inducing that philanthropist to take a\r
+stronger measure than usual for the good of mankind; namely, to\r
+withdraw in favor of another candidate, to whom he left the advantages\r
+of his canvassing machinery. He himself called this a strong measure,\r
+but observed that his health was less capable of sustaining excitement\r
+than he had imagined.\r
+\r
+"I have felt uneasy about the chest--it won't do to carry that too\r
+far," he said to Ladislaw in explaining the affair. "I must pull up.\r
+Poor Casaubon was a warning, you know. I've made some heavy advances,\r
+but I've dug a channel. It's rather coarse work--this electioneering,\r
+eh, Ladislaw? dare say you are tired of it. However, we have dug a\r
+channel with the 'Pioneer'--put things in a track, and so on. A more\r
+ordinary man than you might carry it on now--more ordinary, you know."\r
+\r
+"Do you wish me to give it up?" said Will, the quick color coming in\r
+his face, as he rose from the writing-table, and took a turn of three\r
+steps with his hands in his pockets. "I am ready to do so whenever you\r
+wish it."\r
+\r
+"As to wishing, my dear Ladislaw, I have the highest opinion of your\r
+powers, you know. But about the 'Pioneer,' I have been consulting a\r
+little with some of the men on our side, and they are inclined to take\r
+it into their hands--indemnify me to a certain extent--carry it on, in\r
+fact. And under the circumstances, you might like to give up--might\r
+find a better field. These people might not take that high view of you\r
+which I have always taken, as an alter ego, a right hand--though I\r
+always looked forward to your doing something else. I think of having\r
+a run into France. But I'll write you any letters, you know--to\r
+Althorpe and people of that kind. I've met Althorpe."\r
+\r
+"I am exceedingly obliged to you," said Ladislaw, proudly. "Since you\r
+are going to part with the 'Pioneer,' I need not trouble you about the\r
+steps I shall take. I may choose to continue here for the present."\r
+\r
+After Mr. Brooke had left him Will said to himself, "The rest of the\r
+family have been urging him to get rid of me, and he doesn't care now\r
+about my going. I shall stay as long as I like. I shall go of my own\r
+movements and not because they are afraid of me."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LII.\r
+\r
+ "His heart\r
+ The lowliest duties on itself did lay."\r
+ --WORDSWORTH.\r
+\r
+\r
+On that June evening when Mr. Farebrother knew that he was to have the\r
+Lowick living, there was joy in the old fashioned parlor, and even the\r
+portraits of the great lawyers seemed to look on with satisfaction.\r
+His mother left her tea and toast untouched, but sat with her usual\r
+pretty primness, only showing her emotion by that flush in the cheeks\r
+and brightness in the eyes which give an old woman a touching momentary\r
+identity with her far-off youthful self, and saying decisively--\r
+\r
+"The greatest comfort, Camden, is that you have deserved it."\r
+\r
+"When a man gets a good berth, mother, half the deserving must come\r
+after," said the son, brimful of pleasure, and not trying to conceal\r
+it. The gladness in his face was of that active kind which seems to\r
+have energy enough not only to flash outwardly, but to light up busy\r
+vision within: one seemed to see thoughts, as well as delight, in his\r
+glances.\r
+\r
+"Now, aunt," he went on, rubbing his hands and looking at Miss Noble,\r
+who was making tender little beaver-like noises, "There shall be\r
+sugar-candy always on the table for you to steal and give to the\r
+children, and you shall have a great many new stockings to make\r
+presents of, and you shall darn your own more than ever!"\r
+\r
+Miss Noble nodded at her nephew with a subdued half-frightened laugh,\r
+conscious of having already dropped an additional lump of sugar into\r
+her basket on the strength of the new preferment.\r
+\r
+"As for you, Winny"--the Vicar went on--"I shall make no difficulty\r
+about your marrying any Lowick bachelor--Mr. Solomon Featherstone, for\r
+example, as soon as I find you are in love with him."\r
+\r
+Miss Winifred, who had been looking at her brother all the while and\r
+crying heartily, which was her way of rejoicing, smiled through her\r
+tears and said, "You must set me the example, Cam: _you_ must marry\r
+now."\r
+\r
+"With all my heart. But who is in love with me? I am a seedy old\r
+fellow," said the Vicar, rising, pushing his chair away and looking\r
+down at himself. "What do you say, mother?"\r
+\r
+"You are a handsome man, Camden: though not so fine a figure of a man\r
+as your father," said the old lady.\r
+\r
+"I wish you would marry Miss Garth, brother," said Miss Winifred. "She\r
+would make us so lively at Lowick."\r
+\r
+"Very fine! You talk as if young women were tied up to be chosen, like\r
+poultry at market; as if I had only to ask and everybody would have\r
+me," said the Vicar, not caring to specify.\r
+\r
+"We don't want everybody," said Miss Winifred. "But _you_ would like\r
+Miss Garth, mother, shouldn't you?"\r
+\r
+"My son's choice shall be mine," said Mrs. Farebrother, with majestic\r
+discretion, "and a wife would be most welcome, Camden. You will want\r
+your whist at home when we go to Lowick, and Henrietta Noble never was\r
+a whist-player." (Mrs. Farebrother always called her tiny old sister by\r
+that magnificent name.)\r
+\r
+"I shall do without whist now, mother."\r
+\r
+"Why so, Camden? In my time whist was thought an undeniable amusement\r
+for a good churchman," said Mrs. Farebrother, innocent of the meaning\r
+that whist had for her son, and speaking rather sharply, as at some\r
+dangerous countenancing of new doctrine.\r
+\r
+"I shall be too busy for whist; I shall have two parishes," said the\r
+Vicar, preferring not to discuss the virtues of that game.\r
+\r
+He had already said to Dorothea, "I don't feel bound to give up St.\r
+Botolph's. It is protest enough against the pluralism they want to\r
+reform if I give somebody else most of the money. The stronger thing\r
+is not to give up power, but to use it well."\r
+\r
+"I have thought of that," said Dorothea. "So far as self is concerned,\r
+I think it would be easier to give up power and money than to keep\r
+them. It seems very unfitting that I should have this patronage, yet I\r
+felt that I ought not to let it be used by some one else instead of me."\r
+\r
+"It is I who am bound to act so that you will not regret your power,"\r
+said Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+His was one of the natures in which conscience gets the more active\r
+when the yoke of life ceases to gall them. He made no display of\r
+humility on the subject, but in his heart he felt rather ashamed that\r
+his conduct had shown laches which others who did not get benefices\r
+were free from.\r
+\r
+"I used often to wish I had been something else than a clergyman," he\r
+said to Lydgate, "but perhaps it will be better to try and make as good\r
+a clergyman out of myself as I can. That is the well-beneficed point\r
+of view, you perceive, from which difficulties are much simplified," he\r
+ended, smiling.\r
+\r
+The Vicar did feel then as if his share of duties would be easy. But\r
+Duty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly--something like a heavy\r
+friend whom we have amiably asked to visit us, and who breaks his leg\r
+within our gates.\r
+\r
+Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself in his study under the\r
+disguise of Fred Vincy, now returned from Omnibus College with his\r
+bachelor's degree.\r
+\r
+"I am ashamed to trouble you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred, whose fair\r
+open face was propitiating, "but you are the only friend I can consult.\r
+I told you everything once before, and you were so good that I can't\r
+help coming to you again."\r
+\r
+"Sit down, Fred, I'm ready to hear and do anything I can," said the\r
+Vicar, who was busy packing some small objects for removal, and went on\r
+with his work.\r
+\r
+"I wanted to tell you--" Fred hesitated an instant and then went on\r
+plungingly, "I might go into the Church now; and really, look where I\r
+may, I can't see anything else to do. I don't like it, but I know it's\r
+uncommonly hard on my father to say so, after he has spent a good deal\r
+of money in educating me for it." Fred paused again an instant, and\r
+then repeated, "and I can't see anything else to do."\r
+\r
+"I did talk to your father about it, Fred, but I made little way with\r
+him. He said it was too late. But you have got over one bridge now:\r
+what are your other difficulties?"\r
+\r
+"Merely that I don't like it. I don't like divinity, and preaching,\r
+and feeling obliged to look serious. I like riding across country, and\r
+doing as other men do. I don't mean that I want to be a bad fellow in\r
+any way; but I've no taste for the sort of thing people expect of a\r
+clergyman. And yet what else am I to do? My father can't spare me any\r
+capital, else I might go into farming. And he has no room for me in\r
+his trade. And of course I can't begin to study for law or physic now,\r
+when my father wants me to earn something. It's all very well to say\r
+I'm wrong to go into the Church; but those who say so might as well\r
+tell me to go into the backwoods."\r
+\r
+Fred's voice had taken a tone of grumbling remonstrance, and Mr.\r
+Farebrother might have been inclined to smile if his mind had not been\r
+too busy in imagining more than Fred told him.\r
+\r
+"Have you any difficulties about doctrines--about the Articles?" he\r
+said, trying hard to think of the question simply for Fred's sake.\r
+\r
+"No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared with any\r
+arguments to disprove them, and much better, cleverer fellows than I am\r
+go in for them entirely. I think it would be rather ridiculous in me\r
+to urge scruples of that sort, as if I were a judge," said Fred, quite\r
+simply.\r
+\r
+"I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might be a fair\r
+parish priest without being much of a divine?"\r
+\r
+"Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try and do my\r
+duty, though I mayn't like it. Do you think any body ought to blame\r
+me?"\r
+\r
+"For going into the Church under the circumstances? That depends on\r
+your conscience, Fred--how far you have counted the cost, and seen what\r
+your position will require of you. I can only tell you about myself,\r
+that I have always been too lax, and have been uneasy in consequence."\r
+\r
+"But there is another hindrance," said Fred, coloring. "I did not tell\r
+you before, though perhaps I may have said things that made you guess\r
+it. There is somebody I am very fond of: I have loved her ever since\r
+we were children."\r
+\r
+"Miss Garth, I suppose?" said the Vicar, examining some labels very\r
+closely.\r
+\r
+"Yes. I shouldn't mind anything if she would have me. And I know I\r
+could be a good fellow then."\r
+\r
+"And you think she returns the feeling?"\r
+\r
+"She never will say so; and a good while ago she made me promise not to\r
+speak to her about it again. And she has set her mind especially\r
+against my being a clergyman; I know that. But I can't give her up. I\r
+do think she cares about me. I saw Mrs. Garth last night, and she said\r
+that Mary was staying at Lowick Rectory with Miss Farebrother."\r
+\r
+"Yes, she is very kindly helping my sister. Do you wish to go there?"\r
+\r
+"No, I want to ask a great favor of you. I am ashamed to bother you in\r
+this way; but Mary might listen to what you said, if you mentioned the\r
+subject to her--I mean about my going into the Church."\r
+\r
+"That is rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. I shall have to\r
+presuppose your attachment to her; and to enter on the subject as you\r
+wish me to do, will be asking her to tell me whether she returns it."\r
+\r
+"That is what I want her to tell you," said Fred, bluntly. "I don't\r
+know what to do, unless I can get at her feeling."\r
+\r
+"You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going into the\r
+Church?"\r
+\r
+"If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrong in one\r
+way as another."\r
+\r
+"That is nonsense, Fred. Men outlive their love, but they don't\r
+outlive the consequences of their recklessness."\r
+\r
+"Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving Mary. If I had\r
+to give her up, it would be like beginning to live on wooden legs."\r
+\r
+"Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?"\r
+\r
+"No, I feel sure she will not. She respects you more than any one, and\r
+she would not put you off with fun as she does me. Of course I could\r
+not have told any one else, or asked any one else to speak to her, but\r
+you. There is no one else who could be such a friend to both of us."\r
+Fred paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly, "And she\r
+ought to acknowledge that I have worked in order to pass. She ought to\r
+believe that I would exert myself for her sake."\r
+\r
+There was a moment's silence before Mr. Farebrother laid down his work,\r
+and putting out his hand to Fred said--\r
+\r
+"Very well, my boy. I will do what you wish."\r
+\r
+That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick parsonage on the nag which\r
+he had just set up. "Decidedly I am an old stalk," he thought, "the\r
+young growths are pushing me aside."\r
+\r
+He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and sprinkling the petals\r
+on a sheet. The sun was low, and tall trees sent their shadows across\r
+the grassy walks where Mary was moving without bonnet or parasol. She\r
+did not observe Mr. Farebrother's approach along the grass, and had\r
+just stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan terrier, which would\r
+persist in walking on the sheet and smelling at the rose-leaves as Mary\r
+sprinkled them. She took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted up the\r
+forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows and looked\r
+embarrassed. "Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you," Mary was saying in a\r
+grave contralto. "This is not becoming in a sensible dog; anybody\r
+would think you were a silly young gentleman."\r
+\r
+"You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth," said the Vicar,\r
+within two yards of her.\r
+\r
+Mary started up and blushed. "It always answers to reason with Fly,"\r
+she said, laughingly.\r
+\r
+"But not with young gentlemen?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn into excellent men."\r
+\r
+"I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very moment to\r
+interest you in a young gentleman."\r
+\r
+"Not a silly one, I hope," said Mary, beginning to pluck the roses\r
+again, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably.\r
+\r
+"No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point, but rather\r
+affection and sincerity. However, wisdom lies more in those two\r
+qualities than people are apt to imagine. I hope you know by those\r
+marks what young gentleman I mean."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I think I do," said Mary, bravely, her face getting more serious,\r
+and her hands cold; "it must be Fred Vincy."\r
+\r
+"He has asked me to consult you about his going into the Church. I\r
+hope you will not think that I consented to take a liberty in promising\r
+to do so."\r
+\r
+"On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, giving up the roses, and\r
+folding her arms, but unable to look up, "whenever you have anything to\r
+say to me I feel honored."\r
+\r
+"But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a point on\r
+which your father took me into confidence; by the way, it was that very\r
+evening on which I once before fulfilled a mission from Fred, just\r
+after he had gone to college. Mr. Garth told me what happened on the\r
+night of Featherstone's death--how you refused to burn the will; and he\r
+said that you had some heart-prickings on that subject, because you had\r
+been the innocent means of hindering Fred from getting his ten thousand\r
+pounds. I have kept that in mind, and I have heard something that may\r
+relieve you on that score--may show you that no sin-offering is\r
+demanded from you there."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary. He meant to give\r
+Fred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought, to clear her\r
+mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow when they do\r
+a man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement. Mary's cheeks\r
+had begun to burn a little, and she was mute.\r
+\r
+"I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred's lot. I\r
+find that the first will would not have been legally good after the\r
+burning of the last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed,\r
+and you may be sure it would have been disputed. So, on that score,\r
+you may feel your mind free."\r
+\r
+"Thank you, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, earnestly. "I am grateful to\r
+you for remembering my feelings."\r
+\r
+"Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his degree. He has\r
+worked his way so far, and now the question is, what is he to do? That\r
+question is so difficult that he is inclined to follow his father's\r
+wishes and enter the Church, though you know better than I do that he\r
+was quite set against that formerly. I have questioned him on the\r
+subject, and I confess I see no insuperable objection to his being a\r
+clergyman, as things go. He says that he could turn his mind to doing\r
+his best in that vocation, on one condition. If that condition were\r
+fulfilled I would do my utmost in helping Fred on. After a time--not,\r
+of course, at first--he might be with me as my curate, and he would\r
+have so much to do that his stipend would be nearly what I used to get\r
+as vicar. But I repeat that there is a condition without which all\r
+this good cannot come to pass. He has opened his heart to me, Miss\r
+Garth, and asked me to plead for him. The condition lies entirely in\r
+your feeling."\r
+\r
+Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, "Let us walk a\r
+little;" and when they were walking he added, "To speak quite plainly,\r
+Fred will not take any course which would lessen the chance that you\r
+would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he will try his\r
+best at anything you approve."\r
+\r
+"I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother:\r
+but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman. What\r
+you say is most generous and kind; I don't mean for a moment to correct\r
+your judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way of\r
+looking at things," said Mary, with a returning sparkle of playfulness\r
+in her answer which only made its modesty more charming.\r
+\r
+"He wishes me to report exactly what you think," said Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"I could not love a man who is ridiculous," said Mary, not choosing to\r
+go deeper. "Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make him\r
+respectable, if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I can\r
+never imagine him preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings,\r
+and praying by the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a\r
+caricature. His being a clergyman would be only for gentility's sake,\r
+and I think there is nothing more contemptible than such imbecile\r
+gentility. I used to think that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and\r
+neat umbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have such men\r
+to represent Christianity--as if it were an institution for getting up\r
+idiots genteelly--as if--" Mary checked herself. She had been carried\r
+along as if she had been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"Young women are severe: they don't feel the stress of action as men\r
+do, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there. But you\r
+don't put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?"\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not show it\r
+as a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation."\r
+\r
+"Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could have no\r
+hope?"\r
+\r
+Mary shook her head.\r
+\r
+"But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread in some\r
+other way--will you give him the support of hope? May he count on\r
+winning you?"\r
+\r
+"I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I have already said\r
+to him," Mary answered, with a slight resentment in her manner. "I\r
+mean that he ought not to put such questions until he has done\r
+something worthy, instead of saying that he could do it."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and then, as they\r
+turned and paused under the shadow of a maple at the end of a grassy\r
+walk, said, "I understand that you resist any attempt to fetter you,\r
+but either your feeling for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaining\r
+another attachment, or it does not: either he may count on your\r
+remaining single until he shall have earned your hand, or he may in any\r
+case be disappointed. Pardon me, Mary--you know I used to catechise\r
+you under that name--but when the state of a woman's affections touches\r
+the happiness of another life--of more lives than one--I think it would\r
+be the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct and open."\r
+\r
+Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother's manner\r
+but at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it. When the\r
+strange idea flashed across her that his words had reference to\r
+himself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She had\r
+never thought that any man could love her except Fred, who had espoused\r
+her with the umbrella ring, when she wore socks and little strapped\r
+shoes; still less that she could be of any importance to Mr.\r
+Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle. She had only time\r
+to feel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing was\r
+clear and determined--her answer.\r
+\r
+"Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell you that I\r
+have too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for any one else. I\r
+should never be quite happy if I thought he was unhappy for the loss of\r
+me. It has taken such deep root in me--my gratitude to him for always\r
+loving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself, from the time\r
+when we were very little. I cannot imagine any new feeling coming to\r
+make that weaker. I should like better than anything to see him worthy\r
+of every one's respect. But please tell him I will not promise to\r
+marry him till then: I should shame and grieve my father and mother.\r
+He is free to choose some one else."\r
+\r
+"Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly," said Mr. Farebrother,\r
+putting out his hand to Mary, "and I shall ride back to Middlemarch\r
+forthwith. With this prospect before him, we shall get Fred into the\r
+right niche somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. God\r
+bless you!"\r
+\r
+"Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea," said Mary. Her eyes\r
+filled with tears, for something indefinable, something like the\r
+resolute suppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's manner, made her\r
+feel suddenly miserable, as she had once felt when she saw her father's\r
+hands trembling in a moment of trouble.\r
+\r
+"No, my dear, no. I must get back."\r
+\r
+In three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again, having gone\r
+magnanimously through a duty much harder than the renunciation of\r
+whist, or even than the writing of penitential meditations.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LIII.\r
+\r
+ It is but a shallow haste which concludeth insincerity from\r
+ what outsiders call inconsistency--putting a dead mechanism\r
+ of "ifs" and "therefores" for the living myriad of hidden\r
+ suckers whereby the belief and the conduct are wrought into\r
+ mutual sustainment.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, when he was hoping to acquire a new interest in Lowick,\r
+had naturally had an especial wish that the new clergyman should be one\r
+whom he thoroughly approved; and he believed it to be a chastisement\r
+and admonition directed to his own shortcomings and those of the nation\r
+at large, that just about the time when he came in possession of the\r
+deeds which made him the proprietor of Stone Court, Mr. Farebrother\r
+"read himself" into the quaint little church and preached his first\r
+sermon to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and village artisans.\r
+It was not that Mr. Bulstrode intended to frequent Lowick Church or to\r
+reside at Stone Court for a good while to come: he had bought the\r
+excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a retreat which he might\r
+gradually enlarge as to the land and beautify as to the dwelling, until\r
+it should be conducive to the divine glory that he should enter on it\r
+as a residence, partially withdrawing from his present exertions in the\r
+administration of business, and throwing more conspicuously on the side\r
+of Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, which\r
+Providence might increase by unforeseen occasions of purchase. A\r
+strong leading in this direction seemed to have been given in the\r
+surprising facility of getting Stone Court, when every one had expected\r
+that Mr. Rigg Featherstone would have clung to it as the Garden of\r
+Eden. That was what poor old Peter himself had expected; having often,\r
+in imagination, looked up through the sods above him, and, unobstructed\r
+by perspective, seen his frog-faced legatee enjoying the fine old\r
+place to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors.\r
+\r
+But how little we know what would make paradise for our neighbors! We\r
+judge from our own desires, and our neighbors themselves are not always\r
+open enough even to throw out a hint of theirs. The cool and judicious\r
+Joshua Rigg had not allowed his parent to perceive that Stone Court was\r
+anything less than the chief good in his estimation, and he had\r
+certainly wished to call it his own. But as Warren Hastings looked at\r
+gold and thought of buying Daylesford, so Joshua Rigg looked at Stone\r
+Court and thought of buying gold. He had a very distinct and intense\r
+vision of his chief good, the vigorous greed which he had inherited\r
+having taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and his chief good\r
+was to be a moneychanger. From his earliest employment as an\r
+errand-boy in a seaport, he had looked through the windows of the\r
+moneychangers as other boys look through the windows of the\r
+pastry-cooks; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a deep\r
+special passion; he meant, when he had property, to do many things, one\r
+of them being to marry a genteel young person; but these were all\r
+accidents and joys that imagination could dispense with. The one joy\r
+after which his soul thirsted was to have a money-changer's shop on a\r
+much-frequented quay, to have locks all round him of which he held the\r
+keys, and to look sublimely cool as he handled the breeding coins of\r
+all nations, while helpless Cupidity looked at him enviously from the\r
+other side of an iron lattice. The strength of that passion had been a\r
+power enabling him to master all the knowledge necessary to gratify it.\r
+And when others were thinking that he had settled at Stone Court for\r
+life, Joshua himself was thinking that the moment now was not far off\r
+when he should settle on the North Quay with the best appointments in\r
+safes and locks.\r
+\r
+Enough. We are concerned with looking at Joshua Rigg's sale of his\r
+land from Mr. Bulstrode's point of view, and he interpreted it as a\r
+cheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a purpose which\r
+he had for some time entertained without external encouragement; he\r
+interpreted it thus, but not too confidently, offering up his\r
+thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. His doubts did not arise from the\r
+possible relations of the event to Joshua Rigg's destiny, which\r
+belonged to the unmapped regions not taken under the providential\r
+government, except perhaps in an imperfect colonial way; but they arose\r
+from reflecting that this dispensation too might be a chastisement for\r
+himself, as Mr. Farebrother's induction to the living clearly was.\r
+\r
+This was not what Mr. Bulstrode said to any man for the sake of\r
+deceiving him: it was what he said to himself--it was as genuinely his\r
+mode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be, if you happen\r
+to disagree with him. For the egoism which enters into our theories\r
+does not affect their sincerity; rather, the more our egoism is\r
+satisfied, the more robust is our belief.\r
+\r
+However, whether for sanction or for chastisement, Mr. Bulstrode,\r
+hardly fifteen months after the death of Peter Featherstone, had become\r
+the proprietor of Stone Court, and what Peter would say "if he were\r
+worthy to know," had become an inexhaustible and consolatory subject of\r
+conversation to his disappointed relatives. The tables were now turned\r
+on that dear brother departed, and to contemplate the frustration of\r
+his cunning by the superior cunning of things in general was a cud of\r
+delight to Solomon. Mrs. Waule had a melancholy triumph in the proof\r
+that it did not answer to make false Featherstones and cut off the\r
+genuine; and Sister Martha receiving the news in the Chalky Flats said,\r
+"Dear, dear! then the Almighty could have been none so pleased with the\r
+almshouses after all."\r
+\r
+Affectionate Mrs. Bulstrode was particularly glad of the advantage\r
+which her husband's health was likely to get from the purchase of Stone\r
+Court. Few days passed without his riding thither and looking over\r
+some part of the farm with the bailiff, and the evenings were delicious\r
+in that quiet spot, when the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending\r
+forth odors to mingle with the breath of the rich old garden. One\r
+evening, while the sun was still above the horizon and burning in\r
+golden lamps among the great walnut boughs, Mr. Bulstrode was pausing\r
+on horseback outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth, who had\r
+met him by appointment to give an opinion on a question of stable\r
+drainage, and was now advising the bailiff in the rick-yard.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode was conscious of being in a good spiritual frame and more\r
+than usually serene, under the influence of his innocent recreation.\r
+He was doctrinally convinced that there was a total absence of merit in\r
+himself; but that doctrinal conviction may be held without pain when\r
+the sense of demerit does not take a distinct shape in memory and\r
+revive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. Nay, it may be\r
+held with intense satisfaction when the depth of our sinning is but a\r
+measure for the depth of forgiveness, and a clenching proof that we are\r
+peculiar instruments of the divine intention. The memory has as many\r
+moods as the temper, and shifts its scenery like a diorama. At this\r
+moment Mr. Bulstrode felt as if the sunshine were all one with that of\r
+far-off evenings when he was a very young man and used to go out\r
+preaching beyond Highbury. And he would willingly have had that\r
+service of exhortation in prospect now. The texts were there still,\r
+and so was his own facility in expounding them. His brief reverie was\r
+interrupted by the return of Caleb Garth, who also was on horseback,\r
+and was just shaking his bridle before starting, when he exclaimed--\r
+\r
+"Bless my heart! what's this fellow in black coming along the lane?\r
+He's like one of those men one sees about after the races."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked along the lane, but made no\r
+reply. The comer was our slight acquaintance Mr. Raffles, whose\r
+appearance presented no other change than such as was due to a suit of\r
+black and a crape hat-band. He was within three yards of the horseman\r
+now, and they could see the flash of recognition in his face as he\r
+whirled his stick upward, looking all the while at Mr. Bulstrode, and\r
+at last exclaiming:--\r
+\r
+"By Jove, Nick, it's you! I couldn't be mistaken, though the\r
+five-and-twenty years have played old Boguy with us both! How are you,\r
+eh? you didn't expect to see _me_ here. Come, shake us by the hand."\r
+To say that Mr. Raffles' manner was rather excited would be only one\r
+mode of saying that it was evening. Caleb Garth could see that there\r
+was a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode, but it ended\r
+in his putting out his hand coldly to Raffles and saying--\r
+\r
+"I did not indeed expect to see you in this remote country place."\r
+\r
+"Well, it belongs to a stepson of mine," said Raffles, adjusting\r
+himself in a swaggering attitude. "I came to see him here before. I'm\r
+not so surprised at seeing you, old fellow, because I picked up a\r
+letter--what you may call a providential thing. It's uncommonly\r
+fortunate I met you, though; for I don't care about seeing my stepson:\r
+he's not affectionate, and his poor mother's gone now. To tell the\r
+truth, I came out of love to you, Nick: I came to get your address,\r
+for--look here!" Raffles drew a crumpled paper from his pocket.\r
+\r
+Almost any other man than Caleb Garth might have been tempted to linger\r
+on the spot for the sake of hearing all he could about a man whose\r
+acquaintance with Bulstrode seemed to imply passages in the banker's\r
+life so unlike anything that was known of him in Middlemarch that they\r
+must have the nature of a secret to pique curiosity. But Caleb was\r
+peculiar: certain human tendencies which are commonly strong were\r
+almost absent from his mind; and one of these was curiosity about\r
+personal affairs. Especially if there was anything discreditable to be\r
+found out concerning another man, Caleb preferred not to know it; and\r
+if he had to tell anybody under him that his evil doings were\r
+discovered, he was more embarrassed than the culprit. He now spurred\r
+his horse, and saying, "I wish you good evening, Mr. Bulstrode; I must\r
+be getting home," set off at a trot.\r
+\r
+"You didn't put your full address to this letter," Raffles continued.\r
+"That was not like the first-rate man of business you used to be. 'The\r
+Shrubs,'--they may be anywhere: you live near at hand, eh?--have cut\r
+the London concern altogether--perhaps turned country squire--have a\r
+rural mansion to invite me to. Lord, how many years it is ago! The\r
+old lady must have been dead a pretty long while--gone to glory without\r
+the pain of knowing how poor her daughter was, eh? But, by Jove!\r
+you're very pale and pasty, Nick. Come, if you're going home, I'll\r
+walk by your side."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact taken an almost deathly hue.\r
+Five minutes before, the expanse of his life had been submerged in its\r
+evening sunshine which shone backward to its remembered morning: sin\r
+seemed to be a question of doctrine and inward penitence, humiliation\r
+an exercise of the closet, the bearing of his deeds a matter of private\r
+vision adjusted solely by spiritual relations and conceptions of the\r
+divine purposes. And now, as if by some hideous magic, this loud red\r
+figure had risen before him in unmanageable solidity--an incorporate\r
+past which had not entered into his imagination of chastisements. But\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and he was not a man to act or speak\r
+rashly.\r
+\r
+"I was going home," he said, "but I can defer my ride a little. And\r
+you can, if you please, rest here."\r
+\r
+"Thank you," said Raffles, making a grimace. "I don't care now about\r
+seeing my stepson. I'd rather go home with you."\r
+\r
+"Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is here no longer. I\r
+am master here now."\r
+\r
+Raffles opened wide eyes, and gave a long whistle of surprise, before\r
+he said, "Well then, I've no objection. I've had enough walking from\r
+the coach-road. I never was much of a walker, or rider either. What I\r
+like is a smart vehicle and a spirited cob. I was always a little\r
+heavy in the saddle. What a pleasant surprise it must be to you to see\r
+me, old fellow!" he continued, as they turned towards the house. "You\r
+don't say so; but you never took your luck heartily--you were always\r
+thinking of improving the occasion--you'd such a gift for improving\r
+your luck."\r
+\r
+Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wit, and swung his leg in a\r
+swaggering manner which was rather too much for his companion's\r
+judicious patience.\r
+\r
+"If I remember rightly," Mr. Bulstrode observed, with chill anger, "our\r
+acquaintance many years ago had not the sort of intimacy which you are\r
+now assuming, Mr. Raffles. Any services you desire of me will be the\r
+more readily rendered if you will avoid a tone of familiarity which did\r
+not lie in our former intercourse, and can hardly be warranted by more\r
+than twenty years of separation."\r
+\r
+"You don't like being called Nick? Why, I always called you Nick in my\r
+heart, and though lost to sight, to memory dear. By Jove! my feelings\r
+have ripened for you like fine old cognac. I hope you've got some in\r
+the house now. Josh filled my flask well the last time."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode had not yet fully learned that even the desire for cognac\r
+was not stronger in Raffles than the desire to torment, and that a hint\r
+of annoyance always served him as a fresh cue. But it was at least\r
+clear that further objection was useless, and Mr. Bulstrode, in giving\r
+orders to the housekeeper for the accommodation of the guest, had a\r
+resolute air of quietude.\r
+\r
+There was the comfort of thinking that this housekeeper had been in the\r
+service of Rigg also, and might accept the idea that Mr. Bulstrode\r
+entertained Raffles merely as a friend of her former master.\r
+\r
+When there was food and drink spread before his visitor in the\r
+wainscoted parlor, and no witness in the room, Mr. Bulstrode said--\r
+\r
+"Your habits and mine are so different, Mr. Raffles, that we can hardly\r
+enjoy each other's society. The wisest plan for both of us will\r
+therefore be to part as soon as possible. Since you say that you\r
+wished to meet me, you probably considered that you had some business\r
+to transact with me. But under the circumstances I will invite you to\r
+remain here for the night, and I will myself ride over here early\r
+to-morrow morning--before breakfast, in fact, when I can receive any\r
+Communication you have to make to me."\r
+\r
+"With all my heart," said Raffles; "this is a comfortable place--a\r
+little dull for a continuance; but I can put up with it for a night,\r
+with this good liquor and the prospect of seeing you again in the\r
+morning. You're a much better host than my stepson was; but Josh owed\r
+me a bit of a grudge for marrying his mother; and between you and me\r
+there was never anything but kindness."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, hoping that the peculiar mixture of joviality and\r
+sneering in Raffles' manner was a good deal the effect of drink, had\r
+determined to wait till he was quite sober before he spent more words\r
+upon him. But he rode home with a terribly lucid vision of the\r
+difficulty there would be in arranging any result that could be\r
+permanently counted on with this man. It was inevitable that he should\r
+wish to get rid of John Raffles, though his reappearance could not be\r
+regarded as lying outside the divine plan. The spirit of evil might\r
+have sent him to threaten Mr. Bulstrode's subversion as an instrument\r
+of good; but the threat must have been permitted, and was a\r
+chastisement of a new kind. It was an hour of anguish for him very\r
+different from the hours in which his struggle had been securely\r
+private, and which had ended with a sense that his secret misdeeds were\r
+pardoned and his services accepted. Those misdeeds even when\r
+committed--had they not been half sanctified by the singleness of his\r
+desire to devote himself and all he possessed to the furtherance of the\r
+divine scheme? And was he after all to become a mere stone of\r
+stumbling and a rock of offence? For who would understand the work\r
+within him? Who would not, when there was the pretext of casting\r
+disgrace upon him, confound his whole life and the truths he had\r
+espoused, in one heap of obloquy?\r
+\r
+In his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr. Bulstrode's mind\r
+clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to superhuman\r
+ends. But even while we are talking and meditating about the earth's\r
+orbit and the solar system, what we feel and adjust our movements to is\r
+the stable earth and the changing day. And now within all the\r
+automatic succession of theoretic phrases--distinct and inmost as the\r
+shiver and the ache of oncoming fever when we are discussing abstract\r
+pain, was the forecast of disgrace in the presence of his neighbors and\r
+of his own wife. For the pain, as well as the public estimate of\r
+disgrace, depends on the amount of previous profession. To men who\r
+only aim at escaping felony, nothing short of the prisoner's dock is\r
+disgrace. But Mr. Bulstrode had aimed at being an eminent Christian.\r
+\r
+It was not more than half-past seven in the morning when he again\r
+reached Stone Court. The fine old place never looked more like a\r
+delightful home than at that moment; the great white lilies were in\r
+flower, the nasturtiums, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew,\r
+were running away over the low stone wall; the very noises all around\r
+had a heart of peace within them. But everything was spoiled for the\r
+owner as he walked on the gravel in front and awaited the descent of\r
+Mr. Raffles, with whom he was condemned to breakfast.\r
+\r
+It was not long before they were seated together in the wainscoted\r
+parlor over their tea and toast, which was as much as Raffles cared to\r
+take at that early hour. The difference between his morning and\r
+evening self was not so great as his companion had imagined that it\r
+might be; the delight in tormenting was perhaps even the stronger\r
+because his spirits were rather less highly pitched. Certainly his\r
+manners seemed more disagreeable by the morning light.\r
+\r
+"As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles," said the banker, who\r
+could hardly do more than sip his tea and break his toast without\r
+eating it, "I shall be obliged if you will mention at once the ground\r
+on which you wished to meet with me. I presume that you have a home\r
+elsewhere and will be glad to return to it."\r
+\r
+"Why, if a man has got any heart, doesn't he want to see an old friend,\r
+Nick?--I must call you Nick--we always did call you young Nick when we\r
+knew you meant to marry the old widow. Some said you had a handsome\r
+family likeness to old Nick, but that was your mother's fault, calling\r
+you Nicholas. Aren't you glad to see me again? I expected an invite\r
+to stay with you at some pretty place. My own establishment is broken\r
+up now my wife's dead. I've no particular attachment to any spot; I\r
+would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere."\r
+\r
+"May I ask why you returned from America? I considered that the strong\r
+wish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished, was\r
+tantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life."\r
+\r
+"Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as a wish\r
+to stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn't suit me to\r
+stay any longer. And I'm not going again, Nick." Here Mr. Raffles\r
+winked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+"Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is your calling now?"\r
+\r
+"Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can. I don't\r
+care about working any more. If I did anything it would be a little\r
+travelling in the tobacco line--or something of that sort, which takes\r
+a man into agreeable company. But not without an independence to fall\r
+back upon. That's what I want: I'm not so strong as I was, Nick,\r
+though I've got more color than you. I want an independence."\r
+\r
+"That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to keep at a\r
+distance," said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little too much eagerness\r
+in his undertone.\r
+\r
+"That must be as it suits my convenience," said Raffles coolly. "I see\r
+no reason why I shouldn't make a few acquaintances hereabout. I'm not\r
+ashamed of myself as company for anybody. I dropped my portmanteau at\r
+the turnpike when I got down--change of linen--genuine--honor bright--more\r
+than fronts and wristbands; and with this suit of mourning, straps\r
+and everything, I should do you credit among the nobs here." Mr.\r
+Raffles had pushed away his chair and looked down at himself,\r
+particularly at his straps. His chief intention was to annoy\r
+Bulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would produce\r
+a good effect, and that he was not only handsome and witty, but clad in\r
+a mourning style which implied solid connections.\r
+\r
+"If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles," said Bulstrode,\r
+after a moment's pause, "you will expect to meet my wishes."\r
+\r
+"Ah, to be sure," said Raffles, with a mocking cordiality. "Didn't I\r
+always do it? Lord, you made a pretty thing out of me, and I got but\r
+little. I've often thought since, I might have done better by telling\r
+the old woman that I'd found her daughter and her grandchild: it would\r
+have suited my feelings better; I've got a soft place in my heart. But\r
+you've buried the old lady by this time, I suppose--it's all one to her\r
+now. And you've got your fortune out of that profitable business which\r
+had such a blessing on it. You've taken to being a nob, buying land,\r
+being a country bashaw. Still in the Dissenting line, eh? Still\r
+godly? Or taken to the Church as more genteel?"\r
+\r
+This time Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his tongue\r
+was worse than a nightmare, because it held the certitude that it was\r
+not a nightmare, but a waking misery. Mr. Bulstrode felt a shuddering\r
+nausea, and did not speak, but was considering diligently whether he\r
+should not leave Raffles to do as he would, and simply defy him as a\r
+slanderer. The man would soon show himself disreputable enough to make\r
+people disbelieve him. "But not when he tells any ugly-looking truth\r
+about _you_," said discerning consciousness. And again: it seemed no\r
+wrong to keep Raffles at a distance, but Mr. Bulstrode shrank from the\r
+direct falsehood of denying true statements. It was one thing to look\r
+back on forgiven sins, nay, to explain questionable conformity to lax\r
+customs, and another to enter deliberately on the necessity of\r
+falsehood.\r
+\r
+But since Bulstrode did not speak, Raffles ran on, by way of using time\r
+to the utmost.\r
+\r
+"I've not had such fine luck as you, by Jove! Things went confoundedly\r
+with me in New York; those Yankees are cool hands, and a man of\r
+gentlemanly feelings has no chance with them. I married when I came\r
+back--a nice woman in the tobacco trade--very fond of me--but the\r
+trade was restricted, as we say. She had been settled there a good\r
+many years by a friend; but there was a son too much in the case. Josh\r
+and I never hit it off. However, I made the most of the position, and\r
+I've always taken my glass in good company. It's been all on the\r
+square with me; I'm as open as the day. You won't take it ill of me\r
+that I didn't look you up before. I've got a complaint that makes me a\r
+little dilatory. I thought you were trading and praying away in London\r
+still, and didn't find you there. But you see I was sent to you,\r
+Nick--perhaps for a blessing to both of us."\r
+\r
+Mr. Raffles ended with a jocose snuffle: no man felt his intellect more\r
+superior to religious cant. And if the cunning which calculates on the\r
+meanest feelings in men could be called intellect, he had his share,\r
+for under the blurting rallying tone with which he spoke to Bulstrode,\r
+there was an evident selection of statements, as if they had been so\r
+many moves at chess. Meanwhile Bulstrode had determined on his move,\r
+and he said, with gathered resolution--\r
+\r
+"You will do well to reflect, Mr. Raffles, that it is possible for a\r
+man to overreach himself in the effort to secure undue advantage.\r
+Although I am not in any way bound to you, I am willing to supply you\r
+with a regular annuity--in quarterly payments--so long as you fulfil a\r
+promise to remain at a distance from this neighborhood. It is in your\r
+power to choose. If you insist on remaining here, even for a short\r
+time, you will get nothing from me. I shall decline to know you."\r
+\r
+"Ha, ha!" said Raffles, with an affected explosion, "that reminds me of\r
+a droll dog of a thief who declined to know the constable."\r
+\r
+"Your allusions are lost on me sir," said Bulstrode, with white heat;\r
+"the law has no hold on me either through your agency or any other."\r
+\r
+"You can't understand a joke, my good fellow. I only meant that I\r
+should never decline to know you. But let us be serious. Your\r
+quarterly payment won't quite suit me. I like my freedom."\r
+\r
+Here Raffles rose and stalked once or twice up and down the room,\r
+swinging his leg, and assuming an air of masterly meditation. At last\r
+he stopped opposite Bulstrode, and said, "I'll tell you what! Give us\r
+a couple of hundreds--come, that's modest--and I'll go away--honor\r
+bright!--pick up my portmanteau and go away. But I shall not give up\r
+my Liberty for a dirty annuity. I shall come and go where I like.\r
+Perhaps it may suit me to stay away, and correspond with a friend;\r
+perhaps not. Have you the money with you?"\r
+\r
+"No, I have one hundred," said Bulstrode, feeling the immediate\r
+riddance too great a relief to be rejected on the ground of future\r
+uncertainties. "I will forward you the other if you will mention an\r
+address."\r
+\r
+"No, I'll wait here till you bring it," said Raffles. "I'll take a\r
+stroll and have a snack, and you'll be back by that time."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's sickly body, shattered by the agitations he had gone\r
+through since the last evening, made him feel abjectly in the power of\r
+this loud invulnerable man. At that moment he snatched at a temporary\r
+repose to be won on any terms. He was rising to do what Raffles\r
+suggested, when the latter said, lifting up his finger as if with a\r
+sudden recollection--\r
+\r
+"I did have another look after Sarah again, though I didn't tell you;\r
+I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. I didn't find\r
+her, but I found out her husband's name, and I made a note of it. But\r
+hang it, I lost my pocketbook. However, if I heard it, I should know\r
+it again. I've got my faculties as if I was in my prime, but names\r
+wear out, by Jove! Sometimes I'm no better than a confounded tax-paper\r
+before the names are filled in. However, if I hear of her and her\r
+family, you shall know, Nick. You'd like to do something for her, now\r
+she's your step-daughter."\r
+\r
+"Doubtless," said Mr. Bulstrode, with the usual steady look of his\r
+light-gray eyes; "though that might reduce my power of assisting you."\r
+\r
+As he walked out of the room, Raffles winked slowly at his back, and\r
+then turned towards the window to watch the banker riding away--virtually\r
+at his command. His lips first curled with a smile and then opened\r
+with a short triumphant laugh.\r
+\r
+"But what the deuce was the name?" he presently said, half aloud,\r
+scratching his head, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. He had not\r
+really cared or thought about this point of forgetfulness until it\r
+occurred to him in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+"It began with L; it was almost all l's I fancy," he went on, with a\r
+sense that he was getting hold of the slippery name. But the hold was\r
+too slight, and he soon got tired of this mental chase; for few men\r
+were more impatient of private occupation or more in need of making\r
+themselves continually heard than Mr. Raffles. He preferred using his\r
+time in pleasant conversation with the bailiff and the housekeeper,\r
+from whom he gathered as much as he wanted to know about Mr.\r
+Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch.\r
+\r
+After all, however, there was a dull space of time which needed\r
+relieving with bread and cheese and ale, and when he was seated alone\r
+with these resources in the wainscoted parlor, he suddenly slapped his\r
+knee, and exclaimed, "Ladislaw!" That action of memory which he had\r
+tried to set going, and had abandoned in despair, had suddenly\r
+completed itself without conscious effort--a common experience,\r
+agreeable as a completed sneeze, even if the name remembered is of no\r
+value. Raffles immediately took out his pocket-book, and wrote down\r
+the name, not because he expected to use it, but merely for the sake of\r
+not being at a loss if he ever did happen to want it. He was not going\r
+to tell Bulstrode: there was no actual good in telling, and to a mind\r
+like that of Mr. Raffles there is always probable good in a secret.\r
+\r
+He was satisfied with his present success, and by three o'clock that\r
+day he had taken up his portmanteau at the turnpike and mounted the\r
+coach, relieving Mr. Bulstrode's eyes of an ugly black spot on the\r
+landscape at Stone Court, but not relieving him of the dread that the\r
+black spot might reappear and become inseparable even from the vision\r
+of his hearth.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK VI.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+THE WIDOW AND THE WIFE.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LIV.\r
+\r
+ "Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore;\r
+ Per che si fa gentil ciò ch'ella mira:\r
+ Ov'ella passa, ogni uom ver lei si gira,\r
+ E cui saluta fa tremar lo core.\r
+\r
+ Sicchè, bassando il viso, tutto smore,\r
+ E d'ogni suo difetto allor sospira:\r
+ Fuggon dinanzi a lei Superbia ed Ira:\r
+ Aiutatemi, donne, a farle onore.\r
+\r
+ Ogni dolcezza, ogni pensiero umile\r
+ Nasce nel core a chi parlar la sente;\r
+ Ond'è beato chi prima la vide.\r
+ Quel ch'ella par quand' un poco sorride,\r
+ Non si può dicer, nè tener a mente,\r
+ Si è nuovo miracolo gentile."\r
+ --DANTE: la Vita Nuova.\r
+\r
+\r
+By that delightful morning when the hay-ricks at Stone Court were\r
+scenting the air quite impartially, as if Mr. Raffles had been a guest\r
+worthy of finest incense, Dorothea had again taken up her abode at\r
+Lowick Manor. After three months Freshitt had become rather\r
+oppressive: to sit like a model for Saint Catherine looking rapturously\r
+at Celia's baby would not do for many hours in the day, and to remain\r
+in that momentous babe's presence with persistent disregard was a\r
+course that could not have been tolerated in a childless sister.\r
+Dorothea would have been capable of carrying baby joyfully for a mile\r
+if there had been need, and of loving it the more tenderly for that\r
+labor; but to an aunt who does not recognize her infant nephew as\r
+Bouddha, and has nothing to do for him but to admire, his behavior is\r
+apt to appear monotonous, and the interest of watching him exhaustible.\r
+This possibility was quite hidden from Celia, who felt that Dorothea's\r
+childless widowhood fell in quite prettily with the birth of little\r
+Arthur (baby was named after Mr. Brooke).\r
+\r
+"Dodo is just the creature not to mind about having anything of her\r
+own--children or anything!" said Celia to her husband. "And if she\r
+had had a baby, it never could have been such a dear as Arthur. Could\r
+it, James?\r
+\r
+"Not if it had been like Casaubon," said Sir James, conscious of some\r
+indirectness in his answer, and of holding a strictly private opinion\r
+as to the perfections of his first-born.\r
+\r
+"No! just imagine! Really it was a mercy," said Celia; "and I think it\r
+is very nice for Dodo to be a widow. She can be just as fond of our\r
+baby as if it were her own, and she can have as many notions of her own\r
+as she likes."\r
+\r
+"It is a pity she was not a queen," said the devout Sir James.\r
+\r
+"But what should we have been then? We must have been something else,"\r
+said Celia, objecting to so laborious a flight of imagination. "I like\r
+her better as she is."\r
+\r
+Hence, when she found that Dorothea was making arrangements for her\r
+final departure to Lowick, Celia raised her eyebrows with\r
+disappointment, and in her quiet unemphatic way shot a needle-arrow of\r
+sarcasm.\r
+\r
+"What will you do at Lowick, Dodo? You say yourself there is nothing\r
+to be done there: everybody is so clean and well off, it makes you\r
+quite melancholy. And here you have been so happy going all about\r
+Tipton with Mr. Garth into the worst backyards. And now uncle is\r
+abroad, you and Mr. Garth can have it all your own way; and I am sure\r
+James does everything you tell him."\r
+\r
+"I shall often come here, and I shall see how baby grows all the\r
+better," said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"But you will never see him washed," said Celia; "and that is quite the\r
+best part of the day." She was almost pouting: it did seem to her very\r
+hard in Dodo to go away from the baby when she might stay.\r
+\r
+"Dear Kitty, I will come and stay all night on purpose," said Dorothea;\r
+"but I want to be alone now, and in my own home. I wish to know the\r
+Farebrothers better, and to talk to Mr. Farebrother about what there is\r
+to be done in Middlemarch."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's native strength of will was no longer all converted into\r
+resolute submission. She had a great yearning to be at Lowick, and was\r
+simply determined to go, not feeling bound to tell all her reasons.\r
+But every one around her disapproved. Sir James was much pained, and\r
+offered that they should all migrate to Cheltenham for a few months\r
+with the sacred ark, otherwise called a cradle: at that period a man\r
+could hardly know what to propose if Cheltenham were rejected.\r
+\r
+The Dowager Lady Chettam, just returned from a visit to her daughter in\r
+town, wished, at least, that Mrs. Vigo should be written to, and\r
+invited to accept the office of companion to Mrs. Casaubon: it was not\r
+credible that Dorothea as a young widow would think of living alone in\r
+the house at Lowick. Mrs. Vigo had been reader and secretary to royal\r
+personages, and in point of knowledge and sentiments even Dorothea\r
+could have nothing to object to her.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader said, privately, "You will certainly go mad in that\r
+house alone, my dear. You will see visions. We have all got to exert\r
+ourselves a little to keep sane, and call things by the same names as\r
+other people call them by. To be sure, for younger sons and women who\r
+have no money, it is a sort of provision to go mad: they are taken care\r
+of then. But you must not run into that. I dare say you are a little\r
+bored here with our good dowager; but think what a bore you might\r
+become yourself to your fellow-creatures if you were always playing\r
+tragedy queen and taking things sublimely. Sitting alone in that\r
+library at Lowick you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you must\r
+get a few people round you who wouldn't believe you if you told them.\r
+That is a good lowering medicine."\r
+\r
+"I never called everything by the same name that all the people about\r
+me did," said Dorothea, stoutly.\r
+\r
+"But I suppose you have found out your mistake, my dear," said Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, "and that is a proof of sanity."\r
+\r
+Dorothea was aware of the sting, but it did not hurt her. "No," she\r
+said, "I still think that the greater part of the world is mistaken\r
+about many things. Surely one may be sane and yet think so, since the\r
+greater part of the world has often had to come round from its opinion."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader said no more on that point to Dorothea, but to her\r
+husband she remarked, "It will be well for her to marry again as soon\r
+as it is proper, if one could get her among the right people. Of\r
+course the Chettams would not wish it. But I see clearly a husband is\r
+the best thing to keep her in order. If we were not so poor I would\r
+invite Lord Triton. He will be marquis some day, and there is no\r
+denying that she would make a good marchioness: she looks handsomer\r
+than ever in her mourning."\r
+\r
+"My dear Elinor, do let the poor woman alone. Such contrivances are of\r
+no use," said the easy Rector.\r
+\r
+"No use? How are matches made, except by bringing men and women\r
+together? And it is a shame that her uncle should have run away and\r
+shut up the Grange just now. There ought to be plenty of eligible\r
+matches invited to Freshitt and the Grange. Lord Triton is precisely\r
+the man: full of plans for making the people happy in a soft-headed\r
+sort of way. That would just suit Mrs. Casaubon."\r
+\r
+"Let Mrs. Casaubon choose for herself, Elinor."\r
+\r
+"That is the nonsense you wise men talk! How can she choose if she has\r
+no variety to choose from? A woman's choice usually means taking the\r
+only man she can get. Mark my words, Humphrey. If her friends don't\r
+exert themselves, there will be a worse business than the Casaubon\r
+business yet."\r
+\r
+"For heaven's sake don't touch on that topic, Elinor! It is a very sore\r
+point with Sir James. He would be deeply offended if you entered on it\r
+to him unnecessarily."\r
+\r
+"I have never entered on it," said Mrs Cadwallader, opening her hands.\r
+"Celia told me all about the will at the beginning, without any asking\r
+of mine."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes; but they want the thing hushed up, and I understand that the\r
+young fellow is going out of the neighborhood."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Cadwallader said nothing, but gave her husband three significant\r
+nods, with a very sarcastic expression in her dark eyes.\r
+\r
+Dorothea quietly persisted in spite of remonstrance and persuasion. So\r
+by the end of June the shutters were all opened at Lowick Manor, and\r
+the morning gazed calmly into the library, shining on the rows of\r
+note-books as it shines on the weary waste planted with huge stones,\r
+the mute memorial of a forgotten faith; and the evening laden with\r
+roses entered silently into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose\r
+oftenest to sit. At first she walked into every room, questioning the\r
+eighteen months of her married life, and carrying on her thoughts as if\r
+they were a speech to be heard by her husband. Then, she lingered in\r
+the library and could not be at rest till she had carefully ranged all\r
+the note-books as she imagined that he would wish to see them, in\r
+orderly sequence. The pity which had been the restraining compelling\r
+motive in her life with him still clung about his image, even while she\r
+remonstrated with him in indignant thought and told him that he was\r
+unjust. One little act of hers may perhaps be smiled at as\r
+superstitious. The Synoptical Tabulation for the use of Mrs. Casaubon,\r
+she carefully enclosed and sealed, writing within the envelope, "I\r
+could not use it. Do you not see now that I could not submit my soul\r
+to yours, by working hopelessly at what I have no belief in--Dorothea?"\r
+Then she deposited the paper in her own desk.\r
+\r
+That silent colloquy was perhaps only the more earnest because\r
+underneath and through it all there was always the deep longing which\r
+had really determined her to come to Lowick. The longing was to see\r
+Will Ladislaw. She did not know any good that could come of their\r
+meeting: she was helpless; her hands had been tied from making up to\r
+him for any unfairness in his lot. But her soul thirsted to see him.\r
+How could it be otherwise? If a princess in the days of enchantment\r
+had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in herds\r
+come to her once and again with a human gaze which rested upon her with\r
+choice and beseeching, what would she think of in her journeying, what\r
+would she look for when the herds passed her? Surely for the gaze\r
+which had found her, and which she would know again. Life would be no\r
+better than candle-light tinsel and daylight rubbish if our spirits\r
+were not touched by what has been, to issues of longing and constancy.\r
+It was true that Dorothea wanted to know the Farebrothers better, and\r
+especially to talk to the new rector, but also true that remembering\r
+what Lydgate had told her about Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble,\r
+she counted on Will's coming to Lowick to see the Farebrother family.\r
+The very first Sunday, _before_ she entered the church, she saw him as\r
+she had seen him the last time she was there, alone in the clergyman's\r
+pew; but _when_ she entered his figure was gone.\r
+\r
+In the week-days when she went to see the ladies at the Rectory, she\r
+listened in vain for some word that they might let fall about Will; but\r
+it seemed to her that Mrs. Farebrother talked of every one else in the\r
+neighborhood and out of it.\r
+\r
+"Probably some of Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him\r
+to Lowick sometimes. Do you not think so?" said Dorothea, rather\r
+despising herself for having a secret motive in asking the question.\r
+\r
+"If they are wise they will, Mrs. Casaubon," said the old lady. "I see\r
+that you set a right value on my son's preaching. His grandfather on\r
+my side was an excellent clergyman, but his father was in the law:--most\r
+exemplary and honest nevertheless, which is a reason for our never\r
+being rich. They say Fortune is a woman and capricious. But sometimes\r
+she is a good woman and gives to those who merit, which has been the\r
+case with you, Mrs. Casaubon, who have given a living to my son."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Farebrother recurred to her knitting with a dignified satisfaction\r
+in her neat little effort at oratory, but this was not what Dorothea\r
+wanted to hear. Poor thing! she did not even know whether Will\r
+Ladislaw was still at Middlemarch, and there was no one whom she dared\r
+to ask, unless it were Lydgate. But just now she could not see Lydgate\r
+without sending for him or going to seek him. Perhaps Will Ladislaw,\r
+having heard of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon, had\r
+felt it better that he and she should not meet again, and perhaps she\r
+was wrong to wish for a meeting that others might find many good\r
+reasons against. Still "I do wish it" came at the end of those wise\r
+reflections as naturally as a sob after holding the breath. And the\r
+meeting did happen, but in a formal way quite unexpected by her.\r
+\r
+One morning, about eleven, Dorothea was seated in her boudoir with a\r
+map of the land attached to the manor and other papers before her,\r
+which were to help her in making an exact statement for herself of her\r
+income and affairs. She had not yet applied herself to her work, but\r
+was seated with her hands folded on her lap, looking out along the\r
+avenue of limes to the distant fields. Every leaf was at rest in the\r
+sunshine, the familiar scene was changeless, and seemed to represent\r
+the prospect of her life, full of motiveless ease--motiveless, if her\r
+own energy could not seek out reasons for ardent action. The widow's\r
+cap of those times made an oval frame for the face, and had a crown\r
+standing up; the dress was an experiment in the utmost laying on of\r
+crape; but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her face look all the\r
+younger, with its recovered bloom, and the sweet, inquiring candor of\r
+her eyes.\r
+\r
+Her reverie was broken by Tantripp, who came to say that Mr. Ladislaw\r
+was below, and begged permission to see Madam if it were not too early.\r
+\r
+"I will see him," said Dorothea, rising immediately. "Let him be shown\r
+into the drawing-room."\r
+\r
+The drawing-room was the most neutral room in the house to her--the\r
+one least associated with the trials of her married life: the damask\r
+matched the wood-work, which was all white and gold; there were two\r
+tall mirrors and tables with nothing on them--in brief, it was a room\r
+where you had no reason for sitting in one place rather than in\r
+another. It was below the boudoir, and had also a bow-window looking\r
+out on the avenue. But when Pratt showed Will Ladislaw into it the\r
+window was open; and a winged visitor, buzzing in and out now and then\r
+without minding the furniture, made the room look less formal and\r
+uninhabited.\r
+\r
+"Glad to see you here again, sir," said Pratt, lingering to adjust a\r
+blind.\r
+\r
+"I am only come to say good-by, Pratt," said Will, who wished even the\r
+butler to know that he was too proud to hang about Mrs. Casaubon now\r
+she was a rich widow.\r
+\r
+"Very sorry to hear it, sir," said Pratt, retiring. Of course, as a\r
+servant who was to be told nothing, he knew the fact of which Ladislaw\r
+was still ignorant, and had drawn his inferences; indeed, had not\r
+differed from his betrothed Tantripp when she said, "Your master was as\r
+jealous as a fiend--and no reason. Madam would look higher than Mr.\r
+Ladislaw, else I don't know her. Mrs. Cadwallader's maid says there's\r
+a lord coming who is to marry her when the mourning's over."\r
+\r
+There were not many moments for Will to walk about with his hat in his\r
+hand before Dorothea entered. The meeting was very different from that\r
+first meeting in Rome when Will had been embarrassed and Dorothea calm.\r
+This time he felt miserable but determined, while she was in a state of\r
+agitation which could not be hidden. Just outside the door she had\r
+felt that this longed-for meeting was after all too difficult, and when\r
+she saw Will advancing towards her, the deep blush which was rare in\r
+her came with painful suddenness. Neither of them knew how it was, but\r
+neither of them spoke. She gave her hand for a moment, and then they\r
+went to sit down near the window, she on one settee and he on another\r
+opposite. Will was peculiarly uneasy: it seemed to him not like\r
+Dorothea that the mere fact of her being a widow should cause such a\r
+change in her manner of receiving him; and he knew of no other\r
+condition which could have affected their previous relation to each\r
+other--except that, as his imagination at once told him, her friends\r
+might have been poisoning her mind with their suspicions of him.\r
+\r
+"I hope I have not presumed too much in calling," said Will; "I could\r
+not bear to leave the neighborhood and begin a new life without seeing\r
+you to say good-by."\r
+\r
+"Presumed? Surely not. I should have thought it unkind if you had not\r
+wished to see me," said Dorothea, her habit of speaking with perfect\r
+genuineness asserting itself through all her uncertainty and agitation.\r
+"Are you going away immediately?"\r
+\r
+"Very soon, I think. I intend to go to town and eat my dinners as a\r
+barrister, since, they say, that is the preparation for all public\r
+business. There will be a great deal of political work to be done\r
+by-and-by, and I mean to try and do some of it. Other men have managed\r
+to win an honorable position for themselves without family or money."\r
+\r
+"And that will make it all the more honorable," said Dorothea,\r
+ardently. "Besides, you have so many talents. I have heard from my\r
+uncle how well you speak in public, so that every one is sorry when you\r
+leave off, and how clearly you can explain things. And you care that\r
+justice should be done to every one. I am so glad. When we were in\r
+Rome, I thought you only cared for poetry and art, and the things that\r
+adorn life for us who are well off. But now I know you think about the\r
+rest of the world."\r
+\r
+While she was speaking Dorothea had lost her personal embarrassment,\r
+and had become like her former self. She looked at Will with a direct\r
+glance, full of delighted confidence.\r
+\r
+"You approve of my going away for years, then, and never coming here\r
+again till I have made myself of some mark in the world?" said Will,\r
+trying hard to reconcile the utmost pride with the utmost effort to get\r
+an expression of strong feeling from Dorothea.\r
+\r
+She was not aware how long it was before she answered. She had turned\r
+her head and was looking out of the window on the rose-bushes, which\r
+seemed to have in them the summers of all the years when Will would be\r
+away. This was not judicious behavior. But Dorothea never thought of\r
+studying her manners: she thought only of bowing to a sad necessity\r
+which divided her from Will. Those first words of his about his\r
+intentions had seemed to make everything clear to her: he knew, she\r
+supposed, all about Mr. Casaubon's final conduct in relation to him,\r
+and it had come to him with the same sort of shock as to herself. He\r
+had never felt more than friendship for her--had never had anything in\r
+his mind to justify what she felt to be her husband's outrage on the\r
+feelings of both: and that friendship he still felt. Something which\r
+may be called an inward silent sob had gone on in Dorothea before she\r
+said with a pure voice, just trembling in the last words as if only\r
+from its liquid flexibility--\r
+\r
+"Yes, it must be right for you to do as you say. I shall be very happy\r
+when I hear that you have made your value felt. But you must have\r
+patience. It will perhaps be a long while."\r
+\r
+Will never quite knew how it was that he saved himself from falling\r
+down at her feet, when the "long while" came forth with its gentle\r
+tremor. He used to say that the horrible hue and surface of her crape\r
+dress was most likely the sufficient controlling force. He sat still,\r
+however, and only said--\r
+\r
+"I shall never hear from you. And you will forget all about me."\r
+\r
+"No," said Dorothea, "I shall never forget you. I have never forgotten\r
+any one whom I once knew. My life has never been crowded, and seems\r
+not likely to be so. And I have a great deal of space for memory at\r
+Lowick, haven't I?" She smiled.\r
+\r
+"Good God!" Will burst out passionately, rising, with his hat still in\r
+his hand, and walking away to a marble table, where he suddenly turned\r
+and leaned his back against it. The blood had mounted to his face and\r
+neck, and he looked almost angry. It had seemed to him as if they were\r
+like two creatures slowly turning to marble in each other's presence,\r
+while their hearts were conscious and their eyes were yearning. But\r
+there was no help for it. It should never be true of him that in this\r
+meeting to which he had come with bitter resolution he had ended by a\r
+confession which might be interpreted into asking for her fortune.\r
+Moreover, it was actually true that he was fearful of the effect which\r
+such confessions might have on Dorothea herself.\r
+\r
+She looked at him from that distance in some trouble, imagining that\r
+there might have been an offence in her words. But all the while there\r
+was a current of thought in her about his probable want of money, and\r
+the impossibility of her helping him. If her uncle had been at home,\r
+something might have been done through him! It was this preoccupation\r
+with the hardship of Will's wanting money, while she had what ought to\r
+have been his share, which led her to say, seeing that he remained\r
+silent and looked away from her--\r
+\r
+"I wonder whether you would like to have that miniature which hangs\r
+up-stairs--I mean that beautiful miniature of your grandmother. I\r
+think it is not right for me to keep it, if you would wish to have it.\r
+It is wonderfully like you."\r
+\r
+"You are very good," said Will, irritably. "No; I don't mind about it.\r
+It is not very consoling to have one's own likeness. It would be more\r
+consoling if others wanted to have it."\r
+\r
+"I thought you would like to cherish her memory--I thought--" Dorothea\r
+broke off an instant, her imagination suddenly warning her away from\r
+Aunt Julia's history--"you would surely like to have the miniature as a\r
+family memorial."\r
+\r
+"Why should I have that, when I have nothing else! A man with only a\r
+portmanteau for his stowage must keep his memorials in his head."\r
+\r
+Will spoke at random: he was merely venting his petulance; it was a\r
+little too exasperating to have his grandmother's portrait offered him\r
+at that moment. But to Dorothea's feeling his words had a peculiar\r
+sting. She rose and said with a touch of indignation as well as\r
+hauteur--\r
+\r
+"You are much the happier of us two, Mr. Ladislaw, to have nothing."\r
+\r
+Will was startled. Whatever the words might be, the tone seemed like a\r
+dismissal; and quitting his leaning posture, he walked a little way\r
+towards her. Their eyes met, but with a strange questioning gravity.\r
+Something was keeping their minds aloof, and each was left to\r
+conjecture what was in the other. Will had really never thought of\r
+himself as having a claim of inheritance on the property which was held\r
+by Dorothea, and would have required a narrative to make him understand\r
+her present feeling.\r
+\r
+"I never felt it a misfortune to have nothing till now," he said. "But\r
+poverty may be as bad as leprosy, if it divides us from what we most\r
+care for."\r
+\r
+The words cut Dorothea to the heart, and made her relent. She answered\r
+in a tone of sad fellowship.\r
+\r
+"Sorrow comes in so many ways. Two years ago I had no notion of\r
+that--I mean of the unexpected way in which trouble comes, and ties our\r
+hands, and makes us silent when we long to speak. I used to despise\r
+women a little for not shaping their lives more, and doing better\r
+things. I was very fond of doing as I liked, but I have almost given\r
+it up," she ended, smiling playfully.\r
+\r
+"I have not given up doing as I like, but I can very seldom do it,"\r
+said Will. He was standing two yards from her with his mind full of\r
+contradictory desires and resolves--desiring some unmistakable proof\r
+that she loved him, and yet dreading the position into which such a\r
+proof might bring him. "The thing one most longs for may be surrounded\r
+with conditions that would be intolerable."\r
+\r
+At this moment Pratt entered and said, "Sir James Chettam is in the\r
+library, madam."\r
+\r
+"Ask Sir James to come in here," said Dorothea, immediately. It was as\r
+if the same electric shock had passed through her and Will. Each of\r
+them felt proudly resistant, and neither looked at the other, while\r
+they awaited Sir James's entrance.\r
+\r
+After shaking hands with Dorothea, he bowed as slightly as possible to\r
+Ladislaw, who repaid the slightness exactly, and then going towards\r
+Dorothea, said--\r
+\r
+"I must say good-by, Mrs. Casaubon; and probably for a long while."\r
+\r
+Dorothea put out her hand and said her good-by cordially. The sense\r
+that Sir James was depreciating Will, and behaving rudely to him,\r
+roused her resolution and dignity: there was no touch of confusion in\r
+her manner. And when Will had left the room, she looked with such calm\r
+self-possession at Sir James, saying, "How is Celia?" that he was\r
+obliged to behave as if nothing had annoyed him. And what would be the\r
+use of behaving otherwise? Indeed, Sir James shrank with so much\r
+dislike from the association even in thought of Dorothea with Ladislaw\r
+as her possible lover, that he would himself have wished to avoid an\r
+outward show of displeasure which would have recognized the\r
+disagreeable possibility. If any one had asked him why he shrank in\r
+that way, I am not sure that he would at first have said anything\r
+fuller or more precise than "_That_ Ladislaw!"--though on reflection\r
+he might have urged that Mr. Casaubon's codicil, barring Dorothea's\r
+marriage with Will, except under a penalty, was enough to cast\r
+unfitness over any relation at all between them. His aversion was all\r
+the stronger because he felt himself unable to interfere.\r
+\r
+But Sir James was a power in a way unguessed by himself. Entering at\r
+that moment, he was an incorporation of the strongest reasons through\r
+which Will's pride became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from\r
+Dorothea.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LV.\r
+\r
+ Hath she her faults? I would you had them too.\r
+ They are the fruity must of soundest wine;\r
+ Or say, they are regenerating fire\r
+ Such as hath turned the dense black element\r
+ Into a crystal pathway for the sun.\r
+\r
+\r
+If youth is the season of hope, it is often so only in the sense that\r
+our elders are hopeful about us; for no age is so apt as youth to think\r
+its emotions, partings, and resolves are the last of their kind. Each\r
+crisis seems final, simply because it is new. We are told that the\r
+oldest inhabitants in Peru do not cease to be agitated by the\r
+earthquakes, but they probably see beyond each shock, and reflect that\r
+there are plenty more to come.\r
+\r
+To Dorothea, still in that time of youth when the eyes with their long\r
+full lashes look out after their rain of tears unsoiled and unwearied\r
+as a freshly opened passion-flower, that morning's parting with Will\r
+Ladislaw seemed to be the close of their personal relations. He was\r
+going away into the distance of unknown years, and if ever he came back\r
+he would be another man. The actual state of his mind--his proud\r
+resolve to give the lie beforehand to any suspicion that he would play\r
+the needy adventurer seeking a rich woman--lay quite out of her\r
+imagination, and she had interpreted all his behavior easily enough by\r
+her supposition that Mr. Casaubon's codicil seemed to him, as it did to\r
+her, a gross and cruel interdict on any active friendship between them.\r
+Their young delight in speaking to each other, and saying what no one\r
+else would care to hear, was forever ended, and become a treasure of\r
+the past. For this very reason she dwelt on it without inward check.\r
+That unique happiness too was dead, and in its shadowed silent chamber\r
+she might vent the passionate grief which she herself wondered at. For\r
+the first time she took down the miniature from the wall and kept it\r
+before her, liking to blend the woman who had been too hardly judged\r
+with the grandson whom her own heart and judgment defended. Can any\r
+one who has rejoiced in woman's tenderness think it a reproach to her\r
+that she took the little oval picture in her palm and made a bed for it\r
+there, and leaned her cheek upon it, as if that would soothe the\r
+creatures who had suffered unjust condemnation? She did not know then\r
+that it was Love who had come to her briefly, as in a dream before\r
+awaking, with the hues of morning on his wings--that it was Love to\r
+whom she was sobbing her farewell as his image was banished by the\r
+blameless rigor of irresistible day. She only felt that there was\r
+something irrevocably amiss and lost in her lot, and her thoughts about\r
+the future were the more readily shapen into resolve. Ardent souls,\r
+ready to construct their coming lives, are apt to commit themselves to\r
+the fulfilment of their own visions.\r
+\r
+One day that she went to Freshitt to fulfil her promise of staying all\r
+night and seeing baby washed, Mrs. Cadwallader came to dine, the Rector\r
+being gone on a fishing excursion. It was a warm evening, and even in\r
+the delightful drawing-room, where the fine old turf sloped from the\r
+open window towards a lilied pool and well-planted mounds, the heat was\r
+enough to make Celia in her white muslin and light curls reflect with\r
+pity on what Dodo must feel in her black dress and close cap. But this\r
+was not until some episodes with baby were over, and had left her mind\r
+at leisure. She had seated herself and taken up a fan for some time\r
+before she said, in her quiet guttural--\r
+\r
+"Dear Dodo, do throw off that cap. I am sure your dress must make you\r
+feel ill."\r
+\r
+"I am so used to the cap--it has become a sort of shell," said\r
+Dorothea, smiling. "I feel rather bare and exposed when it is off."\r
+\r
+"I must see you without it; it makes us all warm," said Celia, throwing\r
+down her fan, and going to Dorothea. It was a pretty picture to see\r
+this little lady in white muslin unfastening the widow's cap from her\r
+more majestic sister, and tossing it on to a chair. Just as the coils\r
+and braids of dark-brown hair had been set free, Sir James entered the\r
+room. He looked at the released head, and said, "Ah!" in a tone of\r
+satisfaction.\r
+\r
+"It was I who did it, James," said Celia. "Dodo need not make such a\r
+slavery of her mourning; she need not wear that cap any more among her\r
+friends."\r
+\r
+"My dear Celia," said Lady Chettam, "a widow must wear her mourning at\r
+least a year."\r
+\r
+"Not if she marries again before the end of it," said Mrs. Cadwallader,\r
+who had some pleasure in startling her good friend the Dowager. Sir\r
+James was annoyed, and leaned forward to play with Celia's Maltese dog.\r
+\r
+"That is very rare, I hope," said Lady Chettam, in a tone intended to\r
+guard against such events. "No friend of ours ever committed herself\r
+in that way except Mrs. Beevor, and it was very painful to Lord\r
+Grinsell when she did so. Her first husband was objectionable, which\r
+made it the greater wonder. And severely she was punished for it.\r
+They said Captain Beevor dragged her about by the hair, and held up\r
+loaded pistols at her."\r
+\r
+"Oh, if she took the wrong man!" said Mrs. Cadwallader, who was in a\r
+decidedly wicked mood. "Marriage is always bad then, first or second.\r
+Priority is a poor recommendation in a husband if he has got no other.\r
+I would rather have a good second husband than an indifferent first."\r
+\r
+"My dear, your clever tongue runs away with you," said Lady Chettam.\r
+"I am sure you would be the last woman to marry again prematurely, if\r
+our dear Rector were taken away."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I make no vows; it might be a necessary economy. It is lawful to\r
+marry again, I suppose; else we might as well be Hindoos instead of\r
+Christians. Of course if a woman accepts the wrong man, she must take\r
+the consequences, and one who does it twice over deserves her fate.\r
+But if she can marry blood, beauty, and bravery--the sooner the\r
+better."\r
+\r
+"I think the subject of our conversation is very ill-chosen," said Sir\r
+James, with a look of disgust. "Suppose we change it."\r
+\r
+"Not on my account, Sir James," said Dorothea, determined not to lose\r
+the opportunity of freeing herself from certain oblique references to\r
+excellent matches. "If you are speaking on my behalf, I can assure you\r
+that no question can be more indifferent and impersonal to me than\r
+second marriage. It is no more to me than if you talked of women going\r
+fox-hunting: whether it is admirable in them or not, I shall not follow\r
+them. Pray let Mrs. Cadwallader amuse herself on that subject as much\r
+as on any other."\r
+\r
+"My dear Mrs. Casaubon," said Lady Chettam, in her stateliest way, "you\r
+do not, I hope, think there was any allusion to you in my mentioning\r
+Mrs. Beevor. It was only an instance that occurred to me. She was\r
+step-daughter to Lord Grinsell: he married Mrs. Teveroy for his second\r
+wife. There could be no possible allusion to you."\r
+\r
+"Oh no," said Celia. "Nobody chose the subject; it all came out of\r
+Dodo's cap. Mrs. Cadwallader only said what was quite true. A woman\r
+could not be married in a widow's cap, James."\r
+\r
+"Hush, my dear!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "I will not offend again. I\r
+will not even refer to Dido or Zenobia. Only what are we to talk\r
+about? I, for my part, object to the discussion of Human Nature,\r
+because that is the nature of rectors' wives."\r
+\r
+Later in the evening, after Mrs. Cadwallader was gone, Celia said\r
+privately to Dorothea, "Really, Dodo, taking your cap off made you like\r
+yourself again in more ways than one. You spoke up just as you used to\r
+do, when anything was said to displease you. But I could hardly make\r
+out whether it was James that you thought wrong, or Mrs. Cadwallader."\r
+\r
+"Neither," said Dorothea. "James spoke out of delicacy to me, but he\r
+was mistaken in supposing that I minded what Mrs. Cadwallader said. I\r
+should only mind if there were a law obliging me to take any piece of\r
+blood and beauty that she or anybody else recommended."\r
+\r
+"But you know, Dodo, if you ever did marry, it would be all the better\r
+to have blood and beauty," said Celia, reflecting that Mr. Casaubon had\r
+not been richly endowed with those gifts, and that it would be well to\r
+caution Dorothea in time.\r
+\r
+"Don't be anxious, Kitty; I have quite other thoughts about my life. I\r
+shall never marry again," said Dorothea, touching her sister's chin,\r
+and looking at her with indulgent affection. Celia was nursing her\r
+baby, and Dorothea had come to say good-night to her.\r
+\r
+"Really--quite?" said Celia. "Not anybody at all--if he were very\r
+wonderful indeed?"\r
+\r
+Dorothea shook her head slowly. "Not anybody at all. I have\r
+delightful plans. I should like to take a great deal of land, and\r
+drain it, and make a little colony, where everybody should work, and\r
+all the work should be done well. I should know every one of the\r
+people and be their friend. I am going to have great consultations\r
+with Mr. Garth: he can tell me almost everything I want to know."\r
+\r
+"Then you _will_ be happy, if you have a plan, Dodo?" said Celia.\r
+"Perhaps little Arthur will like plans when he grows up, and then he\r
+can help you."\r
+\r
+Sir James was informed that same night that Dorothea was really quite\r
+set against marrying anybody at all, and was going to take to "all\r
+sorts of plans," just like what she used to have. Sir James made no\r
+remark. To his secret feeling there was something repulsive in a\r
+woman's second marriage, and no match would prevent him from feeling it\r
+a sort of desecration for Dorothea. He was aware that the world would\r
+regard such a sentiment as preposterous, especially in relation to a\r
+woman of one-and-twenty; the practice of "the world" being to treat of\r
+a young widow's second marriage as certain and probably near, and to\r
+smile with meaning if the widow acts accordingly. But if Dorothea did\r
+choose to espouse her solitude, he felt that the resolution would well\r
+become her.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LVI.\r
+\r
+ "How happy is he born and taught\r
+ That serveth not another's will;\r
+ Whose armor is his honest thought,\r
+ And simple truth his only skill!\r
+ . . . . . . .\r
+ This man is freed from servile bands\r
+ Of hope to rise or fear to fall;\r
+ Lord of himself though not of lands;\r
+ And having nothing yet hath all."\r
+ --SIR HENRY WOTTON.\r
+\r
+\r
+Dorothea's confidence in Caleb Garth's knowledge, which had begun on\r
+her hearing that he approved of her cottages, had grown fast during her\r
+stay at Freshitt, Sir James having induced her to take rides over the\r
+two estates in company with himself and Caleb, who quite returned her\r
+admiration, and told his wife that Mrs. Casaubon had a head for\r
+business most uncommon in a woman. It must be remembered that by\r
+"business" Caleb never meant money transactions, but the skilful\r
+application of labor.\r
+\r
+"Most uncommon!" repeated Caleb. "She said a thing I often used to\r
+think myself when I was a lad:--'Mr. Garth, I should like to feel, if I\r
+lived to be old, that I had improved a great piece of land and built a\r
+great many good cottages, because the work is of a healthy kind while\r
+it is being done, and after it is done, men are the better for it.'\r
+Those were the very words: she sees into things in that way."\r
+\r
+"But womanly, I hope," said Mrs. Garth, half suspecting that Mrs.\r
+Casaubon might not hold the true principle of subordination.\r
+\r
+"Oh, you can't think!" said Caleb, shaking his head. "You would like\r
+to hear her speak, Susan. She speaks in such plain words, and a voice\r
+like music. Bless me! it reminds me of bits in the 'Messiah'--'and\r
+straightway there appeared a multitude of the heavenly host, praising\r
+God and saying;' it has a tone with it that satisfies your ear."\r
+\r
+Caleb was very fond of music, and when he could afford it went to hear\r
+an oratorio that came within his reach, returning from it with a\r
+profound reverence for this mighty structure of tones, which made him\r
+sit meditatively, looking on the floor and throwing much unutterable\r
+language into his outstretched hands.\r
+\r
+With this good understanding between them, it was natural that Dorothea\r
+asked Mr. Garth to undertake any business connected with the three\r
+farms and the numerous tenements attached to Lowick Manor; indeed, his\r
+expectation of getting work for two was being fast fulfilled. As he\r
+said, "Business breeds." And one form of business which was beginning\r
+to breed just then was the construction of railways. A projected line\r
+was to run through Lowick parish where the cattle had hitherto grazed\r
+in a peace unbroken by astonishment; and thus it happened that the\r
+infant struggles of the railway system entered into the affairs of\r
+Caleb Garth, and determined the course of this history with regard to\r
+two persons who were dear to him. The submarine railway may have its\r
+difficulties; but the bed of the sea is not divided among various\r
+landed proprietors with claims for damages not only measurable but\r
+sentimental. In the hundred to which Middlemarch belonged railways\r
+were as exciting a topic as the Reform Bill or the imminent horrors of\r
+Cholera, and those who held the most decided views on the subject were\r
+women and landholders. Women both old and young regarded travelling by\r
+steam as presumptuous and dangerous, and argued against it by saying\r
+that nothing should induce them to get into a railway carriage; while\r
+proprietors, differing from each other in their arguments as much as\r
+Mr. Solomon Featherstone differed from Lord Medlicote, were yet\r
+unanimous in the opinion that in selling land, whether to the Enemy of\r
+mankind or to a company obliged to purchase, these pernicious agencies\r
+must be made to pay a very high price to landowners for permission to\r
+injure mankind.\r
+\r
+But the slower wits, such as Mr. Solomon and Mrs. Waule, who both\r
+occupied land of their own, took a long time to arrive at this\r
+conclusion, their minds halting at the vivid conception of what it\r
+would be to cut the Big Pasture in two, and turn it into three-cornered\r
+bits, which would be "nohow;" while accommodation-bridges and high\r
+payments were remote and incredible.\r
+\r
+"The cows will all cast their calves, brother," said Mrs. Waule, in a\r
+tone of deep melancholy, "if the railway comes across the Near Close;\r
+and I shouldn't wonder at the mare too, if she was in foal. It's a\r
+poor tale if a widow's property is to be spaded away, and the law say\r
+nothing to it. What's to hinder 'em from cutting right and left if\r
+they begin? It's well known, _I_ can't fight."\r
+\r
+"The best way would be to say nothing, and set somebody on to send 'em\r
+away with a flea in their ear, when they came spying and measuring,"\r
+said Solomon. "Folks did that about Brassing, by what I can\r
+understand. It's all a pretence, if the truth was known, about their\r
+being forced to take one way. Let 'em go cutting in another parish.\r
+And I don't believe in any pay to make amends for bringing a lot of\r
+ruffians to trample your crops. Where's a company's pocket?"\r
+\r
+"Brother Peter, God forgive him, got money out of a company," said Mrs.\r
+Waule. "But that was for the manganese. That wasn't for railways to\r
+blow you to pieces right and left."\r
+\r
+"Well, there's this to be said, Jane," Mr. Solomon concluded, lowering\r
+his voice in a cautious manner--"the more spokes we put in their wheel,\r
+the more they'll pay us to let 'em go on, if they must come whether or\r
+not."\r
+\r
+This reasoning of Mr. Solomon's was perhaps less thorough than he\r
+imagined, his cunning bearing about the same relation to the course of\r
+railways as the cunning of a diplomatist bears to the general chill or\r
+catarrh of the solar system. But he set about acting on his views in a\r
+thoroughly diplomatic manner, by stimulating suspicion. His side of\r
+Lowick was the most remote from the village, and the houses of the\r
+laboring people were either lone cottages or were collected in a hamlet\r
+called Frick, where a water-mill and some stone-pits made a little\r
+centre of slow, heavy-shouldered industry.\r
+\r
+In the absence of any precise idea as to what railways were, public\r
+opinion in Frick was against them; for the human mind in that grassy\r
+corner had not the proverbial tendency to admire the unknown, holding\r
+rather that it was likely to be against the poor man, and that\r
+suspicion was the only wise attitude with regard to it. Even the rumor\r
+of Reform had not yet excited any millennial expectations in Frick,\r
+there being no definite promise in it, as of gratuitous grains to\r
+fatten Hiram Ford's pig, or of a publican at the "Weights and Scales"\r
+who would brew beer for nothing, or of an offer on the part of the\r
+three neighboring farmers to raise wages during winter. And without\r
+distinct good of this kind in its promises, Reform seemed on a footing\r
+with the bragging of pedlers, which was a hint for distrust to every\r
+knowing person. The men of Frick were not ill-fed, and were less given\r
+to fanaticism than to a strong muscular suspicion; less inclined to\r
+believe that they were peculiarly cared for by heaven, than to regard\r
+heaven itself as rather disposed to take them in--a disposition\r
+observable in the weather.\r
+\r
+Thus the mind of Frick was exactly of the sort for Mr. Solomon\r
+Featherstone to work upon, he having more plenteous ideas of the same\r
+order, with a suspicion of heaven and earth which was better fed and\r
+more entirely at leisure. Solomon was overseer of the roads at that\r
+time, and on his slow-paced cob often took his rounds by Frick to look\r
+at the workmen getting the stones there, pausing with a mysterious\r
+deliberation, which might have misled you into supposing that he had\r
+some other reason for staying than the mere want of impulse to move.\r
+After looking for a long while at any work that was going on, he would\r
+raise his eyes a little and look at the horizon; finally he would shake\r
+his bridle, touch his horse with the whip, and get it to move slowly\r
+onward. The hour-hand of a clock was quick by comparison with Mr.\r
+Solomon, who had an agreeable sense that he could afford to be slow.\r
+He was in the habit of pausing for a cautious, vaguely designing chat\r
+with every hedger or ditcher on his way, and was especially willing to\r
+listen even to news which he had heard before, feeling himself at an\r
+advantage over all narrators in partially disbelieving them. One day,\r
+however, he got into a dialogue with Hiram Ford, a wagoner, in which he\r
+himself contributed information. He wished to know whether Hiram had\r
+seen fellows with staves and instruments spying about: they called\r
+themselves railroad people, but there was no telling what they were or\r
+what they meant to do. The least they pretended was that they were\r
+going to cut Lowick Parish into sixes and sevens.\r
+\r
+"Why, there'll be no stirrin' from one pla-ace to another," said Hiram,\r
+thinking of his wagon and horses.\r
+\r
+"Not a bit," said Mr. Solomon. "And cutting up fine land such as this\r
+parish! Let 'em go into Tipton, say I. But there's no knowing what\r
+there is at the bottom of it. Traffic is what they put for'ard; but\r
+it's to do harm to the land and the poor man in the long-run."\r
+\r
+"Why, they're Lunnon chaps, I reckon," said Hiram, who had a dim notion\r
+of London as a centre of hostility to the country.\r
+\r
+"Ay, to be sure. And in some parts against Brassing, by what I've\r
+heard say, the folks fell on 'em when they were spying, and broke their\r
+peep-holes as they carry, and drove 'em away, so as they knew better\r
+than come again."\r
+\r
+"It war good foon, I'd be bound," said Hiram, whose fun was much\r
+restricted by circumstances.\r
+\r
+"Well, I wouldn't meddle with 'em myself," said Solomon. "But some say\r
+this country's seen its best days, and the sign is, as it's being\r
+overrun with these fellows trampling right and left, and wanting to cut\r
+it up into railways; and all for the big traffic to swallow up the\r
+little, so as there shan't be a team left on the land, nor a whip to\r
+crack."\r
+\r
+"I'll crack _my_ whip about their ear'n, afore they bring it to that,\r
+though," said Hiram, while Mr. Solomon, shaking his bridle, moved\r
+onward.\r
+\r
+Nettle-seed needs no digging. The ruin of this countryside by\r
+railroads was discussed, not only at the "Weights and Scales," but in\r
+the hay-field, where the muster of working hands gave opportunities for\r
+talk such as were rarely had through the rural year.\r
+\r
+One morning, not long after that interview between Mr. Farebrother and\r
+Mary Garth, in which she confessed to him her feeling for Fred Vincy,\r
+it happened that her father had some business which took him to\r
+Yoddrell's farm in the direction of Frick: it was to measure and value\r
+an outlying piece of land belonging to Lowick Manor, which Caleb\r
+expected to dispose of advantageously for Dorothea (it must be\r
+confessed that his bias was towards getting the best possible terms\r
+from railroad companies). He put up his gig at Yoddrell's, and in\r
+walking with his assistant and measuring-chain to the scene of his\r
+work, he encountered the party of the company's agents, who were\r
+adjusting their spirit-level. After a little chat he left them,\r
+observing that by-and-by they would reach him again where he was going\r
+to measure. It was one of those gray mornings after light rains, which\r
+become delicious about twelve o'clock, when the clouds part a little,\r
+and the scent of the earth is sweet along the lanes and by the\r
+hedgerows.\r
+\r
+The scent would have been sweeter to Fred Vincy, who was coming along\r
+the lanes on horseback, if his mind had not been worried by\r
+unsuccessful efforts to imagine what he was to do, with his father on\r
+one side expecting him straightway to enter the Church, with Mary on\r
+the other threatening to forsake him if he did enter it, and with the\r
+working-day world showing no eager need whatever of a young gentleman\r
+without capital and generally unskilled. It was the harder to Fred's\r
+disposition because his father, satisfied that he was no longer\r
+rebellious, was in good humor with him, and had sent him on this\r
+pleasant ride to see after some greyhounds. Even when he had fixed on\r
+what he should do, there would be the task of telling his father. But\r
+it must be admitted that the fixing, which had to come first, was the\r
+more difficult task:--what secular avocation on earth was there for a\r
+young man (whose friends could not get him an "appointment") which was\r
+at once gentlemanly, lucrative, and to be followed without special\r
+knowledge? Riding along the lanes by Frick in this mood, and\r
+slackening his pace while he reflected whether he should venture to go\r
+round by Lowick Parsonage to call on Mary, he could see over the hedges\r
+from one field to another. Suddenly a noise roused his attention, and\r
+on the far side of a field on his left hand he could see six or seven\r
+men in smock-frocks with hay-forks in their hands making an offensive\r
+approach towards the four railway agents who were facing them, while\r
+Caleb Garth and his assistant were hastening across the field to join\r
+the threatened group. Fred, delayed a few moments by having to find\r
+the gate, could not gallop up to the spot before the party in\r
+smock-frocks, whose work of turning the hay had not been too pressing\r
+after swallowing their mid-day beer, were driving the men in coats\r
+before them with their hay-forks; while Caleb Garth's assistant, a lad\r
+of seventeen, who had snatched up the spirit-level at Caleb's order,\r
+had been knocked down and seemed to be lying helpless. The coated men\r
+had the advantage as runners, and Fred covered their retreat by getting\r
+in front of the smock-frocks and charging them suddenly enough to throw\r
+their chase into confusion. "What do you confounded fools mean?"\r
+shouted Fred, pursuing the divided group in a zigzag, and cutting right\r
+and left with his whip. "I'll swear to every one of you before the\r
+magistrate. You've knocked the lad down and killed him, for what I\r
+know. You'll every one of you be hanged at the next assizes, if you\r
+don't mind," said Fred, who afterwards laughed heartily as he\r
+remembered his own phrases.\r
+\r
+The laborers had been driven through the gate-way into their hay-field,\r
+and Fred had checked his horse, when Hiram Ford, observing himself at a\r
+safe challenging distance, turned back and shouted a defiance which he\r
+did not know to be Homeric.\r
+\r
+"Yo're a coward, yo are. Yo git off your horse, young measter, and\r
+I'll have a round wi' ye, I wull. Yo daredn't come on wi'out your hoss\r
+an' whip. I'd soon knock the breath out on ye, I would."\r
+\r
+"Wait a minute, and I'll come back presently, and have a round with you\r
+all in turn, if you like," said Fred, who felt confidence in his power\r
+of boxing with his dearly beloved brethren. But just now he wanted to\r
+hasten back to Caleb and the prostrate youth.\r
+\r
+The lad's ankle was strained, and he was in much pain from it, but he\r
+was no further hurt, and Fred placed him on the horse that he might\r
+ride to Yoddrell's and be taken care of there.\r
+\r
+"Let them put the horse in the stable, and tell the surveyors they can\r
+come back for their traps," said Fred. "The ground is clear now."\r
+\r
+"No, no," said Caleb, "here's a breakage. They'll have to give up for\r
+to-day, and it will be as well. Here, take the things before you on\r
+the horse, Tom. They'll see you coming, and they'll turn back."\r
+\r
+"I'm glad I happened to be here at the right moment, Mr. Garth," said\r
+Fred, as Tom rode away. "No knowing what might have happened if the\r
+cavalry had not come up in time."\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay, it was lucky," said Caleb, speaking rather absently, and\r
+looking towards the spot where he had been at work at the moment of\r
+interruption. "But--deuce take it--this is what comes of men being\r
+fools--I'm hindered of my day's work. I can't get along without\r
+somebody to help me with the measuring-chain. However!" He was\r
+beginning to move towards the spot with a look of vexation, as if he\r
+had forgotten Fred's presence, but suddenly he turned round and said\r
+quickly, "What have you got to do to-day, young fellow?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing, Mr. Garth. I'll help you with pleasure--can I?" said Fred,\r
+with a sense that he should be courting Mary when he was helping her\r
+father.\r
+\r
+"Well, you mustn't mind stooping and getting hot."\r
+\r
+"I don't mind anything. Only I want to go first and have a round with\r
+that hulky fellow who turned to challenge me. It would be a good\r
+lesson for him. I shall not be five minutes."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense!" said Caleb, with his most peremptory intonation. "I shall\r
+go and speak to the men myself. It's all ignorance. Somebody has been\r
+telling them lies. The poor fools don't know any better."\r
+\r
+"I shall go with you, then," said Fred.\r
+\r
+"No, no; stay where you are. I don't want your young blood. I can\r
+take care of myself."\r
+\r
+Caleb was a powerful man and knew little of any fear except the fear of\r
+hurting others and the fear of having to speechify. But he felt it his\r
+duty at this moment to try and give a little harangue. There was a\r
+striking mixture in him--which came from his having always been a\r
+hard-working man himself--of rigorous notions about workmen and\r
+practical indulgence towards them. To do a good day's work and to do\r
+it well, he held to be part of their welfare, as it was the chief part\r
+of his own happiness; but he had a strong sense of fellowship with\r
+them. When he advanced towards the laborers they had not gone to work\r
+again, but were standing in that form of rural grouping which consists\r
+in each turning a shoulder towards the other, at a distance of two or\r
+three yards. They looked rather sulkily at Caleb, who walked quickly\r
+with one hand in his pocket and the other thrust between the buttons of\r
+his waistcoat, and had his every-day mild air when he paused among them.\r
+\r
+"Why, my lads, how's this?" he began, taking as usual to brief phrases,\r
+which seemed pregnant to himself, because he had many thoughts lying\r
+under them, like the abundant roots of a plant that just manages to\r
+peep above the water. "How came you to make such a mistake as this?\r
+Somebody has been telling you lies. You thought those men up there\r
+wanted to do mischief."\r
+\r
+"Aw!" was the answer, dropped at intervals by each according to his\r
+degree of unreadiness.\r
+\r
+"Nonsense! No such thing! They're looking out to see which way the\r
+railroad is to take. Now, my lads, you can't hinder the railroad: it\r
+will be made whether you like it or not. And if you go fighting\r
+against it, you'll get yourselves into trouble. The law gives those\r
+men leave to come here on the land. The owner has nothing to say\r
+against it, and if you meddle with them you'll have to do with the\r
+constable and Justice Blakesley, and with the handcuffs and Middlemarch\r
+jail. And you might be in for it now, if anybody informed against you."\r
+\r
+Caleb paused here, and perhaps the greatest orator could not have\r
+chosen either his pause or his images better for the occasion.\r
+\r
+"But come, you didn't mean any harm. Somebody told you the railroad\r
+was a bad thing. That was a lie. It may do a bit of harm here and\r
+there, to this and to that; and so does the sun in heaven. But the\r
+railway's a good thing."\r
+\r
+"Aw! good for the big folks to make money out on," said old Timothy\r
+Cooper, who had stayed behind turning his hay while the others had been\r
+gone on their spree;--"I'n seen lots o' things turn up sin' I war a\r
+young un--the war an' the peace, and the canells, an' the oald King\r
+George, an' the Regen', an' the new King George, an' the new un as has\r
+got a new ne-ame--an' it's been all aloike to the poor mon. What's the\r
+canells been t' him? They'n brought him neyther me-at nor be-acon, nor\r
+wage to lay by, if he didn't save it wi' clemmin' his own inside.\r
+Times ha' got wusser for him sin' I war a young un. An' so it'll be\r
+wi' the railroads. They'll on'y leave the poor mon furder behind. But\r
+them are fools as meddle, and so I told the chaps here. This is the\r
+big folks's world, this is. But yo're for the big folks, Muster Garth,\r
+yo are."\r
+\r
+Timothy was a wiry old laborer, of a type lingering in those times--who\r
+had his savings in a stocking-foot, lived in a lone cottage, and was\r
+not to be wrought on by any oratory, having as little of the feudal\r
+spirit, and believing as little, as if he had not been totally\r
+unacquainted with the Age of Reason and the Rights of Man. Caleb was\r
+in a difficulty known to any person attempting in dark times and\r
+unassisted by miracle to reason with rustics who are in possession of\r
+an undeniable truth which they know through a hard process of feeling,\r
+and can let it fall like a giant's club on your neatly carved argument\r
+for a social benefit which they do not feel. Caleb had no cant at\r
+command, even if he could have chosen to use it; and he had been\r
+accustomed to meet all such difficulties in no other way than by doing\r
+his "business" faithfully. He answered--\r
+\r
+"If you don't think well of me, Tim, never mind; that's neither here\r
+nor there now. Things may be bad for the poor man--bad they are; but I\r
+want the lads here not to do what will make things worse for\r
+themselves. The cattle may have a heavy load, but it won't help 'em to\r
+throw it over into the roadside pit, when it's partly their own fodder."\r
+\r
+"We war on'y for a bit o' foon," said Hiram, who was beginning to see\r
+consequences. "That war all we war arter."\r
+\r
+"Well, promise me not to meddle again, and I'll see that nobody informs\r
+against you."\r
+\r
+"I'n ne'er meddled, an' I'n no call to promise," said Timothy.\r
+\r
+"No, but the rest. Come, I'm as hard at work as any of you to-day, and\r
+I can't spare much time. Say you'll be quiet without the constable."\r
+\r
+"Aw, we wooant meddle--they may do as they loike for oos"--were the\r
+forms in which Caleb got his pledges; and then he hastened back to\r
+Fred, who had followed him, and watched him in the gateway.\r
+\r
+They went to work, and Fred helped vigorously. His spirits had risen,\r
+and he heartily enjoyed a good slip in the moist earth under the\r
+hedgerow, which soiled his perfect summer trousers. Was it his\r
+successful onset which had elated him, or the satisfaction of helping\r
+Mary's father? Something more. The accidents of the morning had\r
+helped his frustrated imagination to shape an employment for himself\r
+which had several attractions. I am not sure that certain fibres in\r
+Mr. Garth's mind had not resumed their old vibration towards the very\r
+end which now revealed itself to Fred. For the effective accident is\r
+but the touch of fire where there is oil and tow; and it always\r
+appeared to Fred that the railway brought the needed touch. But they\r
+went on in silence except when their business demanded speech. At\r
+last, when they had finished and were walking away, Mr. Garth said--\r
+\r
+"A young fellow needn't be a B. A. to do this sort of work, eh, Fred?"\r
+\r
+"I wish I had taken to it before I had thought of being a B. A.," said\r
+Fred. He paused a moment, and then added, more hesitatingly, "Do you\r
+think I am too old to learn your business, Mr. Garth?"\r
+\r
+"My business is of many sorts, my boy," said Mr. Garth, smiling. "A\r
+good deal of what I know can only come from experience: you can't learn\r
+it off as you learn things out of a book. But you are young enough to\r
+lay a foundation yet." Caleb pronounced the last sentence\r
+emphatically, but paused in some uncertainty. He had been under the\r
+impression lately that Fred had made up his mind to enter the Church.\r
+\r
+"You do think I could do some good at it, if I were to try?" said Fred,\r
+more eagerly.\r
+\r
+"That depends," said Caleb, turning his head on one side and lowering\r
+his voice, with the air of a man who felt himself to be saying\r
+something deeply religious. "You must be sure of two things: you must\r
+love your work, and not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting\r
+your play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed of your\r
+work, and think it would be more honorable to you to be doing something\r
+else. You must have a pride in your own work and in learning to do it\r
+well, and not be always saying, There's this and there's that--if I had\r
+this or that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what a man\r
+is--I wouldn't give twopence for him"--here Caleb's mouth looked\r
+bitter, and he snapped his fingers--"whether he was the prime minister\r
+or the rick-thatcher, if he didn't do well what he undertook to do."\r
+\r
+"I can never feel that I should do that in being a clergyman," said\r
+Fred, meaning to take a step in argument.\r
+\r
+"Then let it alone, my boy," said Caleb, abruptly, "else you'll never\r
+be easy. Or, if you _are_ easy, you'll be a poor stick."\r
+\r
+"That is very nearly what Mary thinks about it," said Fred, coloring.\r
+"I think you must know what I feel for Mary, Mr. Garth: I hope it does\r
+not displease you that I have always loved her better than any one\r
+else, and that I shall never love any one as I love her."\r
+\r
+The expression of Caleb's face was visibly softening while Fred spoke.\r
+But he swung his head with a solemn slowness, and said--\r
+\r
+"That makes things more serious, Fred, if you want to take Mary's\r
+happiness into your keeping."\r
+\r
+"I know that, Mr. Garth," said Fred, eagerly, "and I would do anything\r
+for _her_. She says she will never have me if I go into the Church;\r
+and I shall be the most miserable devil in the world if I lose all hope\r
+of Mary. Really, if I could get some other profession,\r
+business--anything that I am at all fit for, I would work hard, I would\r
+deserve your good opinion. I should like to have to do with outdoor\r
+things. I know a good deal about land and cattle already. I used to\r
+believe, you know--though you will think me rather foolish for it--that\r
+I should have land of my own. I am sure knowledge of that sort would\r
+come easily to me, especially if I could be under you in any way."\r
+\r
+"Softly, my boy," said Caleb, having the image of "Susan" before his\r
+eyes. "What have you said to your father about all this?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing, yet; but I must tell him. I am only waiting to know what I\r
+can do instead of entering the Church. I am very sorry to disappoint\r
+him, but a man ought to be allowed to judge for himself when he is\r
+four-and-twenty. How could I know when I was fifteen, what it would be\r
+right for me to do now? My education was a mistake."\r
+\r
+"But hearken to this, Fred," said Caleb. "Are you sure Mary is fond of\r
+you, or would ever have you?"\r
+\r
+"I asked Mr. Farebrother to talk to her, because she had forbidden\r
+me--I didn't know what else to do," said Fred, apologetically. "And he\r
+says that I have every reason to hope, if I can put myself in an\r
+honorable position--I mean, out of the Church. I dare say you think it\r
+unwarrantable in me, Mr. Garth, to be troubling you and obtruding my\r
+own wishes about Mary, before I have done anything at all for myself.\r
+Of course I have not the least claim--indeed, I have already a debt to\r
+you which will never be discharged, even when I have been, able to pay\r
+it in the shape of money."\r
+\r
+"Yes, my boy, you have a claim," said Caleb, with much feeling in his\r
+voice. "The young ones have always a claim on the old to help them\r
+forward. I was young myself once and had to do without much help; but\r
+help would have been welcome to me, if it had been only for the\r
+fellow-feeling's sake. But I must consider. Come to me to-morrow at\r
+the office, at nine o'clock. At the office, mind."\r
+\r
+Mr. Garth would take no important step without consulting Susan, but it\r
+must be confessed that before he reached home he had taken his\r
+resolution. With regard to a large number of matters about which other\r
+men are decided or obstinate, he was the most easily manageable man in\r
+the world. He never knew what meat he would choose, and if Susan had\r
+said that they ought to live in a four-roomed cottage, in order to\r
+save, he would have said, "Let us go," without inquiring into details.\r
+But where Caleb's feeling and judgment strongly pronounced, he was a\r
+ruler; and in spite of his mildness and timidity in reproving, every\r
+one about him knew that on the exceptional occasions when he chose, he\r
+was absolute. He never, indeed, chose to be absolute except on some\r
+one else's behalf. On ninety-nine points Mrs. Garth decided, but on\r
+the hundredth she was often aware that she would have to perform the\r
+singularly difficult task of carrying out her own principle, and to\r
+make herself subordinate.\r
+\r
+"It is come round as I thought, Susan," said Caleb, when they were\r
+seated alone in the evening. He had already narrated the adventure\r
+which had brought about Fred's sharing in his work, but had kept back\r
+the further result. "The children _are_ fond of each other--I mean,\r
+Fred and Mary."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth laid her work on her knee, and fixed her penetrating eyes\r
+anxiously on her husband.\r
+\r
+"After we'd done our work, Fred poured it all out to me. He can't bear\r
+to be a clergyman, and Mary says she won't have him if he is one; and\r
+the lad would like to be under me and give his mind to business. And\r
+I've determined to take him and make a man of him."\r
+\r
+"Caleb!" said Mrs. Garth, in a deep contralto, expressive of resigned\r
+astonishment.\r
+\r
+"It's a fine thing to do," said Mr. Garth, settling himself firmly\r
+against the back of his chair, and grasping the elbows. "I shall have\r
+trouble with him, but I think I shall carry it through. The lad loves\r
+Mary, and a true love for a good woman is a great thing, Susan. It\r
+shapes many a rough fellow."\r
+\r
+"Has Mary spoken to you on the subject?" said Mrs Garth, secretly a\r
+little hurt that she had to be informed on it herself.\r
+\r
+"Not a word. I asked her about Fred once; I gave her a bit of a\r
+warning. But she assured me she would never marry an idle\r
+self-indulgent man--nothing since. But it seems Fred set on Mr.\r
+Farebrother to talk to her, because she had forbidden him to speak\r
+himself, and Mr. Farebrother has found out that she is fond of Fred,\r
+but says he must not be a clergyman. Fred's heart is fixed on Mary,\r
+that I can see: it gives me a good opinion of the lad--and we always\r
+liked him, Susan."\r
+\r
+"It is a pity for Mary, I think," said Mrs. Garth.\r
+\r
+"Why--a pity?"\r
+\r
+"Because, Caleb, she might have had a man who is worth twenty Fred\r
+Vincy's."\r
+\r
+"Ah?" said Caleb, with surprise.\r
+\r
+"I firmly believe that Mr. Farebrother is attached to her, and meant to\r
+make her an offer; but of course, now that Fred has used him as an\r
+envoy, there is an end to that better prospect." There was a severe\r
+precision in Mrs. Garth's utterance. She was vexed and disappointed,\r
+but she was bent on abstaining from useless words.\r
+\r
+Caleb was silent a few moments under a conflict of feelings. He looked\r
+at the floor and moved his head and hands in accompaniment to some\r
+inward argumentation. At last he said--\r
+\r
+"That would have made me very proud and happy, Susan, and I should have\r
+been glad for your sake. I've always felt that your belongings have\r
+never been on a level with you. But you took me, though I was a plain\r
+man."\r
+\r
+"I took the best and cleverest man I had ever known," said Mrs. Garth,\r
+convinced that _she_ would never have loved any one who came short of\r
+that mark.\r
+\r
+"Well, perhaps others thought you might have done better. But it would\r
+have been worse for me. And that is what touches me close about Fred.\r
+The lad is good at bottom, and clever enough to do, if he's put in the\r
+right way; and he loves and honors my daughter beyond anything, and she\r
+has given him a sort of promise according to what he turns out. I say,\r
+that young man's soul is in my hand; and I'll do the best I can for\r
+him, so help me God! It's my duty, Susan."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth was not given to tears, but there was a large one rolling\r
+down her face before her husband had finished. It came from the\r
+pressure of various feelings, in which there was much affection and\r
+some vexation. She wiped it away quickly, saying--\r
+\r
+"Few men besides you would think it a duty to add to their anxieties in\r
+that way, Caleb."\r
+\r
+"That signifies nothing--what other men would think. I've got a clear\r
+feeling inside me, and that I shall follow; and I hope your heart will\r
+go with me, Susan, in making everything as light as can be to Mary,\r
+poor child."\r
+\r
+Caleb, leaning back in his chair, looked with anxious appeal towards\r
+his wife. She rose and kissed him, saying, "God bless you, Caleb! Our\r
+children have a good father."\r
+\r
+But she went out and had a hearty cry to make up for the suppression of\r
+her words. She felt sure that her husband's conduct would be\r
+misunderstood, and about Fred she was rational and unhopeful. Which\r
+would turn out to have the more foresight in it--her rationality or\r
+Caleb's ardent generosity?\r
+\r
+When Fred went to the office the next morning, there was a test to be\r
+gone through which he was not prepared for.\r
+\r
+"Now Fred," said Caleb, "you will have some desk-work. I have always\r
+done a good deal of writing myself, but I can't do without help, and as\r
+I want you to understand the accounts and get the values into your\r
+head, I mean to do without another clerk. So you must buckle to. How\r
+are you at writing and arithmetic?"\r
+\r
+Fred felt an awkward movement of the heart; he had not thought of\r
+desk-work; but he was in a resolute mood, and not going to shrink.\r
+"I'm not afraid of arithmetic, Mr. Garth: it always came easily to me.\r
+I think you know my writing."\r
+\r
+"Let us see," said Caleb, taking up a pen, examining it carefully and\r
+handing it, well dipped, to Fred with a sheet of ruled paper. "Copy me\r
+a line or two of that valuation, with the figures at the end."\r
+\r
+At that time the opinion existed that it was beneath a gentleman to\r
+write legibly, or with a hand in the least suitable to a clerk. Fred\r
+wrote the lines demanded in a hand as gentlemanly as that of any\r
+viscount or bishop of the day: the vowels were all alike and the\r
+consonants only distinguishable as turning up or down, the strokes had\r
+a blotted solidity and the letters disdained to keep the line--in\r
+short, it was a manuscript of that venerable kind easy to interpret\r
+when you know beforehand what the writer means.\r
+\r
+As Caleb looked on, his visage showed a growing depression, but when\r
+Fred handed him the paper he gave something like a snarl, and rapped\r
+the paper passionately with the back of his hand. Bad work like this\r
+dispelled all Caleb's mildness.\r
+\r
+"The deuce!" he exclaimed, snarlingly. "To think that this is a\r
+country where a man's education may cost hundreds and hundreds, and it\r
+turns you out this!" Then in a more pathetic tone, pushing up his\r
+spectacles and looking at the unfortunate scribe, "The Lord have mercy\r
+on us, Fred, I can't put up with this!"\r
+\r
+"What can I do, Mr. Garth?" said Fred, whose spirits had sunk very low,\r
+not only at the estimate of his handwriting, but at the vision of\r
+himself as liable to be ranked with office clerks.\r
+\r
+"Do? Why, you must learn to form your letters and keep the line.\r
+What's the use of writing at all if nobody can understand it?" asked\r
+Caleb, energetically, quite preoccupied with the bad quality of the\r
+work. "Is there so little business in the world that you must be\r
+sending puzzles over the country? But that's the way people are\r
+brought up. I should lose no end of time with the letters some people\r
+send me, if Susan did not make them out for me. It's disgusting." Here\r
+Caleb tossed the paper from him.\r
+\r
+Any stranger peeping into the office at that moment might have wondered\r
+what was the drama between the indignant man of business, and the\r
+fine-looking young fellow whose blond complexion was getting rather\r
+patchy as he bit his lip with mortification. Fred was struggling with\r
+many thoughts. Mr. Garth had been so kind and encouraging at the\r
+beginning of their interview, that gratitude and hopefulness had been\r
+at a high pitch, and the downfall was proportionate. He had not\r
+thought of desk-work--in fact, like the majority of young gentlemen, he\r
+wanted an occupation which should be free from disagreeables. I cannot\r
+tell what might have been the consequences if he had not distinctly\r
+promised himself that he would go to Lowick to see Mary and tell her\r
+that he was engaged to work under her father. He did not like to\r
+disappoint himself there.\r
+\r
+"I am very sorry," were all the words that he could muster. But Mr.\r
+Garth was already relenting.\r
+\r
+"We must make the best of it, Fred," he began, with a return to his\r
+usual quiet tone. "Every man can learn to write. I taught myself. Go\r
+at it with a will, and sit up at night if the day-time isn't enough.\r
+We'll be patient, my boy. Callum shall go on with the books for a bit,\r
+while you are learning. But now I must be off," said Caleb, rising.\r
+"You must let your father know our agreement. You'll save me Callum's\r
+salary, you know, when you can write; and I can afford to give you\r
+eighty pounds for the first year, and more after."\r
+\r
+When Fred made the necessary disclosure to his parents, the relative\r
+effect on the two was a surprise which entered very deeply into his\r
+memory. He went straight from Mr. Garth's office to the warehouse,\r
+rightly feeling that the most respectful way in which he could behave\r
+to his father was to make the painful communication as gravely and\r
+formally as possible. Moreover, the decision would be more certainly\r
+understood to be final, if the interview took place in his father's\r
+gravest hours, which were always those spent in his private room at the\r
+warehouse.\r
+\r
+Fred entered on the subject directly, and declared briefly what he had\r
+done and was resolved to do, expressing at the end his regret that he\r
+should be the cause of disappointment to his father, and taking the\r
+blame on his own deficiencies. The regret was genuine, and inspired\r
+Fred with strong, simple words.\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy listened in profound surprise without uttering even an\r
+exclamation, a silence which in his impatient temperament was a sign of\r
+unusual emotion. He had not been in good spirits about trade that\r
+morning, and the slight bitterness in his lips grew intense as he\r
+listened. When Fred had ended, there was a pause of nearly a minute,\r
+during which Mr. Vincy replaced a book in his desk and turned the key\r
+emphatically. Then he looked at his son steadily, and said--\r
+\r
+"So you've made up your mind at last, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, father."\r
+\r
+"Very well; stick to it. I've no more to say. You've thrown away your\r
+education, and gone down a step in life, when I had given you the means\r
+of rising, that's all."\r
+\r
+"I am very sorry that we differ, father. I think I can be quite as\r
+much of a gentleman at the work I have undertaken, as if I had been a\r
+curate. But I am grateful to you for wishing to do the best for me."\r
+\r
+"Very well; I have no more to say. I wash my hands of you. I only\r
+hope, when you have a son of your own he will make a better return for\r
+the pains you spend on him."\r
+\r
+This was very cutting to Fred. His father was using that unfair\r
+advantage possessed by us all when we are in a pathetic situation and\r
+see our own past as if it were simply part of the pathos. In reality,\r
+Mr. Vincy's wishes about his son had had a great deal of pride,\r
+inconsiderateness, and egoistic folly in them. But still the\r
+disappointed father held a strong lever; and Fred felt as if he were\r
+being banished with a malediction.\r
+\r
+"I hope you will not object to my remaining at home, sir?" he said,\r
+after rising to go; "I shall have a sufficient salary to pay for my\r
+board, as of course I should wish to do."\r
+\r
+"Board be hanged!" said Mr. Vincy, recovering himself in his disgust at\r
+the notion that Fred's keep would be missed at his table. "Of course\r
+your mother will want you to stay. But I shall keep no horse for you,\r
+you understand; and you will pay your own tailor. You will do with a\r
+suit or two less, I fancy, when you have to pay for 'em."\r
+\r
+Fred lingered; there was still something to be said. At last it came.\r
+\r
+"I hope you will shake hands with me, father, and forgive me the\r
+vexation I have caused you."\r
+\r
+Mr. Vincy from his chair threw a quick glance upward at his son, who\r
+had advanced near to him, and then gave his hand, saying hurriedly,\r
+"Yes, yes, let us say no more."\r
+\r
+Fred went through much more narrative and explanation with his mother,\r
+but she was inconsolable, having before her eyes what perhaps her\r
+husband had never thought of, the certainty that Fred would marry Mary\r
+Garth, that her life would henceforth be spoiled by a perpetual\r
+infusion of Garths and their ways, and that her darling boy, with his\r
+beautiful face and stylish air "beyond anybody else's son in\r
+Middlemarch," would be sure to get like that family in plainness of\r
+appearance and carelessness about his clothes. To her it seemed that\r
+there was a Garth conspiracy to get possession of the desirable Fred,\r
+but she dared not enlarge on this opinion, because a slight hint of it\r
+had made him "fly out" at her as he had never done before. Her temper\r
+was too sweet for her to show any anger, but she felt that her\r
+happiness had received a bruise, and for several days merely to look at\r
+Fred made her cry a little as if he were the subject of some baleful\r
+prophecy. Perhaps she was the slower to recover her usual cheerfulness\r
+because Fred had warned her that she must not reopen the sore question\r
+with his father, who had accepted his decision and forgiven him. If\r
+her husband had been vehement against Fred, she would have been urged\r
+into defence of her darling. It was the end of the fourth day when Mr.\r
+Vincy said to her--\r
+\r
+"Come, Lucy, my dear, don't be so down-hearted. You always have spoiled\r
+the boy, and you must go on spoiling him."\r
+\r
+"Nothing ever did cut me so before, Vincy," said the wife, her fair\r
+throat and chin beginning to tremble again, "only his illness."\r
+\r
+"Pooh, pooh, never mind! We must expect to have trouble with our\r
+children. Don't make it worse by letting me see you out of spirits."\r
+\r
+"Well, I won't," said Mrs. Vincy, roused by this appeal and adjusting\r
+herself with a little shake as of a bird which lays down its ruffled\r
+plumage.\r
+\r
+"It won't do to begin making a fuss about one," said Mr. Vincy, wishing\r
+to combine a little grumbling with domestic cheerfulness. "There's\r
+Rosamond as well as Fred."\r
+\r
+"Yes, poor thing. I'm sure I felt for her being disappointed of her\r
+baby; but she got over it nicely."\r
+\r
+"Baby, pooh! I can see Lydgate is making a mess of his practice, and\r
+getting into debt too, by what I hear. I shall have Rosamond coming to\r
+me with a pretty tale one of these days. But they'll get no money from\r
+me, I know. Let _his_ family help him. I never did like that\r
+marriage. But it's no use talking. Ring the bell for lemons, and\r
+don't look dull any more, Lucy. I'll drive you and Louisa to Riverston\r
+to-morrow."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LVII.\r
+\r
+ They numbered scarce eight summers when a name\r
+ Rose on their souls and stirred such motions there\r
+ As thrill the buds and shape their hidden frame\r
+ At penetration of the quickening air:\r
+ His name who told of loyal Evan Dhu,\r
+ Of quaint Bradwardine, and Vich Ian Vor,\r
+ Making the little world their childhood knew\r
+ Large with a land of mountain lake and scaur,\r
+ And larger yet with wonder love belief\r
+ Toward Walter Scott who living far away\r
+ Sent them this wealth of joy and noble grief.\r
+ The book and they must part, but day by day,\r
+ In lines that thwart like portly spiders ran\r
+ They wrote the tale, from Tully Veolan.\r
+\r
+\r
+The evening that Fred Vincy walked to Lowick parsonage (he had begun to\r
+see that this was a world in which even a spirited young man must\r
+sometimes walk for want of a horse to carry him) he set out at five\r
+o'clock and called on Mrs. Garth by the way, wishing to assure himself\r
+that she accepted their new relations willingly.\r
+\r
+He found the family group, dogs and cats included, under the great\r
+apple-tree in the orchard. It was a festival with Mrs. Garth, for her\r
+eldest son, Christy, her peculiar joy and pride, had come home for a\r
+short holiday--Christy, who held it the most desirable thing in the\r
+world to be a tutor, to study all literatures and be a regenerate\r
+Porson, and who was an incorporate criticism on poor Fred, a sort of\r
+object-lesson given to him by the educational mother. Christy himself,\r
+a square-browed, broad-shouldered masculine edition of his mother not\r
+much higher than Fred's shoulder--which made it the harder that he\r
+should be held superior--was always as simple as possible, and thought\r
+no more of Fred's disinclination to scholarship than of a giraffe's,\r
+wishing that he himself were more of the same height. He was lying on\r
+the ground now by his mother's chair, with his straw hat laid flat over\r
+his eyes, while Jim on the other side was reading aloud from that\r
+beloved writer who has made a chief part in the happiness of many young\r
+lives. The volume was "Ivanhoe," and Jim was in the great archery\r
+scene at the tournament, but suffered much interruption from Ben, who\r
+had fetched his own old bow and arrows, and was making himself\r
+dreadfully disagreeable, Letty thought, by begging all present to\r
+observe his random shots, which no one wished to do except Brownie, the\r
+active-minded but probably shallow mongrel, while the grizzled\r
+Newfoundland lying in the sun looked on with the dull-eyed neutrality\r
+of extreme old age. Letty herself, showing as to her mouth and\r
+pinafore some slight signs that she had been assisting at the gathering\r
+of the cherries which stood in a coral-heap on the tea-table, was now\r
+seated on the grass, listening open-eyed to the reading.\r
+\r
+But the centre of interest was changed for all by the arrival of Fred\r
+Vincy. When, seating himself on a garden-stool, he said that he was on\r
+his way to Lowick Parsonage, Ben, who had thrown down his bow, and\r
+snatched up a reluctant half-grown kitten instead, strode across Fred's\r
+outstretched leg, and said "Take me!"\r
+\r
+"Oh, and me too," said Letty.\r
+\r
+"You can't keep up with Fred and me," said Ben.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I can. Mother, please say that I am to go," urged Letty, whose\r
+life was much checkered by resistance to her depreciation as a girl.\r
+\r
+"I shall stay with Christy," observed Jim; as much as to say that he\r
+had the advantage of those simpletons; whereupon Letty put her hand up\r
+to her head and looked with jealous indecision from the one to the\r
+other.\r
+\r
+"Let us all go and see Mary," said Christy, opening his arms.\r
+\r
+"No, my dear child, we must not go in a swarm to the parsonage. And\r
+that old Glasgow suit of yours would never do. Besides, your father\r
+will come home. We must let Fred go alone. He can tell Mary that you\r
+are here, and she will come back to-morrow."\r
+\r
+Christy glanced at his own threadbare knees, and then at Fred's\r
+beautiful white trousers. Certainly Fred's tailoring suggested the\r
+advantages of an English university, and he had a graceful way even of\r
+looking warm and of pushing his hair back with his handkerchief.\r
+\r
+"Children, run away," said Mrs. Garth; "it is too warm to hang about\r
+your friends. Take your brother and show him the rabbits."\r
+\r
+The eldest understood, and led off the children immediately. Fred felt\r
+that Mrs. Garth wished to give him an opportunity of saying anything he\r
+had to say, but he could only begin by observing--\r
+\r
+"How glad you must be to have Christy here!"\r
+\r
+"Yes; he has come sooner than I expected. He got down from the coach\r
+at nine o'clock, just after his father went out. I am longing for\r
+Caleb to come and hear what wonderful progress Christy is making. He\r
+has paid his expenses for the last year by giving lessons, carrying on\r
+hard study at the same time. He hopes soon to get a private tutorship\r
+and go abroad."\r
+\r
+"He is a great fellow," said Fred, to whom these cheerful truths had a\r
+medicinal taste, "and no trouble to anybody." After a slight pause, he\r
+added, "But I fear you will think that I am going to be a great deal of\r
+trouble to Mr. Garth."\r
+\r
+"Caleb likes taking trouble: he is one of those men who always do more\r
+than any one would have thought of asking them to do," answered Mrs.\r
+Garth. She was knitting, and could either look at Fred or not, as she\r
+chose--always an advantage when one is bent on loading speech with\r
+salutary meaning; and though Mrs. Garth intended to be duly reserved,\r
+she did wish to say something that Fred might be the better for.\r
+\r
+"I know you think me very undeserving, Mrs. Garth, and with good\r
+reason," said Fred, his spirit rising a little at the perception of\r
+something like a disposition to lecture him. "I happen to have behaved\r
+just the worst to the people I can't help wishing for the most from.\r
+But while two men like Mr. Garth and Mr. Farebrother have not given me\r
+up, I don't see why I should give myself up." Fred thought it might be\r
+well to suggest these masculine examples to Mrs. Garth.\r
+\r
+"Assuredly," said she, with gathering emphasis. "A young man for whom\r
+two such elders had devoted themselves would indeed be culpable if he\r
+threw himself away and made their sacrifices vain."\r
+\r
+Fred wondered a little at this strong language, but only said, "I hope\r
+it will not be so with me, Mrs. Garth, since I have some encouragement\r
+to believe that I may win Mary. Mr. Garth has told you about that?\r
+You were not surprised, I dare say?" Fred ended, innocently referring\r
+only to his own love as probably evident enough.\r
+\r
+"Not surprised that Mary has given you encouragement?" returned Mrs.\r
+Garth, who thought it would be well for Fred to be more alive to the\r
+fact that Mary's friends could not possibly have wished this\r
+beforehand, whatever the Vincys might suppose. "Yes, I confess I was\r
+surprised."\r
+\r
+"She never did give me any--not the least in the world, when I talked\r
+to her myself," said Fred, eager to vindicate Mary. "But when I asked\r
+Mr. Farebrother to speak for me, she allowed him to tell me there was a\r
+hope."\r
+\r
+The power of admonition which had begun to stir in Mrs. Garth had not\r
+yet discharged itself. It was a little too provoking even for _her_\r
+self-control that this blooming youngster should flourish on the\r
+disappointments of sadder and wiser people--making a meal of a\r
+nightingale and never knowing it--and that all the while his family\r
+should suppose that hers was in eager need of this sprig; and her\r
+vexation had fermented the more actively because of its total\r
+repression towards her husband. Exemplary wives will sometimes find\r
+scapegoats in this way. She now said with energetic decision, "You\r
+made a great mistake, Fred, in asking Mr. Farebrother to speak for you."\r
+\r
+"Did I?" said Fred, reddening instantaneously. He was alarmed, but at\r
+a loss to know what Mrs. Garth meant, and added, in an apologetic tone,\r
+"Mr. Farebrother has always been such a friend of ours; and Mary, I\r
+knew, would listen to him gravely; and he took it on himself quite\r
+readily."\r
+\r
+"Yes, young people are usually blind to everything but their own\r
+wishes, and seldom imagine how much those wishes cost others," said\r
+Mrs. Garth. She did not mean to go beyond this salutary general\r
+doctrine, and threw her indignation into a needless unwinding of her\r
+worsted, knitting her brow at it with a grand air.\r
+\r
+"I cannot conceive how it could be any pain to Mr. Farebrother," said\r
+Fred, who nevertheless felt that surprising conceptions were beginning\r
+to form themselves.\r
+\r
+"Precisely; you cannot conceive," said Mrs. Garth, cutting her words as\r
+neatly as possible.\r
+\r
+For a moment Fred looked at the horizon with a dismayed anxiety, and\r
+then turning with a quick movement said almost sharply--\r
+\r
+"Do you mean to say, Mrs. Garth, that Mr. Farebrother is in love with\r
+Mary?"\r
+\r
+"And if it were so, Fred, I think you are the last person who ought to\r
+be surprised," returned Mrs. Garth, laying her knitting down beside her\r
+and folding her arms. It was an unwonted sign of emotion in her that\r
+she should put her work out of her hands. In fact her feelings were\r
+divided between the satisfaction of giving Fred his discipline and the\r
+sense of having gone a little too far. Fred took his hat and stick and\r
+rose quickly.\r
+\r
+"Then you think I am standing in his way, and in Mary's too?" he said,\r
+in a tone which seemed to demand an answer.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth could not speak immediately. She had brought herself into\r
+the unpleasant position of being called on to say what she really felt,\r
+yet what she knew there were strong reasons for concealing. And to her\r
+the consciousness of having exceeded in words was peculiarly\r
+mortifying. Besides, Fred had given out unexpected electricity, and he\r
+now added, "Mr. Garth seemed pleased that Mary should be attached to\r
+me. He could not have known anything of this."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth felt a severe twinge at this mention of her husband, the\r
+fear that Caleb might think her in the wrong not being easily\r
+endurable. She answered, wanting to check unintended consequences--\r
+\r
+"I spoke from inference only. I am not aware that Mary knows anything\r
+of the matter."\r
+\r
+But she hesitated to beg that he would keep entire silence on a subject\r
+which she had herself unnecessarily mentioned, not being used to stoop\r
+in that way; and while she was hesitating there was already a rush of\r
+unintended consequences under the apple-tree where the tea-things\r
+stood. Ben, bouncing across the grass with Brownie at his heels, and\r
+seeing the kitten dragging the knitting by a lengthening line of wool,\r
+shouted and clapped his hands; Brownie barked, the kitten, desperate,\r
+jumped on the tea-table and upset the milk, then jumped down again and\r
+swept half the cherries with it; and Ben, snatching up the half-knitted\r
+sock-top, fitted it over the kitten's head as a new source of madness,\r
+while Letty arriving cried out to her mother against this cruelty--it\r
+was a history as full of sensation as "This is the house that Jack\r
+built." Mrs. Garth was obliged to interfere, the other young ones came\r
+up and the tete-a-tete with Fred was ended. He got away as soon as he\r
+could, and Mrs. Garth could only imply some retractation of her\r
+severity by saying "God bless you" when she shook hands with him.\r
+\r
+She was unpleasantly conscious that she had been on the verge of\r
+speaking as "one of the foolish women speaketh"--telling first and\r
+entreating silence after. But she had not entreated silence, and to\r
+prevent Caleb's blame she determined to blame herself and confess all\r
+to him that very night. It was curious what an awful tribunal the mild\r
+Caleb's was to her, whenever he set it up. But she meant to point out\r
+to him that the revelation might do Fred Vincy a great deal of good.\r
+\r
+No doubt it was having a strong effect on him as he walked to Lowick.\r
+Fred's light hopeful nature had perhaps never had so much of a bruise\r
+as from this suggestion that if he had been out of the way Mary might\r
+have made a thoroughly good match. Also he was piqued that he had been\r
+what he called such a stupid lout as to ask that intervention from Mr.\r
+Farebrother. But it was not in a lover's nature--it was not in\r
+Fred's, that the new anxiety raised about Mary's feeling should not\r
+surmount every other. Notwithstanding his trust in Mr. Farebrother's\r
+generosity, notwithstanding what Mary had said to him, Fred could not\r
+help feeling that he had a rival: it was a new consciousness, and he\r
+objected to it extremely, not being in the least ready to give up Mary\r
+for her good, being ready rather to fight for her with any man\r
+whatsoever. But the fighting with Mr. Farebrother must be of a\r
+metaphorical kind, which was much more difficult to Fred than the\r
+muscular. Certainly this experience was a discipline for Fred hardly\r
+less sharp than his disappointment about his uncle's will. The iron\r
+had not entered into his soul, but he had begun to imagine what the\r
+sharp edge would be. It did not once occur to Fred that Mrs. Garth\r
+might be mistaken about Mr. Farebrother, but he suspected that she\r
+might be wrong about Mary. Mary had been staying at the parsonage\r
+lately, and her mother might know very little of what had been passing\r
+in her mind.\r
+\r
+He did not feel easier when he found her looking cheerful with the\r
+three ladies in the drawing-room. They were in animated discussion on\r
+some subject which was dropped when he entered, and Mary was copying\r
+the labels from a heap of shallow cabinet drawers, in a minute\r
+handwriting which she was skilled in. Mr. Farebrother was somewhere in\r
+the village, and the three ladies knew nothing of Fred's peculiar\r
+relation to Mary: it was impossible for either of them to propose that\r
+they should walk round the garden, and Fred predicted to himself that\r
+he should have to go away without saying a word to her in private. He\r
+told her first of Christy's arrival and then of his own engagement with\r
+her father; and he was comforted by seeing that this latter news\r
+touched her keenly. She said hurriedly, "I am so glad," and then bent\r
+over her writing to hinder any one from noticing her face. But here\r
+was a subject which Mrs. Farebrother could not let pass.\r
+\r
+"You don't mean, my dear Miss Garth, that you are glad to hear of a\r
+young man giving up the Church for which he was educated: you only mean\r
+that things being so, you are glad that he should be under an excellent\r
+man like your father."\r
+\r
+"No, really, Mrs. Farebrother, I am glad of both, I fear," said Mary,\r
+cleverly getting rid of one rebellious tear. "I have a dreadfully\r
+secular mind. I never liked any clergyman except the Vicar of\r
+Wakefield and Mr. Farebrother."\r
+\r
+"Now why, my dear?" said Mrs. Farebrother, pausing on her large wooden\r
+knitting-needles and looking at Mary. "You have always a good reason\r
+for your opinions, but this astonishes me. Of course I put out of the\r
+question those who preach new doctrine. But why should you dislike\r
+clergymen?"\r
+\r
+"Oh dear," said Mary, her face breaking into merriment as she seemed to\r
+consider a moment, "I don't like their neckcloths."\r
+\r
+"Why, you don't like Camden's, then," said Miss Winifred, in some\r
+anxiety.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I do," said Mary. "I don't like the other clergymen's\r
+neckcloths, because it is they who wear them."\r
+\r
+"How very puzzling!" said Miss Noble, feeling that her own intellect\r
+was probably deficient.\r
+\r
+"My dear, you are joking. You would have better reasons than these for\r
+slighting so respectable a class of men," said Mrs. Farebrother,\r
+majestically.\r
+\r
+"Miss Garth has such severe notions of what people should be that it is\r
+difficult to satisfy her," said Fred.\r
+\r
+"Well, I am glad at least that she makes an exception in favor of my\r
+son," said the old lady.\r
+\r
+Mary was wondering at Fred's piqued tone, when Mr. Farebrother came in\r
+and had to hear the news about the engagement under Mr. Garth. At the\r
+end he said with quiet satisfaction, "_That_ is right;" and then bent\r
+to look at Mary's labels and praise her handwriting. Fred felt\r
+horribly jealous--was glad, of course, that Mr. Farebrother was so\r
+estimable, but wished that he had been ugly and fat as men at forty\r
+sometimes are. It was clear what the end would be, since Mary openly\r
+placed Farebrother above everybody, and these women were all evidently\r
+encouraging the affair. He was feeling sure that he should have no\r
+chance of speaking to Mary, when Mr. Farebrother said--\r
+\r
+"Fred, help me to carry these drawers back into my study--you have\r
+never seen my fine new study. Pray come too, Miss Garth. I want you\r
+to see a stupendous spider I found this morning."\r
+\r
+Mary at once saw the Vicar's intention. He had never since the\r
+memorable evening deviated from his old pastoral kindness towards her,\r
+and her momentary wonder and doubt had quite gone to sleep. Mary was\r
+accustomed to think rather rigorously of what was probable, and if a\r
+belief flattered her vanity she felt warned to dismiss it as\r
+ridiculous, having early had much exercise in such dismissals. It was\r
+as she had foreseen: when Fred had been asked to admire the fittings of\r
+the study, and she had been asked to admire the spider, Mr. Farebrother\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"Wait here a minute or two. I am going to look out an engraving which\r
+Fred is tall enough to hang for me. I shall be back in a few minutes."\r
+And then he went out. Nevertheless, the first word Fred said to Mary\r
+was--\r
+\r
+"It is of no use, whatever I do, Mary. You are sure to marry\r
+Farebrother at last." There was some rage in his tone.\r
+\r
+"What do you mean, Fred?" Mary exclaimed indignantly, blushing deeply,\r
+and surprised out of all her readiness in reply.\r
+\r
+"It is impossible that you should not see it all clearly enough--you\r
+who see everything."\r
+\r
+"I only see that you are behaving very ill, Fred, in speaking so of Mr.\r
+Farebrother after he has pleaded your cause in every way. How can you\r
+have taken up such an idea?"\r
+\r
+Fred was rather deep, in spite of his irritation. If Mary had really\r
+been unsuspicious, there was no good in telling her what Mrs. Garth had\r
+said.\r
+\r
+"It follows as a matter of course," he replied. "When you are\r
+continually seeing a man who beats me in everything, and whom you set\r
+up above everybody, I can have no fair chance."\r
+\r
+"You are very ungrateful, Fred," said Mary. "I wish I had never told\r
+Mr. Farebrother that I cared for you in the least."\r
+\r
+"No, I am not ungrateful; I should be the happiest fellow in the world\r
+if it were not for this. I told your father everything, and he was\r
+very kind; he treated me as if I were his son. I could go at the work\r
+with a will, writing and everything, if it were not for this."\r
+\r
+"For this? for what?" said Mary, imagining now that something specific\r
+must have been said or done.\r
+\r
+"This dreadful certainty that I shall be bowled out by Farebrother."\r
+Mary was appeased by her inclination to laugh.\r
+\r
+"Fred," she said, peeping round to catch his eyes, which were sulkily\r
+turned away from her, "you are too delightfully ridiculous. If you\r
+were not such a charming simpleton, what a temptation this would be to\r
+play the wicked coquette, and let you suppose that somebody besides you\r
+has made love to me."\r
+\r
+"Do you really like me best, Mary?" said Fred, turning eyes full of\r
+affection on her, and trying to take her hand.\r
+\r
+"I don't like you at all at this moment," said Mary, retreating, and\r
+putting her hands behind her. "I only said that no mortal ever made\r
+love to me besides you. And that is no argument that a very wise man\r
+ever will," she ended, merrily.\r
+\r
+"I wish you would tell me that you could not possibly ever think of\r
+him," said Fred.\r
+\r
+"Never dare to mention this any more to me, Fred," said Mary, getting\r
+serious again. "I don't know whether it is more stupid or ungenerous\r
+in you not to see that Mr. Farebrother has left us together on purpose\r
+that we might speak freely. I am disappointed that you should be so\r
+blind to his delicate feeling."\r
+\r
+There was no time to say any more before Mr. Farebrother came back with\r
+the engraving; and Fred had to return to the drawing-room still with a\r
+jealous dread in his heart, but yet with comforting arguments from\r
+Mary's words and manner. The result of the conversation was on the\r
+whole more painful to Mary: inevitably her attention had taken a new\r
+attitude, and she saw the possibility of new interpretations. She was\r
+in a position in which she seemed to herself to be slighting Mr.\r
+Farebrother, and this, in relation to a man who is much honored, is\r
+always dangerous to the firmness of a grateful woman. To have a reason\r
+for going home the next day was a relief, for Mary earnestly desired to\r
+be always clear that she loved Fred best. When a tender affection has\r
+been storing itself in us through many of our years, the idea that we\r
+could accept any exchange for it seems to be a cheapening of our lives.\r
+And we can set a watch over our affections and our constancy as we can\r
+over other treasures.\r
+\r
+"Fred has lost all his other expectations; he must keep this," Mary\r
+said to herself, with a smile curling her lips. It was impossible to\r
+help fleeting visions of another kind--new dignities and an\r
+acknowledged value of which she had often felt the absence. But these\r
+things with Fred outside them, Fred forsaken and looking sad for the\r
+want of her, could never tempt her deliberate thought.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LVIII.\r
+\r
+ "For there can live no hatred in thine eye,\r
+ Therefore in that I cannot know thy change:\r
+ In many's looks the false heart's history\r
+ Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange:\r
+ But Heaven in thy creation did decree\r
+ That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell:\r
+ Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be\r
+ Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell."\r
+ --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.\r
+\r
+\r
+At the time when Mr. Vincy uttered that presentiment about Rosamond,\r
+she herself had never had the idea that she should be driven to make\r
+the sort of appeal which he foresaw. She had not yet had any anxiety\r
+about ways and means, although her domestic life had been expensive as\r
+well as eventful. Her baby had been born prematurely, and all the\r
+embroidered robes and caps had to be laid by in darkness. This\r
+misfortune was attributed entirely to her having persisted in going out\r
+on horseback one day when her husband had desired her not to do so; but\r
+it must not be supposed that she had shown temper on the occasion, or\r
+rudely told him that she would do as she liked.\r
+\r
+What led her particularly to desire horse-exercise was a visit from\r
+Captain Lydgate, the baronet's third son, who, I am sorry to say, was\r
+detested by our Tertius of that name as a vapid fop "parting his hair\r
+from brow to nape in a despicable fashion" (not followed by Tertius\r
+himself), and showing an ignorant security that he knew the proper\r
+thing to say on every topic. Lydgate inwardly cursed his own folly\r
+that he had drawn down this visit by consenting to go to his uncle's on\r
+the wedding-tour, and he made himself rather disagreeable to Rosamond\r
+by saying so in private. For to Rosamond this visit was a source of\r
+unprecedented but gracefully concealed exultation. She was so\r
+intensely conscious of having a cousin who was a baronet's son staying\r
+in the house, that she imagined the knowledge of what was implied by\r
+his presence to be diffused through all other minds; and when she\r
+introduced Captain Lydgate to her guests, she had a placid sense that\r
+his rank penetrated them as if it had been an odor. The satisfaction\r
+was enough for the time to melt away some disappointment in the\r
+conditions of marriage with a medical man even of good birth: it seemed\r
+now that her marriage was visibly as well as ideally floating her above\r
+the Middlemarch level, and the future looked bright with letters and\r
+visits to and from Quallingham, and vague advancement in consequence\r
+for Tertius. Especially as, probably at the Captain's suggestion, his\r
+married sister, Mrs. Mengan, had come with her maid, and stayed two\r
+nights on her way from town. Hence it was clearly worth while for\r
+Rosamond to take pains with her music and the careful selection of her\r
+lace.\r
+\r
+As to Captain Lydgate himself, his low brow, his aquiline nose bent on\r
+one side, and his rather heavy utterance, might have been\r
+disadvantageous in any young gentleman who had not a military bearing\r
+and mustache to give him what is doted on by some flower-like blond\r
+heads as "style." He had, moreover, that sort of high-breeding which\r
+consists in being free from the petty solicitudes of middle-class\r
+gentility, and he was a great critic of feminine charms. Rosamond\r
+delighted in his admiration now even more than she had done at\r
+Quallingham, and he found it easy to spend several hours of the day in\r
+flirting with her. The visit altogether was one of the pleasantest\r
+larks he had ever had, not the less so perhaps because he suspected\r
+that his queer cousin Tertius wished him away: though Lydgate, who\r
+would rather (hyperbolically speaking) have died than have failed in\r
+polite hospitality, suppressed his dislike, and only pretended\r
+generally not to hear what the gallant officer said, consigning the\r
+task of answering him to Rosamond. For he was not at all a jealous\r
+husband, and preferred leaving a feather-headed young gentleman alone\r
+with his wife to bearing him company.\r
+\r
+"I wish you would talk more to the Captain at dinner, Tertius," said\r
+Rosamond, one evening when the important guest was gone to Loamford to\r
+see some brother officers stationed there. "You really look so absent\r
+sometimes--you seem to be seeing through his head into something behind\r
+it, instead of looking at him."\r
+\r
+"My dear Rosy, you don't expect me to talk much to such a conceited ass\r
+as that, I hope," said Lydgate, brusquely. "If he got his head broken,\r
+I might look at it with interest, not before."\r
+\r
+"I cannot conceive why you should speak of your cousin so\r
+contemptuously," said Rosamond, her fingers moving at her work while\r
+she spoke with a mild gravity which had a touch of disdain in it.\r
+\r
+"Ask Ladislaw if he doesn't think your Captain the greatest bore he\r
+ever met with. Ladislaw has almost forsaken the house since he came."\r
+\r
+Rosamond thought she knew perfectly well why Mr. Ladislaw disliked the\r
+Captain: he was jealous, and she liked his being jealous.\r
+\r
+"It is impossible to say what will suit eccentric persons," she\r
+answered, "but in my opinion Captain Lydgate is a thorough gentleman,\r
+and I think you ought not, out of respect to Sir Godwin, to treat him\r
+with neglect."\r
+\r
+"No, dear; but we have had dinners for him. And he comes in and goes\r
+out as he likes. He doesn't want me."\r
+\r
+"Still, when he is in the room, you might show him more attention. He\r
+may not be a phoenix of cleverness in your sense; his profession is\r
+different; but it would be all the better for you to talk a little on\r
+his subjects. _I_ think his conversation is quite agreeable. And he\r
+is anything but an unprincipled man."\r
+\r
+"The fact is, you would wish me to be a little more like him, Rosy,"\r
+said Lydgate, in a sort of resigned murmur, with a smile which was not\r
+exactly tender, and certainly not merry. Rosamond was silent and did\r
+not smile again; but the lovely curves of her face looked good-tempered\r
+enough without smiling.\r
+\r
+Those words of Lydgate's were like a sad milestone marking how far he\r
+had travelled from his old dreamland, in which Rosamond Vincy appeared\r
+to be that perfect piece of womanhood who would reverence her husband's\r
+mind after the fashion of an accomplished mermaid, using her comb and\r
+looking-glass and singing her song for the relaxation of his adored\r
+wisdom alone. He had begun to distinguish between that imagined\r
+adoration and the attraction towards a man's talent because it gives\r
+him prestige, and is like an order in his button-hole or an Honorable\r
+before his name.\r
+\r
+It might have been supposed that Rosamond had travelled too, since she\r
+had found the pointless conversation of Mr. Ned Plymdale perfectly\r
+wearisome; but to most mortals there is a stupidity which is\r
+unendurable and a stupidity which is altogether acceptable--else,\r
+indeed, what would become of social bonds? Captain Lydgate's stupidity\r
+was delicately scented, carried itself with "style," talked with a good\r
+accent, and was closely related to Sir Godwin. Rosamond found it quite\r
+agreeable and caught many of its phrases.\r
+\r
+Therefore since Rosamond, as we know, was fond of horseback, there were\r
+plenty of reasons why she should be tempted to resume her riding when\r
+Captain Lydgate, who had ordered his man with two horses to follow him\r
+and put up at the "Green Dragon," begged her to go out on the gray\r
+which he warranted to be gentle and trained to carry a lady--indeed, he\r
+had bought it for his sister, and was taking it to Quallingham.\r
+Rosamond went out the first time without telling her husband, and came\r
+back before his return; but the ride had been so thorough a success,\r
+and she declared herself so much the better in consequence, that he was\r
+informed of it with full reliance on his consent that she should go\r
+riding again.\r
+\r
+On the contrary Lydgate was more than hurt--he was utterly confounded\r
+that she had risked herself on a strange horse without referring the\r
+matter to his wish. After the first almost thundering exclamations of\r
+astonishment, which sufficiently warned Rosamond of what was coming, he\r
+was silent for some moments.\r
+\r
+"However, you have come back safely," he said, at last, in a decisive\r
+tone. "You will not go again, Rosy; that is understood. If it were\r
+the quietest, most familiar horse in the world, there would always be\r
+the chance of accident. And you know very well that I wished you to\r
+give up riding the roan on that account."\r
+\r
+"But there is the chance of accident indoors, Tertius."\r
+\r
+"My darling, don't talk nonsense," said Lydgate, in an imploring tone;\r
+"surely I am the person to judge for you. I think it is enough that I\r
+say you are not to go again."\r
+\r
+Rosamond was arranging her hair before dinner, and the reflection of\r
+her head in the glass showed no change in its loveliness except a\r
+little turning aside of the long neck. Lydgate had been moving about\r
+with his hands in his pockets, and now paused near her, as if he\r
+awaited some assurance.\r
+\r
+"I wish you would fasten up my plaits, dear," said Rosamond, letting\r
+her arms fall with a little sigh, so as to make a husband ashamed of\r
+standing there like a brute. Lydgate had often fastened the plaits\r
+before, being among the deftest of men with his large finely formed\r
+fingers. He swept up the soft festoons of plaits and fastened in the\r
+tall comb (to such uses do men come!); and what could he do then but\r
+kiss the exquisite nape which was shown in all its delicate curves?\r
+But when we do what we have done before, it is often with a difference.\r
+Lydgate was still angry, and had not forgotten his point.\r
+\r
+"I shall tell the Captain that he ought to have known better than offer\r
+you his horse," he said, as he moved away.\r
+\r
+"I beg you will not do anything of the kind, Tertius," said Rosamond,\r
+looking at him with something more marked than usual in her speech.\r
+"It will be treating me as if I were a child. Promise that you will\r
+leave the subject to me."\r
+\r
+There did seem to be some truth in her objection. Lydgate said, "Very\r
+well," with a surly obedience, and thus the discussion ended with his\r
+promising Rosamond, and not with her promising him.\r
+\r
+In fact, she had been determined not to promise. Rosamond had that\r
+victorious obstinacy which never wastes its energy in impetuous\r
+resistance. What she liked to do was to her the right thing, and all\r
+her cleverness was directed to getting the means of doing it. She\r
+meant to go out riding again on the gray, and she did go on the next\r
+opportunity of her husband's absence, not intending that he should know\r
+until it was late enough not to signify to her. The temptation was\r
+certainly great: she was very fond of the exercise, and the\r
+gratification of riding on a fine horse, with Captain Lydgate, Sir\r
+Godwin's son, on another fine horse by her side, and of being met in\r
+this position by any one but her husband, was something as good as her\r
+dreams before marriage: moreover she was riveting the connection with\r
+the family at Quallingham, which must be a wise thing to do.\r
+\r
+But the gentle gray, unprepared for the crash of a tree that was being\r
+felled on the edge of Halsell wood, took fright, and caused a worse\r
+fright to Rosamond, leading finally to the loss of her baby. Lydgate\r
+could not show his anger towards her, but he was rather bearish to the\r
+Captain, whose visit naturally soon came to an end.\r
+\r
+In all future conversations on the subject, Rosamond was mildly certain\r
+that the ride had made no difference, and that if she had stayed at\r
+home the same symptoms would have come on and would have ended in the\r
+same way, because she had felt something like them before.\r
+\r
+Lydgate could only say, "Poor, poor darling!"--but he secretly wondered\r
+over the terrible tenacity of this mild creature. There was gathering\r
+within him an amazed sense of his powerlessness over Rosamond. His\r
+superior knowledge and mental force, instead of being, as he had\r
+imagined, a shrine to consult on all occasions, was simply set aside on\r
+every practical question. He had regarded Rosamond's cleverness as\r
+precisely of the receptive kind which became a woman. He was now\r
+beginning to find out what that cleverness was--what was the shape into\r
+which it had run as into a close network aloof and independent. No one\r
+quicker than Rosamond to see causes and effects which lay within the\r
+track of her own tastes and interests: she had seen clearly Lydgate's\r
+preeminence in Middlemarch society, and could go on imaginatively\r
+tracing still more agreeable social effects when his talent should have\r
+advanced him; but for her, his professional and scientific ambition had\r
+no other relation to these desirable effects than if they had been the\r
+fortunate discovery of an ill-smelling oil. And that oil apart, with\r
+which she had nothing to do, of course she believed in her own opinion\r
+more than she did in his. Lydgate was astounded to find in numberless\r
+trifling matters, as well as in this last serious case of the riding,\r
+that affection did not make her compliant. He had no doubt that the\r
+affection was there, and had no presentiment that he had done anything\r
+to repel it. For his own part he said to himself that he loved her as\r
+tenderly as ever, and could make up his mind to her negations;\r
+but--well! Lydgate was much worried, and conscious of new elements in\r
+his life as noxious to him as an inlet of mud to a creature that has\r
+been used to breathe and bathe and dart after its illuminated prey in\r
+the clearest of waters.\r
+\r
+Rosamond was soon looking lovelier than ever at her worktable, enjoying\r
+drives in her father's phaeton and thinking it likely that she might be\r
+invited to Quallingham. She knew that she was a much more exquisite\r
+ornament to the drawing-room there than any daughter of the family, and\r
+in reflecting that the gentlemen were aware of that, did not perhaps\r
+sufficiently consider whether the ladies would be eager to see\r
+themselves surpassed.\r
+\r
+Lydgate, relieved from anxiety about her, relapsed into what she\r
+inwardly called his moodiness--a name which to her covered his\r
+thoughtful preoccupation with other subjects than herself, as well as\r
+that uneasy look of the brow and distaste for all ordinary things as if\r
+they were mixed with bitter herbs, which really made a sort of\r
+weather-glass to his vexation and foreboding. These latter states of\r
+mind had one cause amongst others, which he had generously but\r
+mistakenly avoided mentioning to Rosamond, lest it should affect her\r
+health and spirits. Between him and her indeed there was that total\r
+missing of each other's mental track, which is too evidently possible\r
+even between persons who are continually thinking of each other. To\r
+Lydgate it seemed that he had been spending month after month in\r
+sacrificing more than half of his best intent and best power to his\r
+tenderness for Rosamond; bearing her little claims and interruptions\r
+without impatience, and, above all, bearing without betrayal of\r
+bitterness to look through less and less of interfering illusion at the\r
+blank unreflecting surface her mind presented to his ardor for the more\r
+impersonal ends of his profession and his scientific study, an ardor\r
+which he had fancied that the ideal wife must somehow worship as\r
+sublime, though not in the least knowing why. But his endurance was\r
+mingled with a self-discontent which, if we know how to be candid, we\r
+shall confess to make more than half our bitterness under grievances,\r
+wife or husband included. It always remains true that if we had been\r
+greater, circumstance would have been less strong against us. Lydgate\r
+was aware that his concessions to Rosamond were often little more than\r
+the lapse of slackening resolution, the creeping paralysis apt to seize\r
+an enthusiasm which is out of adjustment to a constant portion of our\r
+lives. And on Lydgate's enthusiasm there was constantly pressing not a\r
+simple weight of sorrow, but the biting presence of a petty degrading\r
+care, such as casts the blight of irony over all higher effort.\r
+\r
+This was the care which he had hitherto abstained from mentioning to\r
+Rosamond; and he believed, with some wonder, that it had never entered\r
+her mind, though certainly no difficulty could be less mysterious. It\r
+was an inference with a conspicuous handle to it, and had been easily\r
+drawn by indifferent observers, that Lydgate was in debt; and he could\r
+not succeed in keeping out of his mind for long together that he was\r
+every day getting deeper into that swamp, which tempts men towards it\r
+with such a pretty covering of flowers and verdure. It is wonderful\r
+how soon a man gets up to his chin there--in a condition in which,\r
+in spite of himself, he is forced to think chiefly of release, though he\r
+had a scheme of the universe in his soul.\r
+\r
+Eighteen months ago Lydgate was poor, but had never known the eager\r
+want of small sums, and felt rather a burning contempt for any one who\r
+descended a step in order to gain them. He was now experiencing\r
+something worse than a simple deficit: he was assailed by the vulgar\r
+hateful trials of a man who has bought and used a great many things\r
+which might have been done without, and which he is unable to pay for,\r
+though the demand for payment has become pressing.\r
+\r
+How this came about may be easily seen without much arithmetic or\r
+knowledge of prices. When a man in setting up a house and preparing\r
+for marriage finds that his furniture and other initial expenses come\r
+to between four and five hundred pounds more than he has capital to pay\r
+for; when at the end of a year it appears that his household expenses,\r
+horses and et caeteras, amount to nearly a thousand, while the proceeds\r
+of the practice reckoned from the old books to be worth eight hundred\r
+per annum have sunk like a summer pond and make hardly five hundred,\r
+chiefly in unpaid entries, the plain inference is that, whether he\r
+minds it or not, he is in debt. Those were less expensive times than\r
+our own, and provincial life was comparatively modest; but the ease\r
+with which a medical man who had lately bought a practice, who thought\r
+that he was obliged to keep two horses, whose table was supplied\r
+without stint, and who paid an insurance on his life and a high rent\r
+for house and garden, might find his expenses doubling his receipts,\r
+can be conceived by any one who does not think these details beneath\r
+his consideration. Rosamond, accustomed from her childhood to an extravagant\r
+household, thought that good housekeeping consisted simply in ordering\r
+the best of everything--nothing else "answered;" and Lydgate supposed\r
+that "if things were done at all, they must be done properly"--he did\r
+not see how they were to live otherwise. If each head of household\r
+expenditure had been mentioned to him beforehand, he would have\r
+probably observed that "it could hardly come to much," and if any one\r
+had suggested a saving on a particular article--for example, the\r
+substitution of cheap fish for dear--it would have appeared to him\r
+simply a penny-wise, mean notion. Rosamond, even without such an\r
+occasion as Captain Lydgate's visit, was fond of giving invitations,\r
+and Lydgate, though he often thought the guests tiresome, did not\r
+interfere. This sociability seemed a necessary part of professional\r
+prudence, and the entertainment must be suitable. It is true Lydgate\r
+was constantly visiting the homes of the poor and adjusting his\r
+prescriptions of diet to their small means; but, dear me! has it not by\r
+this time ceased to be remarkable--is it not rather that we expect in\r
+men, that they should have numerous strands of experience lying side by\r
+side and never compare them with each other? Expenditure--like\r
+ugliness and errors--becomes a totally new thing when we attach our own\r
+personality to it, and measure it by that wide difference which is\r
+manifest (in our own sensations) between ourselves and others. Lydgate\r
+believed himself to be careless about his dress, and he despised a man\r
+who calculated the effects of his costume; it seemed to him only a\r
+matter of course that he had abundance of fresh garments--such things\r
+were naturally ordered in sheaves. It must be remembered that he had\r
+never hitherto felt the check of importunate debt, and he walked by\r
+habit, not by self-criticism. But the check had come.\r
+\r
+Its novelty made it the more irritating. He was amazed, disgusted that\r
+conditions so foreign to all his purposes, so hatefully disconnected\r
+with the objects he cared to occupy himself with, should have lain in\r
+ambush and clutched him when he was unaware. And there was not only\r
+the actual debt; there was the certainty that in his present position\r
+he must go on deepening it. Two furnishing tradesmen at Brassing,\r
+whose bills had been incurred before his marriage, and whom\r
+uncalculated current expenses had ever since prevented him from paying,\r
+had repeatedly sent him unpleasant letters which had forced themselves\r
+on his attention. This could hardly have been more galling to any\r
+disposition than to Lydgate's, with his intense pride--his dislike of\r
+asking a favor or being under an obligation to any one. He had scorned\r
+even to form conjectures about Mr. Vincy's intentions on money matters,\r
+and nothing but extremity could have induced him to apply to his\r
+father-in-law, even if he had not been made aware in various indirect\r
+ways since his marriage that Mr. Vincy's own affairs were not\r
+flourishing, and that the expectation of help from him would be\r
+resented. Some men easily trust in the readiness of friends; it had\r
+never in the former part of his life occurred to Lydgate that he should\r
+need to do so: he had never thought what borrowing would be to him; but\r
+now that the idea had entered his mind, he felt that he would rather\r
+incur any other hardship. In the mean time he had no money or\r
+prospects of money; and his practice was not getting more lucrative.\r
+\r
+No wonder that Lydgate had been unable to suppress all signs of inward\r
+trouble during the last few months, and now that Rosamond was regaining\r
+brilliant health, he meditated taking her entirely into confidence on\r
+his difficulties. New conversance with tradesmen's bills had forced\r
+his reasoning into a new channel of comparison: he had begun to\r
+consider from a new point of view what was necessary and unnecessary in\r
+goods ordered, and to see that there must be some change of habits.\r
+How could such a change be made without Rosamond's concurrence? The\r
+immediate occasion of opening the disagreeable fact to her was forced\r
+upon him.\r
+\r
+Having no money, and having privately sought advice as to what security\r
+could possibly be given by a man in his position, Lydgate had offered\r
+the one good security in his power to the less peremptory creditor, who\r
+was a silversmith and jeweller, and who consented to take on himself\r
+the upholsterer's credit also, accepting interest for a given term.\r
+The security necessary was a bill of sale on the furniture of his\r
+house, which might make a creditor easy for a reasonable time about a\r
+debt amounting to less than four hundred pounds; and the silversmith,\r
+Mr. Dover, was willing to reduce it by taking back a portion of the\r
+plate and any other article which was as good as new. "Any other\r
+article" was a phrase delicately implying jewellery, and more\r
+particularly some purple amethysts costing thirty pounds, which Lydgate\r
+had bought as a bridal present.\r
+\r
+Opinions may be divided as to his wisdom in making this present: some\r
+may think that it was a graceful attention to be expected from a man\r
+like Lydgate, and that the fault of any troublesome consequences lay in\r
+the pinched narrowness of provincial life at that time, which offered\r
+no conveniences for professional people whose fortune was not\r
+proportioned to their tastes; also, in Lydgate's ridiculous\r
+fastidiousness about asking his friends for money.\r
+\r
+However, it had seemed a question of no moment to him on that fine\r
+morning when he went to give a final order for plate: in the presence\r
+of other jewels enormously expensive, and as an addition to orders of\r
+which the amount had not been exactly calculated, thirty pounds for\r
+ornaments so exquisitely suited to Rosamond's neck and arms could\r
+hardly appear excessive when there was no ready cash for it to exceed.\r
+But at this crisis Lydgate's imagination could not help dwelling on the\r
+possibility of letting the amethysts take their place again among Mr.\r
+Dover's stock, though he shrank from the idea of proposing this to\r
+Rosamond. Having been roused to discern consequences which he had\r
+never been in the habit of tracing, he was preparing to act on this\r
+discernment with some of the rigor (by no means all) that he would have\r
+applied in pursuing experiment. He was nerving himself to this rigor\r
+as he rode from Brassing, and meditated on the representations he must\r
+make to Rosamond.\r
+\r
+It was evening when he got home. He was intensely miserable, this\r
+strong man of nine-and-twenty and of many gifts. He was not saying\r
+angrily within himself that he had made a profound mistake; but the\r
+mistake was at work in him like a recognized chronic disease, mingling\r
+its uneasy importunities with every prospect, and enfeebling every\r
+thought. As he went along the passage to the drawing-room, he heard\r
+the piano and singing. Of course, Ladislaw was there. It was some\r
+weeks since Will had parted from Dorothea, yet he was still at the old\r
+post in Middlemarch. Lydgate had no objection in general to Ladislaw's\r
+coming, but just now he was annoyed that he could not find his hearth\r
+free. When he opened the door the two singers went on towards the\r
+key-note, raising their eyes and looking at him indeed, but not\r
+regarding his entrance as an interruption. To a man galled with his\r
+harness as poor Lydgate was, it is not soothing to see two people\r
+warbling at him, as he comes in with the sense that the painful day has\r
+still pains in store. His face, already paler than usual, took on a\r
+scowl as he walked across the room and flung himself into a chair.\r
+\r
+The singers feeling themselves excused by the fact that they had only\r
+three bars to sing, now turned round.\r
+\r
+"How are you, Lydgate?" said Will, coming forward to shake hands.\r
+\r
+Lydgate took his hand, but did not think it necessary to speak.\r
+\r
+"Have you dined, Tertius? I expected you much earlier," said Rosamond,\r
+who had already seen that her husband was in a "horrible humor." She\r
+seated herself in her usual place as she spoke.\r
+\r
+"I have dined. I should like some tea, please," said Lydgate, curtly,\r
+still scowling and looking markedly at his legs stretched out before\r
+him.\r
+\r
+Will was too quick to need more. "I shall be off," he said, reaching\r
+his hat.\r
+\r
+"Tea is coming," said Rosamond; "pray don't go."\r
+\r
+"Yes, Lydgate is bored," said Will, who had more comprehension of\r
+Lydgate than Rosamond had, and was not offended by his manner, easily\r
+imagining outdoor causes of annoyance.\r
+\r
+"There is the more need for you to stay," said Rosamond, playfully, and\r
+in her lightest accent; "he will not speak to me all the evening."\r
+\r
+"Yes, Rosamond, I shall," said Lydgate, in his strong baritone. "I\r
+have some serious business to speak to you about."\r
+\r
+No introduction of the business could have been less like that which\r
+Lydgate had intended; but her indifferent manner had been too provoking.\r
+\r
+"There! you see," said Will. "I'm going to the meeting about the\r
+Mechanics' Institute. Good-by;" and he went quickly out of the room.\r
+\r
+Rosamond did not look at her husband, but presently rose and took her\r
+place before the tea-tray. She was thinking that she had never seen him\r
+so disagreeable. Lydgate turned his dark eyes on her and watched her\r
+as she delicately handled the tea-service with her taper fingers, and\r
+looked at the objects immediately before her with no curve in her face\r
+disturbed, and yet with an ineffable protest in her air against all\r
+people with unpleasant manners. For the moment he lost the sense of\r
+his wound in a sudden speculation about this new form of feminine\r
+impassibility revealing itself in the sylph-like frame which he had\r
+once interpreted as the sign of a ready intelligent sensitiveness. His\r
+mind glancing back to Laure while he looked at Rosamond, he said\r
+inwardly, "Would _she_ kill me because I wearied her?" and then, "It is\r
+the way with all women." But this power of generalizing which gives men\r
+so much the superiority in mistake over the dumb animals, was\r
+immediately thwarted by Lydgate's memory of wondering impressions from\r
+the behavior of another woman--from Dorothea's looks and tones of\r
+emotion about her husband when Lydgate began to attend him--from her\r
+passionate cry to be taught what would best comfort that man for whose\r
+sake it seemed as if she must quell every impulse in her except the\r
+yearnings of faithfulness and compassion. These revived impressions\r
+succeeded each other quickly and dreamily in Lydgate's mind while the\r
+tea was being brewed. He had shut his eyes in the last instant of\r
+reverie while he heard Dorothea saying, "Advise me--think what I can\r
+do--he has been all his life laboring and looking forward. He minds\r
+about nothing else--and I mind about nothing else."\r
+\r
+That voice of deep-souled womanhood had remained within him as the\r
+enkindling conceptions of dead and sceptred genius had remained within\r
+him (is there not a genius for feeling nobly which also reigns over\r
+human spirits and their conclusions?); the tones were a music from\r
+which he was falling away--he had really fallen into a momentary doze,\r
+when Rosamond said in her silvery neutral way, "Here is your tea,\r
+Tertius," setting it on the small table by his side, and then moved\r
+back to her place without looking at him. Lydgate was too hasty in\r
+attributing insensibility to her; after her own fashion, she was\r
+sensitive enough, and took lasting impressions. Her impression now was\r
+one of offence and repulsion. But then, Rosamond had no scowls and had\r
+never raised her voice: she was quite sure that no one could justly\r
+find fault with her.\r
+\r
+Perhaps Lydgate and she had never felt so far off each other before;\r
+but there were strong reasons for not deferring his revelation, even if\r
+he had not already begun it by that abrupt announcement; indeed some of\r
+the angry desire to rouse her into more sensibility on his account\r
+which had prompted him to speak prematurely, still mingled with his\r
+pain in the prospect of her pain. But he waited till the tray was\r
+gone, the candles were lit, and the evening quiet might be counted on:\r
+the interval had left time for repelled tenderness to return into the\r
+old course. He spoke kindly.\r
+\r
+"Dear Rosy, lay down your work and come to sit by me," he said, gently,\r
+pushing away the table, and stretching out his arm to draw a chair near\r
+his own.\r
+\r
+Rosamond obeyed. As she came towards him in her drapery of transparent\r
+faintly tinted muslin, her slim yet round figure never looked more\r
+graceful; as she sat down by him and laid one hand on the elbow of his\r
+chair, at last looking at him and meeting his eyes, her delicate neck\r
+and cheek and purely cut lips never had more of that untarnished beauty\r
+which touches as in spring-time and infancy and all sweet freshness.\r
+It touched Lydgate now, and mingled the early moments of his love for\r
+her with all the other memories which were stirred in this crisis of\r
+deep trouble. He laid his ample hand softly on hers, saying--\r
+\r
+"Dear!" with the lingering utterance which affection gives to the word.\r
+Rosamond too was still under the power of that same past, and her\r
+husband was still in part the Lydgate whose approval had stirred\r
+delight. She put his hair lightly away from his forehead, then laid\r
+her other hand on his, and was conscious of forgiving him.\r
+\r
+"I am obliged to tell you what will hurt you, Rosy. But there are\r
+things which husband and wife must think of together. I dare say it\r
+has occurred to you already that I am short of money."\r
+\r
+Lydgate paused; but Rosamond turned her neck and looked at a vase on\r
+the mantel-piece.\r
+\r
+"I was not able to pay for all the things we had to get before we were\r
+married, and there have been expenses since which I have been obliged\r
+to meet. The consequence is, there is a large debt at Brassing--three\r
+hundred and eighty pounds--which has been pressing on me a good while,\r
+and in fact we are getting deeper every day, for people don't pay me\r
+the faster because others want the money. I took pains to keep it from\r
+you while you were not well; but now we must think together about it,\r
+and you must help me."\r
+\r
+"What can--I--do, Tertius?" said Rosamond, turning her eyes on him\r
+again. That little speech of four words, like so many others in all\r
+languages, is capable by varied vocal inflections of expressing all\r
+states of mind from helpless dimness to exhaustive argumentative\r
+perception, from the completest self-devoting fellowship to the most\r
+neutral aloofness. Rosamond's thin utterance threw into the words\r
+"What can--I--do!" as much neutrality as they could hold. They fell\r
+like a mortal chill on Lydgate's roused tenderness. He did not storm\r
+in indignation--he felt too sad a sinking of the heart. And when he\r
+spoke again it was more in the tone of a man who forces himself to\r
+fulfil a task.\r
+\r
+"It is necessary for you to know, because I have to give security for a\r
+time, and a man must come to make an inventory of the furniture."\r
+\r
+Rosamond colored deeply. "Have you not asked papa for money?" she\r
+said, as soon as she could speak.\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Then I must ask him!" she said, releasing her hands from Lydgate's,\r
+and rising to stand at two yards' distance from him.\r
+\r
+"No, Rosy," said Lydgate, decisively. "It is too late to do that. The\r
+inventory will be begun to-morrow. Remember it is a mere security: it\r
+will make no difference: it is a temporary affair. I insist upon it\r
+that your father shall not know, unless I choose to tell him," added\r
+Lydgate, with a more peremptory emphasis.\r
+\r
+This certainly was unkind, but Rosamond had thrown him back on evil\r
+expectation as to what she would do in the way of quiet steady\r
+disobedience. The unkindness seemed unpardonable to her: she was not\r
+given to weeping and disliked it, but now her chin and lips began to\r
+tremble and the tears welled up. Perhaps it was not possible for\r
+Lydgate, under the double stress of outward material difficulty and of\r
+his own proud resistance to humiliating consequences, to imagine fully\r
+what this sudden trial was to a young creature who had known nothing\r
+but indulgence, and whose dreams had all been of new indulgence, more\r
+exactly to her taste. But he did wish to spare her as much as he\r
+could, and her tears cut him to the heart. He could not speak again\r
+immediately; but Rosamond did not go on sobbing: she tried to conquer\r
+her agitation and wiped away her tears, continuing to look before her\r
+at the mantel-piece.\r
+\r
+"Try not to grieve, darling," said Lydgate, turning his eyes up towards\r
+her. That she had chosen to move away from him in this moment of her\r
+trouble made everything harder to say, but he must absolutely go on.\r
+"We must brace ourselves to do what is necessary. It is I who have\r
+been in fault: I ought to have seen that I could not afford to live in\r
+this way. But many things have told against me in my practice, and it\r
+really just now has ebbed to a low point. I may recover it, but in the\r
+mean time we must pull up--we must change our way of living. We shall\r
+weather it. When I have given this security I shall have time to look\r
+about me; and you are so clever that if you turn your mind to managing\r
+you will school me into carefulness. I have been a thoughtless rascal\r
+about squaring prices--but come, dear, sit down and forgive me."\r
+\r
+Lydgate was bowing his neck under the yoke like a creature who had\r
+talons, but who had Reason too, which often reduces us to meekness.\r
+When he had spoken the last words in an imploring tone, Rosamond\r
+returned to the chair by his side. His self-blame gave her some hope\r
+that he would attend to her opinion, and she said--\r
+\r
+"Why can you not put off having the inventory made? You can send the\r
+men away to-morrow when they come."\r
+\r
+"I shall not send them away," said Lydgate, the peremptoriness rising\r
+again. Was it of any use to explain?\r
+\r
+"If we left Middlemarch? there would of course be a sale, and that\r
+would do as well."\r
+\r
+"But we are not going to leave Middlemarch."\r
+\r
+"I am sure, Tertius, it would be much better to do so. Why can we not\r
+go to London? Or near Durham, where your family is known?"\r
+\r
+"We can go nowhere without money, Rosamond."\r
+\r
+"Your friends would not wish you to be without money. And surely these\r
+odious tradesmen might be made to understand that, and to wait, if you\r
+would make proper representations to them."\r
+\r
+"This is idle Rosamond," said Lydgate, angrily. "You must learn to\r
+take my judgment on questions you don't understand. I have made\r
+necessary arrangements, and they must be carried out. As to friends, I\r
+have no expectations whatever from them, and shall not ask them for\r
+anything."\r
+\r
+Rosamond sat perfectly still. The thought in her mind was that if she\r
+had known how Lydgate would behave, she would never have married him.\r
+\r
+"We have no time to waste now on unnecessary words, dear," said\r
+Lydgate, trying to be gentle again. "There are some details that I\r
+want to consider with you. Dover says he will take a good deal of the\r
+plate back again, and any of the jewellery we like. He really behaves\r
+very well."\r
+\r
+"Are we to go without spoons and forks then?" said Rosamond, whose very\r
+lips seemed to get thinner with the thinness of her utterance. She was\r
+determined to make no further resistance or suggestions.\r
+\r
+"Oh no, dear!" said Lydgate. "But look here," he continued, drawing a\r
+paper from his pocket and opening it; "here is Dover's account. See, I\r
+have marked a number of articles, which if we returned them would\r
+reduce the amount by thirty pounds and more. I have not marked any\r
+of the jewellery." Lydgate had really felt this point of the jewellery\r
+very bitter to himself; but he had overcome the feeling by severe\r
+argument. He could not propose to Rosamond that she should return any\r
+particular present of his, but he had told himself that he was bound to\r
+put Dover's offer before her, and her inward prompting might make the\r
+affair easy.\r
+\r
+"It is useless for me to look, Tertius," said Rosamond, calmly; "you\r
+will return what you please." She would not turn her eyes on the\r
+paper, and Lydgate, flushing up to the roots of his hair, drew it back\r
+and let it fall on his knee. Meanwhile Rosamond quietly went out of\r
+the room, leaving Lydgate helpless and wondering. Was she not coming\r
+back? It seemed that she had no more identified herself with him than\r
+if they had been creatures of different species and opposing interests.\r
+He tossed his head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets with a\r
+sort of vengeance. There was still science--there were still good\r
+objects to work for. He must give a tug still--all the stronger\r
+because other satisfactions were going.\r
+\r
+But the door opened and Rosamond re-entered. She carried the leather\r
+box containing the amethysts, and a tiny ornamental basket which\r
+contained other boxes, and laying them on the chair where she had been\r
+sitting, she said, with perfect propriety in her air--\r
+\r
+"This is all the jewellery you ever gave me. You can return what you\r
+like of it, and of the plate also. You will not, of course, expect me\r
+to stay at home to-morrow. I shall go to papa's."\r
+\r
+To many women the look Lydgate cast at her would have been more\r
+terrible than one of anger: it had in it a despairing acceptance of the\r
+distance she was placing between them.\r
+\r
+"And when shall you come back again?" he said, with a bitter edge on\r
+his accent.\r
+\r
+"Oh, in the evening. Of course I shall not mention the subject to\r
+mamma." Rosamond was convinced that no woman could behave more\r
+irreproachably than she was behaving; and she went to sit down at her\r
+work-table. Lydgate sat meditating a minute or two, and the result was\r
+that he said, with some of the old emotion in his tone--\r
+\r
+"Now we have been united, Rosy, you should not leave me to myself in\r
+the first trouble that has come."\r
+\r
+"Certainly not," said Rosamond; "I shall do everything it becomes me to\r
+do."\r
+\r
+"It is not right that the thing should be left to servants, or that I\r
+should have to speak to them about it. And I shall be obliged to go\r
+out--I don't know how early. I understand your shrinking from the\r
+humiliation of these money affairs. But, my dear Rosamond, as a\r
+question of pride, which I feel just as much as you can, it is surely\r
+better to manage the thing ourselves, and let the servants see as\r
+little of it as possible; and since you are my wife, there is no\r
+hindering your share in my disgraces--if there were disgraces."\r
+\r
+Rosamond did not answer immediately, but at last she said, "Very well,\r
+I will stay at home."\r
+\r
+"I shall not touch these jewels, Rosy. Take them away again. But I\r
+will write out a list of plate that we may return, and that can be\r
+packed up and sent at once."\r
+\r
+"The servants will know _that_," said Rosamond, with the slightest\r
+touch of sarcasm.\r
+\r
+"Well, we must meet some disagreeables as necessities. Where is the\r
+ink, I wonder?" said Lydgate, rising, and throwing the account on the\r
+larger table where he meant to write.\r
+\r
+Rosamond went to reach the inkstand, and after setting it on the table\r
+was going to turn away, when Lydgate, who was standing close by, put\r
+his arm round her and drew her towards him, saying--\r
+\r
+"Come, darling, let us make the best of things. It will only be for a\r
+time, I hope, that we shall have to be stingy and particular. Kiss me."\r
+\r
+His native warm-heartedness took a great deal of quenching, and it is a\r
+part of manliness for a husband to feel keenly the fact that an\r
+inexperienced girl has got into trouble by marrying him. She received\r
+his kiss and returned it faintly, and in this way an appearance of\r
+accord was recovered for the time. But Lydgate could not help looking\r
+forward with dread to the inevitable future discussions about\r
+expenditure and the necessity for a complete change in their way of\r
+living.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LIX.\r
+\r
+ They said of old the Soul had human shape,\r
+ But smaller, subtler than the fleshly self,\r
+ So wandered forth for airing when it pleased.\r
+ And see! beside her cherub-face there floats\r
+ A pale-lipped form aerial whispering\r
+ Its promptings in that little shell her ear."\r
+\r
+\r
+News is often dispersed as thoughtlessly and effectively as that pollen\r
+which the bees carry off (having no idea how powdery they are) when\r
+they are buzzing in search of their particular nectar. This fine\r
+comparison has reference to Fred Vincy, who on that evening at Lowick\r
+Parsonage heard a lively discussion among the ladies on the news which\r
+their old servant had got from Tantripp concerning Mr. Casaubon's\r
+strange mention of Mr. Ladislaw in a codicil to his will made not long\r
+before his death. Miss Winifred was astounded to find that her brother\r
+had known the fact before, and observed that Camden was the most\r
+wonderful man for knowing things and not telling them; whereupon Mary\r
+Garth said that the codicil had perhaps got mixed up with the habits of\r
+spiders, which Miss Winifred never would listen to. Mrs. Farebrother\r
+considered that the news had something to do with their having only\r
+once seen Mr. Ladislaw at Lowick, and Miss Noble made many small\r
+compassionate mewings.\r
+\r
+Fred knew little and cared less about Ladislaw and the Casaubons, and\r
+his mind never recurred to that discussion till one day calling on\r
+Rosamond at his mother's request to deliver a message as he passed, he\r
+happened to see Ladislaw going away. Fred and Rosamond had little to\r
+say to each other now that marriage had removed her from collision with\r
+the unpleasantness of brothers, and especially now that he had taken\r
+what she held the stupid and even reprehensible step of giving up the\r
+Church to take to such a business as Mr. Garth's. Hence Fred talked by\r
+preference of what he considered indifferent news, and "a propos of\r
+that young Ladislaw" mentioned what he had heard at Lowick Parsonage.\r
+\r
+Now Lydgate, like Mr. Farebrother, knew a great deal more than he told,\r
+and when he had once been set thinking about the relation between Will\r
+and Dorothea his conjectures had gone beyond the fact. He imagined\r
+that there was a passionate attachment on both sides, and this struck\r
+him as much too serious to gossip about. He remembered Will's\r
+irritability when he had mentioned Mrs. Casaubon, and was the more\r
+circumspect. On the whole his surmises, in addition to what he knew of\r
+the fact, increased his friendliness and tolerance towards Ladislaw,\r
+and made him understand the vacillation which kept him at Middlemarch\r
+after he had said that he should go away. It was significant of the\r
+separateness between Lydgate's mind and Rosamond's that he had no\r
+impulse to speak to her on the subject; indeed, he did not quite trust\r
+her reticence towards Will. And he was right there; though he had no\r
+vision of the way in which her mind would act in urging her to speak.\r
+\r
+When she repeated Fred's news to Lydgate, he said, "Take care you don't\r
+drop the faintest hint to Ladislaw, Rosy. He is likely to fly out as\r
+if you insulted him. Of course it is a painful affair."\r
+\r
+Rosamond turned her neck and patted her hair, looking the image of\r
+placid indifference. But the next time Will came when Lydgate was\r
+away, she spoke archly about his not going to London as he had\r
+threatened.\r
+\r
+"I know all about it. I have a confidential little bird," said she,\r
+showing very pretty airs of her head over the bit of work held high\r
+between her active fingers. "There is a powerful magnet in this\r
+neighborhood."\r
+\r
+"To be sure there is. Nobody knows that better than you," said Will,\r
+with light gallantry, but inwardly prepared to be angry.\r
+\r
+"It is really the most charming romance: Mr. Casaubon jealous, and\r
+foreseeing that there was no one else whom Mrs. Casaubon would so much\r
+like to marry, and no one who would so much like to marry her as a\r
+certain gentleman; and then laying a plan to spoil all by making her\r
+forfeit her property if she did marry that gentleman--and then--and\r
+then--and then--oh, I have no doubt the end will be thoroughly\r
+romantic."\r
+\r
+"Great God! what do you mean?" said Will, flushing over face and ears,\r
+his features seeming to change as if he had had a violent shake.\r
+"Don't joke; tell me what you mean."\r
+\r
+"You don't really know?" said Rosamond, no longer playful, and desiring\r
+nothing better than to tell in order that she might evoke effects.\r
+\r
+"No!" he returned, impatiently.\r
+\r
+"Don't know that Mr. Casaubon has left it in his will that if Mrs.\r
+Casaubon marries you she is to forfeit all her property?"\r
+\r
+"How do you know that it is true?" said Will, eagerly.\r
+\r
+"My brother Fred heard it from the Farebrothers." Will started up from\r
+his chair and reached his hat.\r
+\r
+"I dare say she likes you better than the property," said Rosamond,\r
+looking at him from a distance.\r
+\r
+"Pray don't say any more about it," said Will, in a hoarse undertone\r
+extremely unlike his usual light voice. "It is a foul insult to her\r
+and to me." Then he sat down absently, looking before him, but seeing\r
+nothing.\r
+\r
+"Now you are angry with _me_," said Rosamond. "It is too bad to bear\r
+_me_ malice. You ought to be obliged to me for telling you."\r
+\r
+"So I am," said Will, abruptly, speaking with that kind of double soul\r
+which belongs to dreamers who answer questions.\r
+\r
+"I expect to hear of the marriage," said Rosamond, playfully.\r
+\r
+"Never! You will never hear of the marriage!"\r
+\r
+With those words uttered impetuously, Will rose, put out his hand to\r
+Rosamond, still with the air of a somnambulist, and went away.\r
+\r
+When he was gone, Rosamond left her chair and walked to the other end\r
+of the room, leaning when she got there against a chiffonniere, and\r
+looking out of the window wearily. She was oppressed by ennui, and by\r
+that dissatisfaction which in women's minds is continually turning into\r
+a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims, springing from no\r
+deeper passion than the vague exactingness of egoism, and yet capable\r
+of impelling action as well as speech. "There really is nothing to\r
+care for much," said poor Rosamond inwardly, thinking of the family at\r
+Quallingham, who did not write to her; and that perhaps Tertius when he\r
+came home would tease her about expenses. She had already secretly\r
+disobeyed him by asking her father to help them, and he had ended\r
+decisively by saying, "I am more likely to want help myself."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LX.\r
+\r
+ Good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable.\r
+ --Justice Shallow.\r
+\r
+\r
+A few days afterwards--it was already the end of August--there was an\r
+occasion which caused some excitement in Middlemarch: the public, if it\r
+chose, was to have the advantage of buying, under the distinguished\r
+auspices of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, the furniture, books, and pictures\r
+which anybody might see by the handbills to be the best in every kind,\r
+belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq. This was not one of the sales\r
+indicating the depression of trade; on the contrary, it was due to Mr.\r
+Larcher's great success in the carrying business, which warranted his\r
+purchase of a mansion near Riverston already furnished in high style by\r
+an illustrious Spa physician--furnished indeed with such large\r
+framefuls of expensive flesh-painting in the dining-room, that Mrs.\r
+Larcher was nervous until reassured by finding the subjects to be\r
+Scriptural. Hence the fine opportunity to purchasers which was well\r
+pointed out in the handbills of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, whose\r
+acquaintance with the history of art enabled him to state that the hall\r
+furniture, to be sold without reserve, comprised a piece of carving by\r
+a contemporary of Gibbons.\r
+\r
+At Middlemarch in those times a large sale was regarded as a kind of\r
+festival. There was a table spread with the best cold eatables, as at\r
+a superior funeral; and facilities were offered for that\r
+generous-drinking of cheerful glasses which might lead to generous and\r
+cheerful bidding for undesirable articles. Mr. Larcher's sale was the\r
+more attractive in the fine weather because the house stood just at the\r
+end of the town, with a garden and stables attached, in that pleasant\r
+issue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which was also the road\r
+to the New Hospital and to Mr. Bulstrode's retired residence, known as\r
+the Shrubs. In short, the auction was as good as a fair, and drew all\r
+classes with leisure at command: to some, who risked making bids in\r
+order simply to raise prices, it was almost equal to betting at the\r
+races. The second day, when the best furniture was to be sold,\r
+"everybody" was there; even Mr. Thesiger, the rector of St. Peter's,\r
+had looked in for a short time, wishing to buy the carved table, and\r
+had rubbed elbows with Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Horrock. There was a\r
+wreath of Middlemarch ladies accommodated with seats round the large\r
+table in the dining-room, where Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was mounted with\r
+desk and hammer; but the rows chiefly of masculine faces behind were\r
+often varied by incomings and outgoings both from the door and the\r
+large bow-window opening on to the lawn.\r
+\r
+"Everybody" that day did not include Mr. Bulstrode, whose health could\r
+not well endure crowds and draughts. But Mrs. Bulstrode had\r
+particularly wished to have a certain picture--a "Supper at Emmaus,"\r
+attributed in the catalogue to Guido; and at the last moment before the\r
+day of the sale Mr. Bulstrode had called at the office of the\r
+"Pioneer," of which he was now one of the proprietors, to beg of Mr.\r
+Ladislaw as a great favor that he would obligingly use his remarkable\r
+knowledge of pictures on behalf of Mrs. Bulstrode, and judge of the\r
+value of this particular painting--"if," added the scrupulously polite\r
+banker, "attendance at the sale would not interfere with the\r
+arrangements for your departure, which I know is imminent."\r
+\r
+This proviso might have sounded rather satirically in Will's ear if he\r
+had been in a mood to care about such satire. It referred to an\r
+understanding entered into many weeks before with the proprietors of\r
+the paper, that he should be at liberty any day he pleased to hand over\r
+the management to the subeditor whom he had been training; since he\r
+wished finally to quit Middlemarch. But indefinite visions of ambition\r
+are weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilingly\r
+agreeable; and we all know the difficulty of carrying out a resolve\r
+when we secretly long that it may turn out to be unnecessary. In such\r
+states of mind the most incredulous person has a private leaning\r
+towards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could be\r
+fulfilled, still--very wonderful things have happened! Will did not\r
+confess this weakness to himself, but he lingered. What was the use of\r
+going to London at that time of the year? The Rugby men who would\r
+remember him were not there; and so far as political writing was\r
+concerned, he would rather for a few weeks go on with the "Pioneer."\r
+At the present moment, however, when Mr. Bulstrode was speaking to him,\r
+he had both a strengthened resolve to go and an equally strong resolve\r
+not to go till he had once more seen Dorothea. Hence he replied that\r
+he had reasons for deferring his departure a little, and would be happy\r
+to go to the sale.\r
+\r
+Will was in a defiant mood, his consciousness being deeply stung with\r
+the thought that the people who looked at him probably knew a fact\r
+tantamount to an accusation against him as a fellow with low designs\r
+which were to be frustrated by a disposal of property. Like most\r
+people who assert their freedom with regard to conventional\r
+distinction, he was prepared to be sudden and quick at quarrel with any\r
+one who might hint that he had personal reasons for that assertion--that\r
+there was anything in his blood, his bearing, or his character to\r
+which he gave the mask of an opinion. When he was under an irritating\r
+impression of this kind he would go about for days with a defiant look,\r
+the color changing in his transparent skin as if he were on the qui\r
+vive, watching for something which he had to dart upon.\r
+\r
+This expression was peculiarly noticeable in him at the sale, and those\r
+who had only seen him in his moods of gentle oddity or of bright\r
+enjoyment would have been struck with a contrast. He was not sorry to\r
+have this occasion for appearing in public before the Middlemarch\r
+tribes of Toller, Hackbutt, and the rest, who looked down on him as an\r
+adventurer, and were in a state of brutal ignorance about Dante--who\r
+sneered at his Polish blood, and were themselves of a breed very much\r
+in need of crossing. He stood in a conspicuous place not far from the\r
+auctioneer, with a fore-finger in each side-pocket and his head thrown\r
+backward, not caring to speak to anybody, though he had been cordially\r
+welcomed as a connoiss_ure_ by Mr. Trumbull, who was enjoying the\r
+utmost activity of his great faculties.\r
+\r
+And surely among all men whose vocation requires them to exhibit their\r
+powers of speech, the happiest is a prosperous provincial auctioneer\r
+keenly alive to his own jokes and sensible of his encyclopedic\r
+knowledge. Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be\r
+constantly insisting on the merits of all articles from boot-jacks to\r
+"Berghems;" but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a kindly liquid in his veins;\r
+he was an admirer by nature, and would have liked to have the universe\r
+under his hammer, feeling that it would go at a higher figure for his\r
+recommendation.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile Mrs. Larcher's drawing-room furniture was enough for him.\r
+When Will Ladislaw had come in, a second fender, said to have been\r
+forgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer's\r
+enthusiasm, which he distributed on the equitable principle of praising\r
+those things most which were most in need of praise. The fender was of\r
+polished steel, with much lancet-shaped open-work and a sharp edge.\r
+\r
+"Now, ladies," said he, "I shall appeal to you. Here is a fender which\r
+at any other sale would hardly be offered with out reserve, being, as I\r
+may say, for quality of steel and quaintness of design, a kind of\r
+thing"--here Mr. Trumbull dropped his voice and became slightly nasal,\r
+trimming his outlines with his left finger--"that might not fall in\r
+with ordinary tastes. Allow me to tell you that by-and-by this style\r
+of workmanship will be the only one in vogue--half-a-crown, you said?\r
+thank you--going at half-a-crown, this characteristic fender; and I\r
+have particular information that the antique style is very much sought\r
+after in high quarters. Three shillings--three-and-sixpence--hold it\r
+well up, Joseph! Look, ladies, at the chastity of the design--I have\r
+no doubt myself that it was turned out in the last century! Four\r
+shillings, Mr. Mawmsey?--four shillings."\r
+\r
+"It's not a thing I would put in _my_ drawing-room," said Mrs. Mawmsey,\r
+audibly, for the warning of the rash husband. "I wonder _at_ Mrs.\r
+Larcher. Every blessed child's head that fell against it would be cut\r
+in two. The edge is like a knife."\r
+\r
+"Quite true," rejoined Mr. Trumbull, quickly, "and most uncommonly\r
+useful to have a fender at hand that will cut, if you have a leather\r
+shoe-tie or a bit of string that wants cutting and no knife at hand:\r
+many a man has been left hanging because there was no knife to cut him\r
+down. Gentlemen, here's a fender that if you had the misfortune to\r
+hang yourselves would cut you down in no time--with astonishing\r
+celerity--four-and-sixpence--five--five-and-sixpence--an appropriate\r
+thing for a spare bedroom where there was a four-poster and a guest a\r
+little out of his mind--six shillings--thank you, Mr. Clintup--going\r
+at six shillings--going--gone!" The auctioneer's glance, which had\r
+been searching round him with a preternatural susceptibility to all\r
+signs of bidding, here dropped on the paper before him, and his voice\r
+too dropped into a tone of indifferent despatch as he said, "Mr.\r
+Clintup. Be handy, Joseph."\r
+\r
+"It was worth six shillings to have a fender you could always tell that\r
+joke on," said Mr. Clintup, laughing low and apologetically to his next\r
+neighbor. He was a diffident though distinguished nurseryman, and\r
+feared that the audience might regard his bid as a foolish one.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile Joseph had brought a trayful of small articles. "Now,\r
+ladies," said Mr. Trumbull, taking up one of the articles, "this tray\r
+contains a very recherchy lot--a collection of trifles for the\r
+drawing-room table--and trifles make the sum _of_ human things--nothing\r
+more important than trifles--(yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes, by-and-by)--but\r
+pass the tray round, Joseph--these bijoux must be examined, ladies.\r
+This I have in my hand is an ingenious contrivance--a sort of\r
+practical rebus, I may call it: here, you see, it looks like an elegant\r
+heart-shaped box, portable--for the pocket; there, again, it becomes\r
+like a splendid double flower--an ornament for the table; and now"--Mr.\r
+Trumbull allowed the flower to fall alarmingly into strings of\r
+heart-shaped leaves--"a book of riddles! No less than five hundred\r
+printed in a beautiful red. Gentlemen, if I had less of a conscience,\r
+I should not wish you to bid high for this lot--I have a longing for\r
+it myself. What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, more\r
+than a good riddle?--it hinders profane language, and attaches a man to\r
+the society of refined females. This ingenious article itself, without\r
+the elegant domino-box, card-basket, &c., ought alone to give a high\r
+price to the lot. Carried in the pocket it might make an individual\r
+welcome in any society. Four shillings, sir?--four shillings for this\r
+remarkable collection of riddles with the et caeteras. Here is a\r
+sample: 'How must you spell honey to make it catch lady-birds?\r
+Answer--money.' You hear?--lady-birds--honey money. This is an\r
+amusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a sting--it has what we call\r
+satire, and wit without indecency. Four-and-sixpence--five shillings."\r
+\r
+The bidding ran on with warming rivalry. Mr. Bowyer was a bidder, and\r
+this was too exasperating. Bowyer couldn't afford it, and only wanted\r
+to hinder every other man from making a figure. The current carried\r
+even Mr. Horrock with it, but this committal of himself to an opinion\r
+fell from him with so little sacrifice of his neutral expression, that\r
+the bid might not have been detected as his but for the friendly oaths\r
+of Mr. Bambridge, who wanted to know what Horrock would do with blasted\r
+stuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of perdition\r
+which the horse-dealer so cordially recognized in the majority of\r
+earthly existences. The lot was finally knocked down at a guinea to\r
+Mr. Spilkins, a young Slender of the neighborhood, who was reckless\r
+with his pocket-money and felt his want of memory for riddles.\r
+\r
+"Come, Trumbull, this is too bad--you've been putting some old maid's\r
+rubbish into the sale," murmured Mr. Toller, getting close to the\r
+auctioneer. "I want to see how the prints go, and I must be off soon."\r
+\r
+"_Im_mediately, Mr. Toller. It was only an act of benevolence which\r
+your noble heart would approve. Joseph! quick with the prints--Lot\r
+235. Now, gentlemen, you who are connoiss_ures_, you are going to have\r
+a treat. Here is an engraving of the Duke of Wellington surrounded by\r
+his staff on the Field of Waterloo; and notwithstanding recent events\r
+which have, as it were, enveloped our great Hero in a cloud, I will be\r
+bold to say--for a man in my line must not be blown about by political\r
+winds--that a finer subject--of the modern order, belonging to our own\r
+time and epoch--the understanding of man could hardly conceive: angels\r
+might, perhaps, but not men, sirs, not men."\r
+\r
+"Who painted it?" said Mr. Powderell, much impressed.\r
+\r
+"It is a proof before the letter, Mr. Powderell--the painter is not\r
+known," answered Trumbull, with a certain gaspingness in his last\r
+words, after which he pursed up his lips and stared round him.\r
+\r
+"I'll bid a pound!" said Mr. Powderell, in a tone of resolved emotion,\r
+as of a man ready to put himself in the breach. Whether from awe or\r
+pity, nobody raised the price on him.\r
+\r
+Next came two Dutch prints which Mr. Toller had been eager for, and\r
+after he had secured them he went away. Other prints, and afterwards\r
+some paintings, were sold to leading Middlemarchers who had come with a\r
+special desire for them, and there was a more active movement of the\r
+audience in and out; some, who had bought what they wanted, going away,\r
+others coming in either quite newly or from a temporary visit to the\r
+refreshments which were spread under the marquee on the lawn. It was\r
+this marquee that Mr. Bambridge was bent on buying, and he appeared to\r
+like looking inside it frequently, as a foretaste of its possession.\r
+On the last occasion of his return from it he was observed to bring\r
+with him a new companion, a stranger to Mr. Trumbull and every one\r
+else, whose appearance, however, led to the supposition that he might\r
+be a relative of the horse-dealer's--also "given to indulgence." His\r
+large whiskers, imposing swagger, and swing of the leg, made him a\r
+striking figure; but his suit of black, rather shabby at the edges,\r
+caused the prejudicial inference that he was not able to afford himself\r
+as much indulgence as he liked.\r
+\r
+"Who is it you've picked up, Bam?" said Mr. Horrock, aside.\r
+\r
+"Ask him yourself," returned Mr. Bambridge. "He said he'd just turned\r
+in from the road."\r
+\r
+Mr. Horrock eyed the stranger, who was leaning back against his stick\r
+with one hand, using his toothpick with the other, and looking about\r
+him with a certain restlessness apparently under the silence imposed on\r
+him by circumstances.\r
+\r
+At length the "Supper at Emmaus" was brought forward, to Will's immense\r
+relief, for he was getting so tired of the proceedings that he had\r
+drawn back a little and leaned his shoulder against the wall just\r
+behind the auctioneer. He now came forward again, and his eye caught\r
+the conspicuous stranger, who, rather to his surprise, was staring at\r
+him markedly. But Will was immediately appealed to by Mr. Trumbull.\r
+\r
+"Yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as a connoiss_ure_, I\r
+think. It is some pleasure," the auctioneer went on with a rising\r
+fervor, "to have a picture like this to show to a company of ladies and\r
+gentlemen--a picture worth any sum to an individual whose means were on\r
+a level with his judgment. It is a painting of the Italian school--by\r
+the celebrated Guydo, the greatest painter in the world, the chief of\r
+the Old Masters, as they are called--I take it, because they were up\r
+to a thing or two beyond most of us--in possession of secrets now lost\r
+to the bulk of mankind. Let me tell you, gentlemen, I have seen a\r
+great many pictures by the Old Masters, and they are not all up to this\r
+mark--some of them are darker than you might like and not family\r
+subjects. But here is a Guydo--the frame alone is worth pounds--which\r
+any lady might be proud to hang up--a suitable thing for what we call a\r
+refectory in a charitable institution, if any gentleman of the\r
+Corporation wished to show his munifi_cence_. Turn it a little, sir?\r
+yes. Joseph, turn it a little towards Mr. Ladislaw--Mr. Ladislaw,\r
+having been abroad, understands the merit of these things, you observe."\r
+\r
+All eyes were for a moment turned towards Will, who said, coolly, "Five\r
+pounds." The auctioneer burst out in deep remonstrance.\r
+\r
+"Ah! Mr. Ladislaw! the frame alone is worth that. Ladies and\r
+gentlemen, for the credit of the town! Suppose it should be discovered\r
+hereafter that a gem of art has been amongst us in this town, and\r
+nobody in Middlemarch awake to it. Five guineas--five seven-six--five\r
+ten. Still, ladies, still! It is a gem, and 'Full many a gem,' as the\r
+poet says, has been allowed to go at a nominal price because the public\r
+knew no better, because it was offered in circles where there was--I\r
+was going to say a low feeling, but no!--Six pounds--six guineas--a\r
+Guydo of the first order going at six guineas--it is an insult to\r
+religion, ladies; it touches us all as Christians, gentlemen, that a\r
+subject like this should go at such a low figure--six pounds\r
+ten--seven--"\r
+\r
+The bidding was brisk, and Will continued to share in it, remembering\r
+that Mrs. Bulstrode had a strong wish for the picture, and thinking\r
+that he might stretch the price to twelve pounds. But it was knocked\r
+down to him at ten guineas, whereupon he pushed his way towards the\r
+bow-window and went out. He chose to go under the marquee to get a\r
+glass of water, being hot and thirsty: it was empty of other visitors,\r
+and he asked the woman in attendance to fetch him some fresh water; but\r
+before she was well gone he was annoyed to see entering the florid\r
+stranger who had stared at him. It struck Will at this moment that the\r
+man might be one of those political parasitic insects of the bloated\r
+kind who had once or twice claimed acquaintance with him as having\r
+heard him speak on the Reform question, and who might think of getting\r
+a shilling by news. In this light his person, already rather heating\r
+to behold on a summer's day, appeared the more disagreeable; and Will,\r
+half-seated on the elbow of a garden-chair, turned his eyes carefully\r
+away from the comer. But this signified little to our acquaintance Mr.\r
+Raffles, who never hesitated to thrust himself on unwilling\r
+observation, if it suited his purpose to do so. He moved a step or two\r
+till he was in front of Will, and said with full-mouthed haste, "Excuse\r
+me, Mr. Ladislaw--was your mother's name Sarah Dunkirk?"\r
+\r
+Will, starting to his feet, moved backward a step, frowning, and saying\r
+with some fierceness, "Yes, sir, it was. And what is that to you?"\r
+\r
+It was in Will's nature that the first spark it threw out was a direct\r
+answer of the question and a challenge of the consequences. To have\r
+said, "What is that to you?" in the first instance, would have seemed\r
+like shuffling--as if he minded who knew anything about his origin!\r
+\r
+Raffles on his side had not the same eagerness for a collision which\r
+was implied in Ladislaw's threatening air. The slim young fellow with\r
+his girl's complexion looked like a tiger-cat ready to spring on him.\r
+Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his company\r
+was kept in abeyance.\r
+\r
+"No offence, my good sir, no offence! I only remember your mother--knew\r
+her when she was a girl. But it is your father that you feature,\r
+sir. I had the pleasure of seeing your father too. Parents alive, Mr.\r
+Ladislaw?"\r
+\r
+"No!" thundered Will, in the same attitude as before.\r
+\r
+"Should be glad to do you a service, Mr. Ladislaw--by Jove, I should!\r
+Hope to meet again."\r
+\r
+Hereupon Raffles, who had lifted his hat with the last words, turned\r
+himself round with a swing of his leg and walked away. Will looked\r
+after him a moment, and could see that he did not re-enter the\r
+auction-room, but appeared to be walking towards the road. For an\r
+instant he thought that he had been foolish not to let the man go on\r
+talking;--but no! on the whole he preferred doing without knowledge\r
+from that source.\r
+\r
+Later in the evening, however, Raffles overtook him in the street, and\r
+appearing either to have forgotten the roughness of his former\r
+reception or to intend avenging it by a forgiving familiarity, greeted\r
+him jovially and walked by his side, remarking at first on the\r
+pleasantness of the town and neighborhood. Will suspected that the man\r
+had been drinking and was considering how to shake him off when Raffles\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"I've been abroad myself, Mr. Ladislaw--I've seen the world--used to\r
+parley-vous a little. It was at Boulogne I saw your father--a most\r
+uncommon likeness you are of him, by Jove! mouth--nose--eyes--hair\r
+turned off your brow just like his--a little in the foreign style.\r
+John Bull doesn't do much of that. But your father was very ill when I\r
+saw him. Lord, lord! hands you might see through. You were a small\r
+youngster then. Did he get well?"\r
+\r
+"No," said Will, curtly.\r
+\r
+"Ah! Well! I've often wondered what became of your mother. She ran\r
+away from her friends when she was a young lass--a proud-spirited\r
+lass, and pretty, by Jove! I knew the reason why she ran away," said\r
+Raffles, winking slowly as he looked sideways at Will.\r
+\r
+"You know nothing dishonorable of her, sir," said Will, turning on him\r
+rather savagely. But Mr. Raffles just now was not sensitive to shades\r
+of manner.\r
+\r
+"Not a bit!" said he, tossing his head decisively "She was a little too\r
+honorable to like her friends--that was it!" Here Raffles again winked\r
+slowly. "Lord bless you, I knew all about 'em--a little in what you\r
+may call the respectable thieving line--the high style of\r
+receiving-house--none of your holes and corners--first-rate. Slap-up\r
+shop, high profits and no mistake. But Lord! Sarah would have known\r
+nothing about it--a dashing young lady she was--fine\r
+boarding-school--fit for a lord's wife--only Archie Duncan threw it at\r
+her out of spite, because she would have nothing to do with him. And\r
+so she ran away from the whole concern. I travelled for 'em, sir, in a\r
+gentlemanly way--at a high salary. They didn't mind her running away\r
+at first--godly folks, sir, very godly--and she was for the stage. The\r
+son was alive then, and the daughter was at a discount. Hallo! here we\r
+are at the Blue Bull. What do you say, Mr. Ladislaw?--shall we turn in\r
+and have a glass?"\r
+\r
+"No, I must say good evening," said Will, dashing up a passage which\r
+led into Lowick Gate, and almost running to get out of Raffles's reach.\r
+\r
+He walked a long while on the Lowick road away from the town, glad of\r
+the starlit darkness when it came. He felt as if he had had dirt cast\r
+on him amidst shouts of scorn. There was this to confirm the fellow's\r
+statement--that his mother never would tell him the reason why she had\r
+run away from her family.\r
+\r
+Well! what was he, Will Ladislaw, the worse, supposing the truth about\r
+that family to be the ugliest? His mother had braved hardship in order\r
+to separate herself from it. But if Dorothea's friends had known this\r
+story--if the Chettams had known it--they would have had a fine color\r
+to give their suspicions a welcome ground for thinking him unfit to\r
+come near her. However, let them suspect what they pleased, they would\r
+find themselves in the wrong. They would find out that the blood in\r
+his veins was as free from the taint of meanness as theirs.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXI.\r
+\r
+ "Inconsistencies," answered Imlac, "cannot both be right,\r
+ but imputed to man they may both be true."--Rasselas.\r
+\r
+\r
+The same night, when Mr. Bulstrode returned from a journey to Brassing\r
+on business, his good wife met him in the entrance-hall and drew him\r
+into his private sitting-room.\r
+\r
+"Nicholas," she said, fixing her honest eyes upon him anxiously, "there\r
+has been such a disagreeable man here asking for you--it has made me\r
+quite uncomfortable."\r
+\r
+"What kind of man, my dear," said Mr. Bulstrode, dreadfully certain of\r
+the answer.\r
+\r
+"A red-faced man with large whiskers, and most impudent in his manner.\r
+He declared he was an old friend of yours, and said you would be sorry\r
+not to see him. He wanted to wait for you here, but I told him he\r
+could see you at the Bank to-morrow morning. Most impudent he\r
+was!--stared at me, and said his friend Nick had luck in wives. I\r
+don't believe he would have gone away, if Blucher had not happened to\r
+break his chain and come running round on the gravel--for I was in the\r
+garden; so I said, 'You'd better go away--the dog is very fierce, and I\r
+can't hold him.' Do you really know anything of such a man?"\r
+\r
+"I believe I know who he is, my dear," said Mr. Bulstrode, in his usual\r
+subdued voice, "an unfortunate dissolute wretch, whom I helped too much\r
+in days gone by. However, I presume you will not be troubled by him\r
+again. He will probably come to the Bank--to beg, doubtless."\r
+\r
+No more was said on the subject until the next day, when Mr. Bulstrode\r
+had returned from the town and was dressing for dinner. His wife, not\r
+sure that he was come home, looked into his dressing-room and saw him\r
+with his coat and cravat off, leaning one arm on a chest of drawers and\r
+staring absently at the ground. He started nervously and looked up as\r
+she entered.\r
+\r
+"You look very ill, Nicholas. Is there anything the matter?"\r
+\r
+"I have a good deal of pain in my head," said Mr. Bulstrode, who was so\r
+frequently ailing that his wife was always ready to believe in this\r
+cause of depression.\r
+\r
+"Sit down and let me sponge it with vinegar."\r
+\r
+Physically Mr. Bulstrode did not want the vinegar, but morally the\r
+affectionate attention soothed him. Though always polite, it was his\r
+habit to receive such services with marital coolness, as his wife's\r
+duty. But to-day, while she was bending over him, he said, "You are\r
+very good, Harriet," in a tone which had something new in it to her\r
+ear; she did not know exactly what the novelty was, but her woman's\r
+solicitude shaped itself into a darting thought that he might be going\r
+to have an illness.\r
+\r
+"Has anything worried you?" she said. "Did that man come to you at the\r
+Bank?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; it was as I had supposed. He is a man who at one time might have\r
+done better. But he has sunk into a drunken debauched creature."\r
+\r
+"Is he quite gone away?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, anxiously but for certain\r
+reasons she refrained from adding, "It was very disagreeable to hear\r
+him calling himself a friend of yours." At that moment she would not\r
+have liked to say anything which implied her habitual consciousness\r
+that her husband's earlier connections were not quite on a level with\r
+her own. Not that she knew much about them. That her husband had at\r
+first been employed in a bank, that he had afterwards entered into what\r
+he called city business and gained a fortune before he was\r
+three-and-thirty, that he had married a widow who was much older than\r
+himself--a Dissenter, and in other ways probably of that\r
+disadvantageous quality usually perceptible in a first wife if inquired\r
+into with the dispassionate judgment of a second--was almost as much as\r
+she had cared to learn beyond the glimpses which Mr. Bulstrode's\r
+narrative occasionally gave of his early bent towards religion, his\r
+inclination to be a preacher, and his association with missionary and\r
+philanthropic efforts. She believed in him as an excellent man whose\r
+piety carried a peculiar eminence in belonging to a layman, whose\r
+influence had turned her own mind toward seriousness, and whose share\r
+of perishable good had been the means of raising her own position. But\r
+she also liked to think that it was well in every sense for Mr.\r
+Bulstrode to have won the hand of Harriet Vincy; whose family was\r
+undeniable in a Middlemarch light--a better light surely than any\r
+thrown in London thoroughfares or dissenting chapel-yards. The\r
+unreformed provincial mind distrusted London; and while true religion\r
+was everywhere saving, honest Mrs. Bulstrode was convinced that to be\r
+saved in the Church was more respectable. She so much wished to ignore\r
+towards others that her husband had ever been a London Dissenter, that\r
+she liked to keep it out of sight even in talking to him. He was quite\r
+aware of this; indeed in some respects he was rather afraid of this\r
+ingenuous wife, whose imitative piety and native worldliness were\r
+equally sincere, who had nothing to be ashamed of, and whom he had\r
+married out of a thorough inclination still subsisting. But his fears\r
+were such as belong to a man who cares to maintain his recognized\r
+supremacy: the loss of high consideration from his wife, as from every\r
+one else who did not clearly hate him out of enmity to the truth, would\r
+be as the beginning of death to him. When she said--\r
+\r
+"Is he quite gone away?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I trust so," he answered, with an effort to throw as much sober\r
+unconcern into his tone as possible!\r
+\r
+But in truth Mr. Bulstrode was very far from a state of quiet trust.\r
+In the interview at the Bank, Raffles had made it evident that his\r
+eagerness to torment was almost as strong in him as any other greed.\r
+He had frankly said that he had turned out of the way to come to\r
+Middlemarch, just to look about him and see whether the neighborhood\r
+would suit him to live in. He had certainly had a few debts to pay\r
+more than he expected, but the two hundred pounds were not gone yet: a\r
+cool five-and-twenty would suffice him to go away with for the present.\r
+What he had wanted chiefly was to see his friend Nick and family, and\r
+know all about the prosperity of a man to whom he was so much attached.\r
+By-and-by he might come back for a longer stay. This time Raffles\r
+declined to be "seen off the premises," as he expressed it--declined to\r
+quit Middlemarch under Bulstrode's eyes. He meant to go by coach the\r
+next day--if he chose.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode felt himself helpless. Neither threats nor coaxing could\r
+avail: he could not count on any persistent fear nor on any promise.\r
+On the contrary, he felt a cold certainty at his heart that\r
+Raffles--unless providence sent death to hinder him--would come back\r
+to Middlemarch before long. And that certainty was a terror.\r
+\r
+It was not that he was in danger of legal punishment or of beggary: he\r
+was in danger only of seeing disclosed to the judgment of his neighbors\r
+and the mournful perception of his wife certain facts of his past life\r
+which would render him an object of scorn and an opprobrium of the\r
+religion with which he had diligently associated himself. The terror\r
+of being judged sharpens the memory: it sends an inevitable glare over\r
+that long-unvisited past which has been habitually recalled only in\r
+general phrases. Even without memory, the life is bound into one by a\r
+zone of dependence in growth and decay; but intense memory forces a man\r
+to own his blameworthy past. With memory set smarting like a reopened\r
+wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn\r
+preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose\r
+from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing\r
+shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.\r
+\r
+Into this second life Bulstrode's past had now risen, only the\r
+pleasures of it seeming to have lost their quality. Night and day,\r
+without interruption save of brief sleep which only wove retrospect and\r
+fear into a fantastic present, he felt the scenes of his earlier life\r
+coming between him and everything else, as obstinately as when we look\r
+through the window from a lighted room, the objects we turn our backs\r
+on are still before us, instead of the grass and the trees. The\r
+successive events inward and outward were there in one view: though\r
+each might be dwelt on in turn, the rest still kept their hold in the\r
+consciousness.\r
+\r
+Once more he saw himself the young banker's clerk, with an agreeable\r
+person, as clever in figures as he was fluent in speech and fond of\r
+theological definition: an eminent though young member of a Calvinistic\r
+dissenting church at Highbury, having had striking experience in\r
+conviction of sin and sense of pardon. Again he heard himself called\r
+for as Brother Bulstrode in prayer meetings, speaking on religious\r
+platforms, preaching in private houses. Again he felt himself thinking\r
+of the ministry as possibly his vocation, and inclined towards\r
+missionary labor. That was the happiest time of his life: that was the\r
+spot he would have chosen now to awake in and find the rest a dream.\r
+The people among whom Brother Bulstrode was distinguished were very\r
+few, but they were very near to him, and stirred his satisfaction the\r
+more; his power stretched through a narrow space, but he felt its\r
+effect the more intensely. He believed without effort in the peculiar\r
+work of grace within him, and in the signs that God intended him for\r
+special instrumentality.\r
+\r
+Then came the moment of transition; it was with the sense of promotion\r
+he had when he, an orphan educated at a commercial charity-school, was\r
+invited to a fine villa belonging to Mr. Dunkirk, the richest man in\r
+the congregation. Soon he became an intimate there, honored for his\r
+piety by the wife, marked out for his ability by the husband, whose\r
+wealth was due to a flourishing city and west-end trade. That was the\r
+setting-in of a new current for his ambition, directing his prospects\r
+of "instrumentality" towards the uniting of distinguished religious\r
+gifts with successful business.\r
+\r
+By-and-by came a decided external leading: a confidential subordinate\r
+partner died, and nobody seemed to the principal so well fitted to fill\r
+the severely felt vacancy as his young friend Bulstrode, if he would\r
+become confidential accountant. The offer was accepted. The business\r
+was a pawnbroker's, of the most magnificent sort both in extent and\r
+profits; and on a short acquaintance with it Bulstrode became aware\r
+that one source of magnificent profit was the easy reception of any\r
+goods offered, without strict inquiry as to where they came from. But\r
+there was a branch house at the west end, and no pettiness or dinginess\r
+to give suggestions of shame.\r
+\r
+He remembered his first moments of shrinking. They were private, and\r
+were filled with arguments; some of these taking the form of prayer.\r
+The business was established and had old roots; is it not one thing to\r
+set up a new gin-palace and another to accept an investment in an old\r
+one? The profits made out of lost souls--where can the line be drawn\r
+at which they begin in human transactions? Was it not even God's way\r
+of saving His chosen? "Thou knowest,"--the young Bulstrode had said\r
+then, as the older Bulstrode was saying now--"Thou knowest how loose\r
+my soul sits from these things--how I view them all as implements for\r
+tilling Thy garden rescued here and there from the wilderness."\r
+\r
+Metaphors and precedents were not wanting; peculiar spiritual\r
+experiences were not wanting which at last made the retention of his\r
+position seem a service demanded of him: the vista of a fortune had\r
+already opened itself, and Bulstrode's shrinking remained private. Mr.\r
+Dunkirk had never expected that there would be any shrinking at all: he\r
+had never conceived that trade had anything to do with the scheme of\r
+salvation. And it was true that Bulstrode found himself carrying on\r
+two distinct lives; his religious activity could not be incompatible\r
+with his business as soon as he had argued himself into not feeling it\r
+incompatible.\r
+\r
+Mentally surrounded with that past again, Bulstrode had the same\r
+pleas--indeed, the years had been perpetually spinning them into\r
+intricate thickness, like masses of spider-web, padding the moral\r
+sensibility; nay, as age made egoism more eager but less enjoying, his\r
+soul had become more saturated with the belief that he did everything\r
+for God's sake, being indifferent to it for his own. And yet--if he\r
+could be back in that far-off spot with his youthful poverty--why, then\r
+he would choose to be a missionary.\r
+\r
+But the train of causes in which he had locked himself went on. There\r
+was trouble in the fine villa at Highbury. Years before, the only\r
+daughter had run away, defied her parents, and gone on the stage; and\r
+now the only boy died, and after a short time Mr. Dunkirk died also.\r
+The wife, a simple pious woman, left with all the wealth in and out of\r
+the magnificent trade, of which she never knew the precise nature, had\r
+come to believe in Bulstrode, and innocently adore him as women often\r
+adore their priest or "man-made" minister. It was natural that after a\r
+time marriage should have been thought of between them. But Mrs.\r
+Dunkirk had qualms and yearnings about her daughter, who had long been\r
+regarded as lost both to God and her parents. It was known that the\r
+daughter had married, but she was utterly gone out of sight. The\r
+mother, having lost her boy, imagined a grandson, and wished in a\r
+double sense to reclaim her daughter. If she were found, there would\r
+be a channel for property--perhaps a wide one--in the provision for\r
+several grandchildren. Efforts to find her must be made before Mrs.\r
+Dunkirk would marry again. Bulstrode concurred; but after\r
+advertisement as well as other modes of inquiry had been tried, the\r
+mother believed that her daughter was not to be found, and consented to\r
+marry without reservation of property.\r
+\r
+The daughter had been found; but only one man besides Bulstrode knew\r
+it, and he was paid for keeping silence and carrying himself away.\r
+\r
+That was the bare fact which Bulstrode was now forced to see in the\r
+rigid outline with which acts present themselves onlookers. But for\r
+himself at that distant time, and even now in burning memory, the fact\r
+was broken into little sequences, each justified as it came by\r
+reasonings which seemed to prove it righteous. Bulstrode's course up\r
+to that time had, he thought, been sanctioned by remarkable\r
+providences, appearing to point the way for him to be the agent in\r
+making the best use of a large property and withdrawing it from\r
+perversion. Death and other striking dispositions, such as feminine\r
+trustfulness, had come; and Bulstrode would have adopted Cromwell's\r
+words--"Do you call these bare events? The Lord pity you!" The\r
+events were comparatively small, but the essential condition was\r
+there--namely, that they were in favor of his own ends. It was easy\r
+for him to settle what was due from him to others by inquiring what\r
+were God's intentions with regard to himself. Could it be for God's\r
+service that this fortune should in any considerable proportion go to a\r
+young woman and her husband who were given up to the lightest pursuits,\r
+and might scatter it abroad in triviality--people who seemed to lie\r
+outside the path of remarkable providences? Bulstrode had never said\r
+to himself beforehand, "The daughter shall not be found"--nevertheless\r
+when the moment came he kept her existence hidden; and when other\r
+moments followed, he soothed the mother with consolation in the\r
+probability that the unhappy young woman might be no more.\r
+\r
+There were hours in which Bulstrode felt that his action was\r
+unrighteous; but how could he go back? He had mental exercises, called\r
+himself nought, laid hold on redemption, and went on in his course of\r
+instrumentality. And after five years Death again came to widen his\r
+path, by taking away his wife. He did gradually withdraw his capital,\r
+but he did not make the sacrifices requisite to put an end to the\r
+business, which was carried on for thirteen years afterwards before it\r
+finally collapsed. Meanwhile Nicholas Bulstrode had used his hundred\r
+thousand discreetly, and was become provincially, solidly important--a\r
+banker, a Churchman, a public benefactor; also a sleeping partner in\r
+trading concerns, in which his ability was directed to economy in the\r
+raw material, as in the case of the dyes which rotted Mr. Vincy's silk.\r
+And now, when this respectability had lasted undisturbed for nearly\r
+thirty years--when all that preceded it had long lain benumbed in the\r
+consciousness--that past had risen and immersed his thought as if with\r
+the terrible irruption of a new sense overburthening the feeble being.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile, in his conversation with Raffles, he had learned something\r
+momentous, something which entered actively into the struggle of his\r
+longings and terrors. There, he thought, lay an opening towards\r
+spiritual, perhaps towards material rescue.\r
+\r
+The spiritual kind of rescue was a genuine need with him. There may be\r
+coarse hypocrites, who consciously affect beliefs and emotions for the\r
+sake of gulling the world, but Bulstrode was not one of them. He was\r
+simply a man whose desires had been stronger than his theoretic\r
+beliefs, and who had gradually explained the gratification of his\r
+desires into satisfactory agreement with those beliefs. If this be\r
+hypocrisy, it is a process which shows itself occasionally in us all,\r
+to whatever confession we belong, and whether we believe in the future\r
+perfection of our race or in the nearest date fixed for the end of the\r
+world; whether we regard the earth as a putrefying nidus for a saved\r
+remnant, including ourselves, or have a passionate belief in the\r
+solidarity of mankind.\r
+\r
+The service he could do to the cause of religion had been through life\r
+the ground he alleged to himself for his choice of action: it had been\r
+the motive which he had poured out in his prayers. Who would use money\r
+and position better than he meant to use them? Who could surpass him\r
+in self-abhorrence and exaltation of God's cause? And to Mr. Bulstrode\r
+God's cause was something distinct from his own rectitude of conduct:\r
+it enforced a discrimination of God's enemies, who were to be used\r
+merely as instruments, and whom it would be as well if possible to keep\r
+out of money and consequent influence. Also, profitable investments in\r
+trades where the power of the prince of this world showed its most\r
+active devices, became sanctified by a right application of the profits\r
+in the hands of God's servant.\r
+\r
+This implicit reasoning is essentially no more peculiar to evangelical\r
+belief than the use of wide phrases for narrow motives is peculiar to\r
+Englishmen. There is no general doctrine which is not capable of\r
+eating out our morality if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct\r
+fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men.\r
+\r
+But a man who believes in something else than his own greed, has\r
+necessarily a conscience or standard to which he more or less adapts\r
+himself. Bulstrode's standard had been his serviceableness to God's\r
+cause: "I am sinful and nought--a vessel to be consecrated by use--but\r
+use me!"--had been the mould into which he had constrained his immense\r
+need of being something important and predominating. And now had come\r
+a moment in which that mould seemed in danger of being broken and\r
+utterly cast away.\r
+\r
+What if the acts he had reconciled himself to because they made him a\r
+stronger instrument of the divine glory, were to become the pretext of\r
+the scoffer, and a darkening of that glory? If this were to be the\r
+ruling of Providence, he was cast out from the temple as one who had\r
+brought unclean offerings.\r
+\r
+He had long poured out utterances of repentance. But today a\r
+repentance had come which was of a bitterer flavor, and a threatening\r
+Providence urged him to a kind of propitiation which was not simply a\r
+doctrinal transaction. The divine tribunal had changed its aspect for\r
+him; self-prostration was no longer enough, and he must bring\r
+restitution in his hand. It was really before his God that Bulstrode\r
+was about to attempt such restitution as seemed possible: a great dread\r
+had seized his susceptible frame, and the scorching approach of shame\r
+wrought in him a new spiritual need. Night and day, while the\r
+resurgent threatening past was making a conscience within him, he was\r
+thinking by what means he could recover peace and trust--by what\r
+sacrifice he could stay the rod. His belief in these moments of dread\r
+was, that if he spontaneously did something right, God would save him\r
+from the consequences of wrong-doing. For religion can only change when\r
+the emotions which fill it are changed; and the religion of personal\r
+fear remains nearly at the level of the savage.\r
+\r
+He had seen Raffles actually going away on the Brassing coach, and this\r
+was a temporary relief; it removed the pressure of an immediate dread,\r
+but did not put an end to the spiritual conflict and the need to win\r
+protection. At last he came to a difficult resolve, and wrote a letter\r
+to Will Ladislaw, begging him to be at the Shrubs that evening for a\r
+private interview at nine o'clock. Will had felt no particular surprise\r
+at the request, and connected it with some new notions about the\r
+"Pioneer;" but when he was shown into Mr. Bulstrode's private room, he\r
+was struck with the painfully worn look on the banker's face, and was\r
+going to say, "Are you ill?" when, checking himself in that abruptness,\r
+he only inquired after Mrs. Bulstrode, and her satisfaction with the\r
+picture bought for her.\r
+\r
+"Thank you, she is quite satisfied; she has gone out with her daughters\r
+this evening. I begged you to come, Mr. Ladislaw, because I have a\r
+communication of a very private--indeed, I will say, of a sacredly\r
+confidential nature, which I desire to make to you. Nothing, I dare\r
+say, has been farther from your thoughts than that there had been\r
+important ties in the past which could connect your history with mine."\r
+\r
+Will felt something like an electric shock. He was already in a state\r
+of keen sensitiveness and hardly allayed agitation on the subject of\r
+ties in the past, and his presentiments were not agreeable. It seemed\r
+like the fluctuations of a dream--as if the action begun by that loud\r
+bloated stranger were being carried on by this pale-eyed sickly looking\r
+piece of respectability, whose subdued tone and glib formality of\r
+speech were at this moment almost as repulsive to him as their\r
+remembered contrast. He answered, with a marked change of color--\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, nothing."\r
+\r
+"You see before you, Mr. Ladislaw, a man who is deeply stricken. But\r
+for the urgency of conscience and the knowledge that I am before the\r
+bar of One who seeth not as man seeth, I should be under no compulsion\r
+to make the disclosure which has been my object in asking you to come\r
+here to-night. So far as human laws go, you have no claim on me\r
+whatever."\r
+\r
+Will was even more uncomfortable than wondering. Mr. Bulstrode had\r
+paused, leaning his head on his hand, and looking at the floor. But he\r
+now fixed his examining glance on Will and said--\r
+\r
+"I am told that your mother's name was Sarah Dunkirk, and that she ran\r
+away from her friends to go on the stage. Also, that your father was\r
+at one time much emaciated by illness. May I ask if you can confirm\r
+these statements?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, they are all true," said Will, struck with the order in which an\r
+inquiry had come, that might have been expected to be preliminary to\r
+the banker's previous hints. But Mr. Bulstrode had to-night followed\r
+the order of his emotions; he entertained no doubt that the opportunity\r
+for restitution had come, and he had an overpowering impulse towards\r
+the penitential expression by which he was deprecating chastisement.\r
+\r
+"Do you know any particulars of your mother's family?" he continued.\r
+\r
+"No; she never liked to speak of them. She was a very generous,\r
+honorable woman," said Will, almost angrily.\r
+\r
+"I do not wish to allege anything against her. Did she never mention\r
+her mother to you at all?"\r
+\r
+"I have heard her say that she thought her mother did not know the\r
+reason of her running away. She said 'poor mother' in a pitying tone."\r
+\r
+"That mother became my wife," said Bulstrode, and then paused a moment\r
+before he added, "you have a claim on me, Mr. Ladislaw: as I said\r
+before, not a legal claim, but one which my conscience recognizes. I\r
+was enriched by that marriage--a result which would probably not have\r
+taken place--certainly not to the same extent--if your grandmother\r
+could have discovered her daughter. That daughter, I gather, is no\r
+longer living!"\r
+\r
+"No," said Will, feeling suspicion and repugnance rising so strongly\r
+within him, that without quite knowing what he did, he took his hat\r
+from the floor and stood up. The impulse within him was to reject the\r
+disclosed connection.\r
+\r
+"Pray be seated, Mr. Ladislaw," said Bulstrode, anxiously. "Doubtless\r
+you are startled by the suddenness of this discovery. But I entreat\r
+your patience with one who is already bowed down by inward trial."\r
+\r
+Will reseated himself, feeling some pity which was half contempt for\r
+this voluntary self-abasement of an elderly man.\r
+\r
+"It is my wish, Mr. Ladislaw, to make amends for the deprivation which\r
+befell your mother. I know that you are without fortune, and I wish to\r
+supply you adequately from a store which would have probably already\r
+been yours had your grandmother been certain of your mother's existence\r
+and been able to find her."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode paused. He felt that he was performing a striking piece\r
+of scrupulosity in the judgment of his auditor, and a penitential act\r
+in the eyes of God. He had no clew to the state of Will Ladislaw's\r
+mind, smarting as it was from the clear hints of Raffles, and with its\r
+natural quickness in construction stimulated by the expectation of\r
+discoveries which he would have been glad to conjure back into\r
+darkness. Will made no answer for several moments, till Mr. Bulstrode,\r
+who at the end of his speech had cast his eyes on the floor, now raised\r
+them with an examining glance, which Will met fully, saying--\r
+\r
+"I suppose you did know of my mother's existence, and knew where she\r
+might have been found."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode shrank--there was a visible quivering in his face and hands.\r
+He was totally unprepared to have his advances met in this way, or to\r
+find himself urged into more revelation than he had beforehand set down\r
+as needful. But at that moment he dared not tell a lie, and he felt\r
+suddenly uncertain of his ground which he had trodden with some\r
+confidence before.\r
+\r
+"I will not deny that you conjecture rightly," he answered, with a\r
+faltering in his tone. "And I wish to make atonement to you as the one\r
+still remaining who has suffered a loss through me. You enter, I\r
+trust, into my purpose, Mr. Ladislaw, which has a reference to higher\r
+than merely human claims, and as I have already said, is entirely\r
+independent of any legal compulsion. I am ready to narrow my own\r
+resources and the prospects of my family by binding myself to allow you\r
+five hundred pounds yearly during my life, and to leave you a\r
+proportional capital at my death--nay, to do still more, if more should\r
+be definitely necessary to any laudable project on your part." Mr.\r
+Bulstrode had gone on to particulars in the expectation that these\r
+would work strongly on Ladislaw, and merge other feelings in grateful\r
+acceptance.\r
+\r
+But Will was looking as stubborn as possible, with his lip pouting and\r
+his fingers in his side-pockets. He was not in the least touched, and\r
+said firmly,--\r
+\r
+"Before I make any reply to your proposition, Mr. Bulstrode, I must beg\r
+you to answer a question or two. Were you connected with the business\r
+by which that fortune you speak of was originally made?"\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's thought was, "Raffles has told him." How could he\r
+refuse to answer when he had volunteered what drew forth the question?\r
+He answered, "Yes."\r
+\r
+"And was that business--or was it not--a thoroughly dishonorable\r
+one--nay, one that, if its nature had been made public, might have\r
+ranked those concerned in it with thieves and convicts?"\r
+\r
+Will's tone had a cutting bitterness: he was moved to put his question\r
+as nakedly as he could.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode reddened with irrepressible anger. He had been prepared for\r
+a scene of self-abasement, but his intense pride and his habit of\r
+supremacy overpowered penitence, and even dread, when this young man,\r
+whom he had meant to benefit, turned on him with the air of a judge.\r
+\r
+"The business was established before I became connected with it, sir;\r
+nor is it for you to institute an inquiry of that kind," he answered,\r
+not raising his voice, but speaking with quick defiantness.\r
+\r
+"Yes, it is," said Will, starting up again with his hat in his hand.\r
+"It is eminently mine to ask such questions, when I have to decide\r
+whether I will have transactions with you and accept your money. My\r
+unblemished honor is important to me. It is important to me to have no\r
+stain on my birth and connections. And now I find there is a stain\r
+which I can't help. My mother felt it, and tried to keep as clear of\r
+it as she could, and so will I. You shall keep your ill-gotten money.\r
+If I had any fortune of my own, I would willingly pay it to any one who\r
+could disprove what you have told me. What I have to thank you for is\r
+that you kept the money till now, when I can refuse it. It ought to\r
+lie with a man's self that he is a gentleman. Good-night, sir."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode was going to speak, but Will, with determined quickness, was\r
+out of the room in an instant, and in another the hall-door had closed\r
+behind him. He was too strongly possessed with passionate rebellion\r
+against this inherited blot which had been thrust on his knowledge to\r
+reflect at present whether he had not been too hard on Bulstrode--too\r
+arrogantly merciless towards a man of sixty, who was making efforts at\r
+retrieval when time had rendered them vain.\r
+\r
+No third person listening could have thoroughly understood the\r
+impetuosity of Will's repulse or the bitterness of his words. No one\r
+but himself then knew how everything connected with the sentiment of\r
+his own dignity had an immediate bearing for him on his relation to\r
+Dorothea and to Mr. Casaubon's treatment of him. And in the rush of\r
+impulses by which he flung back that offer of Bulstrode's there was\r
+mingled the sense that it would have been impossible for him ever to\r
+tell Dorothea that he had accepted it.\r
+\r
+As for Bulstrode--when Will was gone he suffered a violent reaction,\r
+and wept like a woman. It was the first time he had encountered an\r
+open expression of scorn from any man higher than Raffles; and with\r
+that scorn hurrying like venom through his system, there was no\r
+sensibility left to consolations. But the relief of weeping had to be\r
+checked. His wife and daughters soon came home from hearing the\r
+address of an Oriental missionary, and were full of regret that papa\r
+had not heard, in the first instance, the interesting things which they\r
+tried to repeat to him.\r
+\r
+Perhaps, through all other hidden thoughts, the one that breathed most\r
+comfort was, that Will Ladislaw at least was not likely to publish what\r
+had taken place that evening.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXII.\r
+\r
+ "He was a squyer of lowe degre,\r
+ That loved the king's daughter of Hungrie.\r
+ --Old Romance.\r
+\r
+\r
+Will Ladislaw's mind was now wholly bent on seeing Dorothea again, and\r
+forthwith quitting Middlemarch. The morning after his agitating scene\r
+with Bulstrode he wrote a brief letter to her, saying that various\r
+causes had detained him in the neighborhood longer than he had\r
+expected, and asking her permission to call again at Lowick at some\r
+hour which she would mention on the earliest possible day, he being\r
+anxious to depart, but unwilling to do so until she had granted him an\r
+interview. He left the letter at the office, ordering the messenger to\r
+carry it to Lowick Manor, and wait for an answer.\r
+\r
+Ladislaw felt the awkwardness of asking for more last words. His\r
+former farewell had been made in the hearing of Sir James Chettam, and\r
+had been announced as final even to the butler. It is certainly trying\r
+to a man's dignity to reappear when he is not expected to do so: a\r
+first farewell has pathos in it, but to come back for a second lends an\r
+opening to comedy, and it was possible even that there might be bitter\r
+sneers afloat about Will's motives for lingering. Still it was on the\r
+whole more satisfactory to his feeling to take the directest means of\r
+seeing Dorothea, than to use any device which might give an air of\r
+chance to a meeting of which he wished her to understand that it was\r
+what he earnestly sought. When he had parted from her before, he had\r
+been in ignorance of facts which gave a new aspect to the relation\r
+between them, and made a more absolute severance than he had then\r
+believed in. He knew nothing of Dorothea's private fortune, and being\r
+little used to reflect on such matters, took it for granted that\r
+according to Mr. Casaubon's arrangement marriage to him, Will Ladislaw,\r
+would mean that she consented to be penniless. That was not what he\r
+could wish for even in his secret heart, or even if she had been ready\r
+to meet such hard contrast for his sake. And then, too, there was the\r
+fresh smart of that disclosure about his mother's family, which if\r
+known would be an added reason why Dorothea's friends should look down\r
+upon him as utterly below her. The secret hope that after some years\r
+he might come back with the sense that he had at least a personal value\r
+equal to her wealth, seemed now the dreamy continuation of a dream.\r
+This change would surely justify him in asking Dorothea to receive him\r
+once more.\r
+\r
+But Dorothea on that morning was not at home to receive Will's note.\r
+In consequence of a letter from her uncle announcing his intention to\r
+be at home in a week, she had driven first to Freshitt to carry the\r
+news, meaning to go on to the Grange to deliver some orders with which\r
+her uncle had intrusted her--thinking, as he said, "a little mental\r
+occupation of this sort good for a widow."\r
+\r
+If Will Ladislaw could have overheard some of the talk at Freshitt that\r
+morning, he would have felt all his suppositions confirmed as to the\r
+readiness of certain people to sneer at his lingering in the\r
+neighborhood. Sir James, indeed, though much relieved concerning\r
+Dorothea, had been on the watch to learn Ladislaw's movements, and had\r
+an instructed informant in Mr. Standish, who was necessarily in his\r
+confidence on this matter. That Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch\r
+nearly two months after he had declared that he was going immediately,\r
+was a fact to embitter Sir James's suspicions, or at least to justify\r
+his aversion to a "young fellow" whom he represented to himself as\r
+slight, volatile, and likely enough to show such recklessness as\r
+naturally went along with a position unriveted by family ties or a\r
+strict profession. But he had just heard something from Standish\r
+which, while it justified these surmises about Will, offered a means of\r
+nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea.\r
+\r
+Unwonted circumstances may make us all rather unlike ourselves: there\r
+are conditions under which the most majestic person is obliged to\r
+sneeze, and our emotions are liable to be acted on in the same\r
+incongruous manner. Good Sir James was this morning so far unlike\r
+himself that he was irritably anxious to say something to Dorothea on a\r
+subject which he usually avoided as if it had been a matter of shame to\r
+them both. He could not use Celia as a medium, because he did not\r
+choose that she should know the kind of gossip he had in his mind; and\r
+before Dorothea happened to arrive he had been trying to imagine how,\r
+with his shyness and unready tongue, he could ever manage to introduce\r
+his communication. Her unexpected presence brought him to utter\r
+hopelessness in his own power of saying anything unpleasant; but\r
+desperation suggested a resource; he sent the groom on an unsaddled\r
+horse across the park with a pencilled note to Mrs. Cadwallader, who\r
+already knew the gossip, and would think it no compromise of herself to\r
+repeat it as often as required.\r
+\r
+Dorothea was detained on the good pretext that Mr. Garth, whom she\r
+wanted to see, was expected at the hall within the hour, and she was\r
+still talking to Caleb on the gravel when Sir James, on the watch for\r
+the rector's wife, saw her coming and met her with the needful hints.\r
+\r
+"Enough! I understand,"--said Mrs. Cadwallader. "You shall be\r
+innocent. I am such a blackamoor that I cannot smirch myself."\r
+\r
+"I don't mean that it's of any consequence," said Sir James, disliking\r
+that Mrs. Cadwallader should understand too much. "Only it is\r
+desirable that Dorothea should know there are reasons why she should\r
+not receive him again; and I really can't say so to her. It will come\r
+lightly from you."\r
+\r
+It came very lightly indeed. When Dorothea quitted Caleb and turned to\r
+meet them, it appeared that Mrs. Cadwallader had stepped across the\r
+park by the merest chance in the world, just to chat with Celia in a\r
+matronly way about the baby. And so Mr. Brooke was coming back?\r
+Delightful!--coming back, it was to be hoped, quite cured of\r
+Parliamentary fever and pioneering. Apropos of the "Pioneer"--somebody\r
+had prophesied that it would soon be like a dying dolphin, and turn all\r
+colors for want of knowing how to help itself, because Mr. Brooke's\r
+protege, the brilliant young Ladislaw, was gone or going. Had Sir\r
+James heard that?\r
+\r
+The three were walking along the gravel slowly, and Sir James, turning\r
+aside to whip a shrub, said he had heard something of that sort.\r
+\r
+"All false!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "He is not gone, or going,\r
+apparently; the 'Pioneer' keeps its color, and Mr. Orlando Ladislaw is\r
+making a sad dark-blue scandal by warbling continually with your Mr.\r
+Lydgate's wife, who they tell me is as pretty as pretty can be. It\r
+seems nobody ever goes into the house without finding this young\r
+gentleman lying on the rug or warbling at the piano. But the people in\r
+manufacturing towns are always disreputable."\r
+\r
+"You began by saying that one report was false, Mrs. Cadwallader, and I\r
+believe this is false too," said Dorothea, with indignant energy; "at\r
+least, I feel sure it is a misrepresentation. I will not hear any evil\r
+spoken of Mr. Ladislaw; he has already suffered too much injustice."\r
+\r
+Dorothea when thoroughly moved cared little what any one thought of her\r
+feelings; and even if she had been able to reflect, she would have held\r
+it petty to keep silence at injurious words about Will from fear of\r
+being herself misunderstood. Her face was flushed and her lip trembled.\r
+\r
+Sir James, glancing at her, repented of his stratagem; but Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, equal to all occasions, spread the palms of her hands\r
+outward and said--"Heaven grant it, my dear!--I mean that all bad tales\r
+about anybody may be false. But it is a pity that young Lydgate should\r
+have married one of these Middlemarch girls. Considering he's a son of\r
+somebody, he might have got a woman with good blood in her veins, and\r
+not too young, who would have put up with his profession. There's\r
+Clara Harfager, for instance, whose friends don't know what to do with\r
+her; and she has a portion. Then we might have had her among us.\r
+However!--it's no use being wise for other people. Where is Celia?\r
+Pray let us go in."\r
+\r
+"I am going on immediately to Tipton," said Dorothea, rather haughtily.\r
+"Good-by."\r
+\r
+Sir James could say nothing as he accompanied her to the carriage. He\r
+was altogether discontented with the result of a contrivance which had\r
+cost him some secret humiliation beforehand.\r
+\r
+Dorothea drove along between the berried hedgerows and the shorn\r
+corn-fields, not seeing or hearing anything around. The tears came and\r
+rolled down her cheeks, but she did not know it. The world, it seemed,\r
+was turning ugly and hateful, and there was no place for her\r
+trustfulness. "It is not true--it is not true!" was the voice within\r
+her that she listened to; but all the while a remembrance to which\r
+there had always clung a vague uneasiness would thrust itself on her\r
+attention--the remembrance of that day when she had found Will Ladislaw\r
+with Mrs. Lydgate, and had heard his voice accompanied by the piano.\r
+\r
+"He said he would never do anything that I disapproved--I wish I could\r
+have told him that I disapproved of that," said poor Dorothea,\r
+inwardly, feeling a strange alternation between anger with Will and the\r
+passionate defence of him. "They all try to blacken him before me; but\r
+I will care for no pain, if he is not to blame. I always believed he\r
+was good."--These were her last thoughts before she felt that the\r
+carriage was passing under the archway of the lodge-gate at the Grange,\r
+when she hurriedly pressed her handkerchief to her face and began to\r
+think of her errands. The coachman begged leave to take out the horses\r
+for half an hour as there was something wrong with a shoe; and\r
+Dorothea, having the sense that she was going to rest, took off her\r
+gloves and bonnet, while she was leaning against a statue in the\r
+entrance-hall, and talking to the housekeeper. At last she said--\r
+\r
+"I must stay here a little, Mrs. Kell. I will go into the library and\r
+write you some memoranda from my uncle's letter, if you will open the\r
+shutters for me."\r
+\r
+"The shutters are open, madam," said Mrs. Kell, following Dorothea, who\r
+had walked along as she spoke. "Mr. Ladislaw is there, looking for\r
+something."\r
+\r
+(Will had come to fetch a portfolio of his own sketches which he had\r
+missed in the act of packing his movables, and did not choose to leave\r
+behind.)\r
+\r
+Dorothea's heart seemed to turn over as if it had had a blow, but she\r
+was not perceptibly checked: in truth, the sense that Will was there\r
+was for the moment all-satisfying to her, like the sight of something\r
+precious that one has lost. When she reached the door she said to Mrs.\r
+Kell--\r
+\r
+"Go in first, and tell him that I am here."\r
+\r
+Will had found his portfolio, and had laid it on the table at the far\r
+end of the room, to turn over the sketches and please himself by\r
+looking at the memorable piece of art which had a relation to nature\r
+too mysterious for Dorothea. He was smiling at it still, and shaking\r
+the sketches into order with the thought that he might find a letter\r
+from her awaiting him at Middlemarch, when Mrs. Kell close to his elbow\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Casaubon is coming in, sir."\r
+\r
+Will turned round quickly, and the next moment Dorothea was entering.\r
+As Mrs. Kell closed the door behind her they met: each was looking at\r
+the other, and consciousness was overflowed by something that\r
+suppressed utterance. It was not confusion that kept them silent, for\r
+they both felt that parting was near, and there is no shamefacedness in\r
+a sad parting.\r
+\r
+She moved automatically towards her uncle's chair against the\r
+writing-table, and Will, after drawing it out a little for her, went a\r
+few paces off and stood opposite to her.\r
+\r
+"Pray sit down," said Dorothea, crossing her hands on her lap; "I am\r
+very glad you were here." Will thought that her face looked just as it\r
+did when she first shook hands with him in Rome; for her widow's cap,\r
+fixed in her bonnet, had gone off with it, and he could see that she\r
+had lately been shedding tears. But the mixture of anger in her\r
+agitation had vanished at the sight of him; she had been used, when\r
+they were face to face, always to feel confidence and the happy freedom\r
+which comes with mutual understanding, and how could other people's\r
+words hinder that effect on a sudden? Let the music which can take\r
+possession of our frame and fill the air with joy for us, sound once\r
+more--what does it signify that we heard it found fault with in its\r
+absence?\r
+\r
+"I have sent a letter to Lowick Manor to-day, asking leave to see you,"\r
+said Will, seating himself opposite to her. "I am going away\r
+immediately, and I could not go without speaking to you again."\r
+\r
+"I thought we had parted when you came to Lowick many weeks ago--you\r
+thought you were going then," said Dorothea, her voice trembling a\r
+little.\r
+\r
+"Yes; but I was in ignorance then of things which I know now--things\r
+which have altered my feelings about the future. When I saw you\r
+before, I was dreaming that I might come back some day. I don't think\r
+I ever shall--now." Will paused here.\r
+\r
+"You wished me to know the reasons?" said Dorothea, timidly.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Will, impetuously, shaking his head backward, and looking\r
+away from her with irritation in his face. "Of course I must wish it.\r
+I have been grossly insulted in your eyes and in the eyes of others.\r
+There has been a mean implication against my character. I wish you to\r
+know that under no circumstances would I have lowered myself by--under\r
+no circumstances would I have given men the chance of saying that I\r
+sought money under the pretext of seeking--something else. There was\r
+no need of other safeguard against me--the safeguard of wealth was\r
+enough."\r
+\r
+Will rose from his chair with the last word and went--he hardly knew\r
+where; but it was to the projecting window nearest him, which had been\r
+open as now about the same season a year ago, when he and Dorothea had\r
+stood within it and talked together. Her whole heart was going out at\r
+this moment in sympathy with Will's indignation: she only wanted to\r
+convince him that she had never done him injustice, and he seemed to\r
+have turned away from her as if she too had been part of the unfriendly\r
+world.\r
+\r
+"It would be very unkind of you to suppose that I ever attributed any\r
+meanness to you," she began. Then in her ardent way, wanting to plead\r
+with him, she moved from her chair and went in front of him to her old\r
+place in the window, saying, "Do you suppose that I ever disbelieved in\r
+you?"\r
+\r
+When Will saw her there, he gave a start and moved backward out of the\r
+window, without meeting her glance. Dorothea was hurt by this movement\r
+following up the previous anger of his tone. She was ready to say that\r
+it was as hard on her as on him, and that she was helpless; but those\r
+strange particulars of their relation which neither of them could\r
+explicitly mention kept her always in dread of saying too much. At\r
+this moment she had no belief that Will would in any case have wanted\r
+to marry her, and she feared using words which might imply such a\r
+belief. She only said earnestly, recurring to his last word--\r
+\r
+"I am sure no safeguard was ever needed against you."\r
+\r
+Will did not answer. In the stormy fluctuation of his feelings these\r
+words of hers seemed to him cruelly neutral, and he looked pale and\r
+miserable after his angry outburst. He went to the table and fastened\r
+up his portfolio, while Dorothea looked at him from the distance. They\r
+were wasting these last moments together in wretched silence. What\r
+could he say, since what had got obstinately uppermost in his mind was\r
+the passionate love for her which he forbade himself to utter? What\r
+could she say, since she might offer him no help--since she was forced\r
+to keep the money that ought to have been his?--since to-day he seemed\r
+not to respond as he used to do to her thorough trust and liking?\r
+\r
+But Will at last turned away from his portfolio and approached the\r
+window again.\r
+\r
+"I must go," he said, with that peculiar look of the eyes which\r
+sometimes accompanies bitter feeling, as if they had been tired and\r
+burned with gazing too close at a light.\r
+\r
+"What shall you do in life?" said Dorothea, timidly. "Have your\r
+intentions remained just the same as when we said good-by before?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Will, in a tone that seemed to waive the subject as\r
+uninteresting. "I shall work away at the first thing that offers. I\r
+suppose one gets a habit of doing without happiness or hope."\r
+\r
+"Oh, what sad words!" said Dorothea, with a dangerous tendency to sob.\r
+Then trying to smile, she added, "We used to agree that we were alike\r
+in speaking too strongly."\r
+\r
+"I have not spoken too strongly now," said Will, leaning back against\r
+the angle of the wall. "There are certain things which a man can only\r
+go through once in his life; and he must know some time or other that\r
+the best is over with him. This experience has happened to me while I\r
+am very young--that is all. What I care more for than I can ever care\r
+for anything else is absolutely forbidden to me--I don't mean merely\r
+by being out of my reach, but forbidden me, even if it were within my\r
+reach, by my own pride and honor--by everything I respect myself for.\r
+Of course I shall go on living as a man might do who had seen heaven in\r
+a trance."\r
+\r
+Will paused, imagining that it would be impossible for Dorothea to\r
+misunderstand this; indeed he felt that he was contradicting himself\r
+and offending against his self-approval in speaking to her so plainly;\r
+but still--it could not be fairly called wooing a woman to tell her\r
+that he would never woo her. It must be admitted to be a ghostly kind\r
+of wooing.\r
+\r
+But Dorothea's mind was rapidly going over the past with quite another\r
+vision than his. The thought that she herself might be what Will most\r
+cared for did throb through her an instant, but then came doubt: the\r
+memory of the little they had lived through together turned pale and\r
+shrank before the memory which suggested how much fuller might have\r
+been the intercourse between Will and some one else with whom he had\r
+had constant companionship. Everything he had said might refer to that\r
+other relation, and whatever had passed between him and herself was\r
+thoroughly explained by what she had always regarded as their simple\r
+friendship and the cruel obstruction thrust upon it by her husband's\r
+injurious act. Dorothea stood silent, with her eyes cast down\r
+dreamily, while images crowded upon her which left the sickening\r
+certainty that Will was referring to Mrs. Lydgate. But why sickening?\r
+He wanted her to know that here too his conduct should be above\r
+suspicion.\r
+\r
+Will was not surprised at her silence. His mind also was tumultuously\r
+busy while he watched her, and he was feeling rather wildly that\r
+something must happen to hinder their parting--some miracle, clearly\r
+nothing in their own deliberate speech. Yet, after all, had she any\r
+love for him?--he could not pretend to himself that he would rather\r
+believe her to be without that pain. He could not deny that a secret\r
+longing for the assurance that she loved him was at the root of all his\r
+words.\r
+\r
+Neither of them knew how long they stood in that way. Dorothea was\r
+raising her eyes, and was about to speak, when the door opened and her\r
+footman came to say--\r
+\r
+"The horses are ready, madam, whenever you like to start."\r
+\r
+"Presently," said Dorothea. Then turning to Will, she said, "I have\r
+some memoranda to write for the housekeeper."\r
+\r
+"I must go," said Will, when the door had closed again--advancing\r
+towards her. "The day after to-morrow I shall leave Middlemarch."\r
+\r
+"You have acted in every way rightly," said Dorothea, in a low tone,\r
+feeling a pressure at her heart which made it difficult to speak.\r
+\r
+She put out her hand, and Will took it for an instant without speaking,\r
+for her words had seemed to him cruelly cold and unlike herself. Their\r
+eyes met, but there was discontent in his, and in hers there was only\r
+sadness. He turned away and took his portfolio under his arm.\r
+\r
+"I have never done you injustice. Please remember me," said Dorothea,\r
+repressing a rising sob.\r
+\r
+"Why should you say that?" said Will, with irritation. "As if I were\r
+not in danger of forgetting everything else."\r
+\r
+He had really a movement of anger against her at that moment, and it\r
+impelled him to go away without pause. It was all one flash to\r
+Dorothea--his last words--his distant bow to her as he reached the\r
+door--the sense that he was no longer there. She sank into the chair,\r
+and for a few moments sat like a statue, while images and emotions were\r
+hurrying upon her. Joy came first, in spite of the threatening train\r
+behind it--joy in the impression that it was really herself whom Will\r
+loved and was renouncing, that there was really no other love less\r
+permissible, more blameworthy, which honor was hurrying him away from.\r
+They were parted all the same, but--Dorothea drew a deep breath and\r
+felt her strength return--she could think of him unrestrainedly. At\r
+that moment the parting was easy to bear: the first sense of loving and\r
+being loved excluded sorrow. It was as if some hard icy pressure had\r
+melted, and her consciousness had room to expand: her past was come\r
+back to her with larger interpretation. The joy was not the\r
+less--perhaps it was the more complete just then--because of the\r
+irrevocable parting; for there was no reproach, no contemptuous wonder\r
+to imagine in any eye or from any lips. He had acted so as to defy\r
+reproach, and make wonder respectful.\r
+\r
+Any one watching her might have seen that there was a fortifying\r
+thought within her. Just as when inventive power is working with glad\r
+ease some small claim on the attention is fully met as if it were only\r
+a cranny opened to the sunlight, it was easy now for Dorothea to write\r
+her memoranda. She spoke her last words to the housekeeper in cheerful\r
+tones, and when she seated herself in the carriage her eyes were bright\r
+and her cheeks blooming under the dismal bonnet. She threw back the\r
+heavy "weepers," and looked before her, wondering which road Will had\r
+taken. It was in her nature to be proud that he was blameless, and\r
+through all her feelings there ran this vein--"I was right to defend\r
+him."\r
+\r
+The coachman was used to drive his grays at a good pace, Mr. Casaubon\r
+being unenjoying and impatient in everything away from his desk, and\r
+wanting to get to the end of all journeys; and Dorothea was now bowled\r
+along quickly. Driving was pleasant, for rain in the night had laid\r
+the dust, and the blue sky looked far off, away from the region of the\r
+great clouds that sailed in masses. The earth looked like a happy\r
+place under the vast heavens, and Dorothea was wishing that she might\r
+overtake Will and see him once more.\r
+\r
+After a turn of the road, there he was with the portfolio under his\r
+arm; but the next moment she was passing him while he raised his hat,\r
+and she felt a pang at being seated there in a sort of exaltation,\r
+leaving him behind. She could not look back at him. It was as if a\r
+crowd of indifferent objects had thrust them asunder, and forced them\r
+along different paths, taking them farther and farther away from each\r
+other, and making it useless to look back. She could no more make any\r
+sign that would seem to say, "Need we part?" than she could stop the\r
+carriage to wait for him. Nay, what a world of reasons crowded upon\r
+her against any movement of her thought towards a future that might\r
+reverse the decision of this day!\r
+\r
+"I only wish I had known before--I wish he knew--then we could be quite\r
+happy in thinking of each other, though we are forever parted. And if\r
+I could but have given him the money, and made things easier for\r
+him!"--were the longings that came back the most persistently. And\r
+yet, so heavily did the world weigh on her in spite of her independent\r
+energy, that with this idea of Will as in need of such help and at a\r
+disadvantage with the world, there came always the vision of that\r
+unfittingness of any closer relation between them which lay in the\r
+opinion of every one connected with her. She felt to the full all the\r
+imperativeness of the motives which urged Will's conduct. How could he\r
+dream of her defying the barrier that her husband had placed between\r
+them?--how could she ever say to herself that she would defy it?\r
+\r
+Will's certainty as the carriage grew smaller in the distance, had much\r
+more bitterness in it. Very slight matters were enough to gall him in\r
+his sensitive mood, and the sight of Dorothea driving past him while he\r
+felt himself plodding along as a poor devil seeking a position in a\r
+world which in his present temper offered him little that he coveted,\r
+made his conduct seem a mere matter of necessity, and took away the\r
+sustainment of resolve. After all, he had no assurance that she loved\r
+him: could any man pretend that he was simply glad in such a case to\r
+have the suffering all on his own side?\r
+\r
+That evening Will spent with the Lydgates; the next evening he was gone.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK VII.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+TWO TEMPTATIONS.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXIII.\r
+\r
+ These little things are great to little man.--GOLDSMITH.\r
+\r
+\r
+"Have you seen much of your scientific phoenix, Lydgate, lately?" said\r
+Mr. Toller at one of his Christmas dinner-parties, speaking to Mr.\r
+Farebrother on his right hand.\r
+\r
+"Not much, I am sorry to say," answered the Vicar, accustomed to parry\r
+Mr. Toller's banter about his belief in the new medical light. "I am\r
+out of the way and he is too busy."\r
+\r
+"Is he? I am glad to hear it," said Dr. Minchin, with mingled suavity\r
+and surprise.\r
+\r
+"He gives a great deal of time to the New Hospital," said Mr.\r
+Farebrother, who had his reasons for continuing the subject: "I hear of\r
+that from my neighbor, Mrs. Casaubon, who goes there often. She says\r
+Lydgate is indefatigable, and is making a fine thing of Bulstrode's\r
+institution. He is preparing a new ward in case of the cholera coming\r
+to us."\r
+\r
+"And preparing theories of treatment to try on the patients, I\r
+suppose," said Mr. Toller.\r
+\r
+"Come, Toller, be candid," said Mr. Farebrother. "You are too clever\r
+not to see the good of a bold fresh mind in medicine, as well as in\r
+everything else; and as to cholera, I fancy, none of you are very sure\r
+what you ought to do. If a man goes a little too far along a new road,\r
+it is usually himself that he harms more than any one else."\r
+\r
+"I am sure you and Wrench ought to be obliged to him," said Dr.\r
+Minchin, looking towards Toller, "for he has sent you the cream of\r
+Peacock's patients."\r
+\r
+"Lydgate has been living at a great rate for a young beginner," said\r
+Mr. Harry Toller, the brewer. "I suppose his relations in the North\r
+back him up."\r
+\r
+"I hope so," said Mr. Chichely, "else he ought not to have married that\r
+nice girl we were all so fond of. Hang it, one has a grudge against a\r
+man who carries off the prettiest girl in the town."\r
+\r
+"Ay, by God! and the best too," said Mr. Standish.\r
+\r
+"My friend Vincy didn't half like the marriage, I know that," said Mr.\r
+Chichely. "_He_ wouldn't do much. How the relations on the other side\r
+may have come down I can't say." There was an emphatic kind of\r
+reticence in Mr. Chichely's manner of speaking.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I shouldn't think Lydgate ever looked to practice for a living,"\r
+said Mr. Toller, with a slight touch of sarcasm, and there the subject\r
+was dropped.\r
+\r
+This was not the first time that Mr. Farebrother had heard hints of\r
+Lydgate's expenses being obviously too great to be met by his practice,\r
+but he thought it not unlikely that there were resources or\r
+expectations which excused the large outlay at the time of Lydgate's\r
+marriage, and which might hinder any bad consequences from the\r
+disappointment in his practice. One evening, when he took the pains to\r
+go to Middlemarch on purpose to have a chat with Lydgate as of old, he\r
+noticed in him an air of excited effort quite unlike his usual easy way\r
+of keeping silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had\r
+anything to say. Lydgate talked persistently when they were in his\r
+work-room, putting arguments for and against the probability of certain\r
+biological views; but he had none of those definite things to say or to\r
+show which give the waymarks of a patient uninterrupted pursuit, such\r
+as he used himself to insist on, saying that "there must be a systole\r
+and diastole in all inquiry," and that "a man's mind must be\r
+continually expanding and shrinking between the whole human horizon and\r
+the horizon of an object-glass." That evening he seemed to be talking\r
+widely for the sake of resisting any personal bearing; and before long\r
+they went into the drawing room, where Lydgate, having asked Rosamond\r
+to give them music, sank back in his chair in silence, but with a\r
+strange light in his eyes. "He may have been taking an opiate," was a\r
+thought that crossed Mr. Farebrother's mind--"tic-douloureux\r
+perhaps--or medical worries."\r
+\r
+It did not occur to him that Lydgate's marriage was not delightful: he\r
+believed, as the rest did, that Rosamond was an amiable, docile\r
+creature, though he had always thought her rather uninteresting--a\r
+little too much the pattern-card of the finishing-school; and his\r
+mother could not forgive Rosamond because she never seemed to see that\r
+Henrietta Noble was in the room. "However, Lydgate fell in love with\r
+her," said the Vicar to himself, "and she must be to his taste."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother was aware that Lydgate was a proud man, but having very\r
+little corresponding fibre in himself, and perhaps too little care\r
+about personal dignity, except the dignity of not being mean or\r
+foolish, he could hardly allow enough for the way in which Lydgate\r
+shrank, as from a burn, from the utterance of any word about his\r
+private affairs. And soon after that conversation at Mr. Toller's, the\r
+Vicar learned something which made him watch the more eagerly for an\r
+opportunity of indirectly letting Lydgate know that if he wanted to\r
+open himself about any difficulty there was a friendly ear ready.\r
+\r
+The opportunity came at Mr. Vincy's, where, on New Year's Day, there\r
+was a party, to which Mr. Farebrother was irresistibly invited, on the\r
+plea that he must not forsake his old friends on the first new year of\r
+his being a greater man, and Rector as well as Vicar. And this party\r
+was thoroughly friendly: all the ladies of the Farebrother family were\r
+present; the Vincy children all dined at the table, and Fred had\r
+persuaded his mother that if she did not invite Mary Garth, the\r
+Farebrothers would regard it as a slight to themselves, Mary being\r
+their particular friend. Mary came, and Fred was in high spirits,\r
+though his enjoyment was of a checkered kind--triumph that his mother\r
+should see Mary's importance with the chief personages in the party\r
+being much streaked with jealousy when Mr. Farebrother sat down by her.\r
+Fred used to be much more easy about his own accomplishments in the\r
+days when he had not begun to dread being "bowled out by Farebrother,"\r
+and this terror was still before him. Mrs. Vincy, in her fullest\r
+matronly bloom, looked at Mary's little figure, rough wavy hair, and\r
+visage quite without lilies and roses, and wondered; trying\r
+unsuccessfully to fancy herself caring about Mary's appearance in\r
+wedding clothes, or feeling complacency in grandchildren who would\r
+"feature" the Garths. However, the party was a merry one, and Mary was\r
+particularly bright; being glad, for Fred's sake, that his friends were\r
+getting kinder to her, and being also quite willing that they should\r
+see how much she was valued by others whom they must admit to be judges.\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother noticed that Lydgate seemed bored, and that Mr. Vincy\r
+spoke as little as possible to his son-in-law. Rosamond was perfectly\r
+graceful and calm, and only a subtle observation such as the Vicar had\r
+not been roused to bestow on her would have perceived the total absence\r
+of that interest in her husband's presence which a loving wife is sure\r
+to betray, even if etiquette keeps her aloof from him. When Lydgate\r
+was taking part in the conversation, she never looked towards him any\r
+more than if she had been a sculptured Psyche modelled to look another\r
+way: and when, after being called out for an hour or two, he re-entered\r
+the room, she seemed unconscious of the fact, which eighteen months\r
+before would have had the effect of a numeral before ciphers. In\r
+reality, however, she was intensely aware of Lydgate's voice and\r
+movements; and her pretty good-tempered air of unconsciousness was a\r
+studied negation by which she satisfied her inward opposition to him\r
+without compromise of propriety. When the ladies were in the\r
+drawing-room after Lydgate had been called away from the dessert, Mrs.\r
+Farebrother, when Rosamond happened to be near her, said--"You have to\r
+give up a great deal of your husband's society, Mrs. Lydgate."\r
+\r
+"Yes, the life of a medical man is very arduous: especially when he is\r
+so devoted to his profession as Mr. Lydgate is," said Rosamond, who was\r
+standing, and moved easily away at the end of this correct little\r
+speech.\r
+\r
+"It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no company," said Mrs.\r
+Vincy, who was seated at the old lady's side. "I am sure I thought so\r
+when Rosamond was ill, and I was staying with her. You know, Mrs.\r
+Farebrother, ours is a cheerful house. I am of a cheerful disposition\r
+myself, and Mr. Vincy always likes something to be going on. That is\r
+what Rosamond has been used to. Very different from a husband out at\r
+odd hours, and never knowing when he will come home, and of a close,\r
+proud disposition, _I_ think"--indiscreet Mrs. Vincy did lower her tone\r
+slightly with this parenthesis. "But Rosamond always had an angel of a\r
+temper; her brothers used very often not to please her, but she was\r
+never the girl to show temper; from a baby she was always as good as\r
+good, and with a complexion beyond anything. But my children are all\r
+good-tempered, thank God."\r
+\r
+This was easily credible to any one looking at Mrs. Vincy as she threw\r
+back her broad cap-strings, and smiled towards her three little girls,\r
+aged from seven to eleven. But in that smiling glance she was obliged\r
+to include Mary Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to\r
+make her tell them stories. Mary was just finishing the delicious tale\r
+of Rumpelstiltskin, which she had well by heart, because Letty was\r
+never tired of communicating it to her ignorant elders from a favorite\r
+red volume. Louisa, Mrs. Vincy's darling, now ran to her with\r
+wide-eyed serious excitement, crying, "Oh mamma, mamma, the little man\r
+stamped so hard on the floor he couldn't get his leg out again!"\r
+\r
+"Bless you, my cherub!" said mamma; "you shall tell me all about it\r
+to-morrow. Go and listen!" and then, as her eyes followed Louisa back\r
+towards the attractive corner, she thought that if Fred wished her to\r
+invite Mary again she would make no objection, the children being so\r
+pleased with her.\r
+\r
+But presently the corner became still more animated, for Mr.\r
+Farebrother came in, and seating himself behind Louisa, took her on his\r
+lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that he must hear\r
+Rumpelstiltskin, and Mary must tell it over again. He insisted too,\r
+and Mary, without fuss, began again in her neat fashion, with precisely\r
+the same words as before. Fred, who had also seated himself near,\r
+would have felt unmixed triumph in Mary's effectiveness if Mr.\r
+Farebrother had not been looking at her with evident admiration, while\r
+he dramatized an intense interest in the tale to please the children.\r
+\r
+"You will never care any more about my one-eyed giant, Loo," said Fred\r
+at the end.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I shall. Tell about him now," said Louisa.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I dare say; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr. Farebrother."\r
+\r
+"Yes," added Mary; "ask Mr. Farebrother to tell you about the ants\r
+whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and he\r
+thought they didn't mind because he couldn't hear them cry, or see them\r
+use their pocket-handkerchiefs."\r
+\r
+"Please," said Louisa, looking up at the Vicar.\r
+\r
+"No, no, I am a grave old parson. If I try to draw a story out of my\r
+bag a sermon comes instead. Shall I preach you a sermon?" said he,\r
+putting on his short-sighted glasses, and pursing up his lips.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Louisa, falteringly.\r
+\r
+"Let me see, then. Against cakes: how cakes are bad things, especially\r
+if they are sweet and have plums in them."\r
+\r
+Louisa took the affair rather seriously, and got down from the Vicar's\r
+knee to go to Fred.\r
+\r
+"Ah, I see it will not do to preach on New Year's Day," said Mr.\r
+Farebrother, rising and walking away. He had discovered of late that\r
+Fred had become jealous of him, and also that he himself was not losing\r
+his preference for Mary above all other women.\r
+\r
+"A delightful young person is Miss Garth," said Mrs. Farebrother, who\r
+had been watching her son's movements.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Mrs. Vincy, obliged to reply, as the old lady turned to her\r
+expectantly. "It is a pity she is not better-looking."\r
+\r
+"I cannot say that," said Mrs. Farebrother, decisively. "I like her\r
+countenance. We must not always ask for beauty, when a good God has\r
+seen fit to make an excellent young woman without it. I put good\r
+manners first, and Miss Garth will know how to conduct herself in any\r
+station."\r
+\r
+The old lady was a little sharp in her tone, having a prospective\r
+reference to Mary's becoming her daughter-in-law; for there was this\r
+inconvenience in Mary's position with regard to Fred, that it was not\r
+suitable to be made public, and hence the three ladies at Lowick\r
+Parsonage were still hoping that Camden would choose Miss Garth.\r
+\r
+New visitors entered, and the drawing-room was given up to music and\r
+games, while whist-tables were prepared in the quiet room on the other\r
+side of the hall. Mr. Farebrother played a rubber to satisfy his\r
+mother, who regarded her occasional whist as a protest against scandal\r
+and novelty of opinion, in which light even a revoke had its dignity.\r
+But at the end he got Mr. Chichely to take his place, and left the\r
+room. As he crossed the hall, Lydgate had just come in and was taking\r
+off his great-coat.\r
+\r
+"You are the man I was going to look for," said the Vicar; and instead\r
+of entering the drawing-room, they walked along the hall and stood\r
+against the fireplace, where the frosty air helped to make a glowing\r
+bank. "You see, I can leave the whist-table easily enough," he went\r
+on, smiling at Lydgate, "now I don't play for money. I owe that to\r
+you, Mrs. Casaubon says."\r
+\r
+"How?" said Lydgate, coldly.\r
+\r
+"Ah, you didn't mean me to know it; I call that ungenerous reticence.\r
+You should let a man have the pleasure of feeling that you have done\r
+him a good turn. I don't enter into some people's dislike of being\r
+under an obligation: upon my word, I prefer being under an obligation\r
+to everybody for behaving well to me."\r
+\r
+"I can't tell what you mean," said Lydgate, "unless it is that I once\r
+spoke of you to Mrs. Casaubon. But I did not think that she would\r
+break her promise not to mention that I had done so," said Lydgate,\r
+leaning his back against the corner of the mantel-piece, and showing no\r
+radiance in his face.\r
+\r
+"It was Brooke who let it out, only the other day. He paid me the\r
+compliment of saying that he was very glad I had the living though you\r
+had come across his tactics, and had praised me up as a lien and a\r
+Tillotson, and that sort of thing, till Mrs. Casaubon would hear of no\r
+one else."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Brooke is such a leaky-minded fool," said Lydgate, contemptuously.\r
+\r
+"Well, I was glad of the leakiness then. I don't see why you shouldn't\r
+like me to know that you wished to do me a service, my dear fellow.\r
+And you certainly have done me one. It's rather a strong check to\r
+one's self-complacency to find how much of one's right doing depends on\r
+not being in want of money. A man will not be tempted to say the\r
+Lord's Prayer backward to please the devil, if he doesn't want the\r
+devil's services. I have no need to hang on the smiles of chance now."\r
+\r
+"I don't see that there's any money-getting without chance," said\r
+Lydgate; "if a man gets it in a profession, it's pretty sure to come by\r
+chance."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother thought he could account for this speech, in striking\r
+contrast with Lydgate's former way of talking, as the perversity which\r
+will often spring from the moodiness of a man ill at ease in his\r
+affairs. He answered in a tone of good-humored admission--\r
+\r
+"Ah, there's enormous patience wanted with the way of the world. But\r
+it is the easier for a man to wait patiently when he has friends who\r
+love him, and ask for nothing better than to help him through, so far\r
+as it lies in their power."\r
+\r
+"Oh yes," said Lydgate, in a careless tone, changing his attitude and\r
+looking at his watch. "People make much more of their difficulties\r
+than they need to do."\r
+\r
+He knew as distinctly as possible that this was an offer of help to\r
+himself from Mr. Farebrother, and he could not bear it. So strangely\r
+determined are we mortals, that, after having been long gratified with\r
+the sense that he had privately done the Vicar a service, the\r
+suggestion that the Vicar discerned his need of a service in return\r
+made him shrink into unconquerable reticence. Besides, behind all\r
+making of such offers what else must come?--that he should "mention his\r
+case," imply that he wanted specific things. At that moment, suicide\r
+seemed easier.\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother was too keen a man not to know the meaning of that\r
+reply, and there was a certain massiveness in Lydgate's manner and\r
+tone, corresponding with his physique, which if he repelled your\r
+advances in the first instance seemed to put persuasive devices out of\r
+question.\r
+\r
+"What time are you?" said the Vicar, devouring his wounded feeling.\r
+\r
+"After eleven," said Lydgate. And they went into the drawing-room.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXIV.\r
+\r
+ 1st Gent. Where lies the power, there let the blame lie too.\r
+ 2d Gent. Nay, power is relative; you cannot fright\r
+ The coming pest with border fortresses,\r
+ Or catch your carp with subtle argument.\r
+ All force is twain in one: cause is not cause\r
+ Unless effect be there; and action's self\r
+ Must needs contain a passive. So command\r
+ Exists but with obedience."\r
+\r
+\r
+Even if Lydgate had been inclined to be quite open about his affairs,\r
+he knew that it would have hardly been in Mr. Farebrother's power to\r
+give him the help he immediately wanted. With the year's bills coming\r
+in from his tradesmen, with Dover's threatening hold on his furniture,\r
+and with nothing to depend on but slow dribbling payments from patients\r
+who must not be offended--for the handsome fees he had had from\r
+Freshitt Hall and Lowick Manor had been easily absorbed--nothing less\r
+than a thousand pounds would have freed him from actual embarrassment,\r
+and left a residue which, according to the favorite phrase of\r
+hopefulness in such circumstances, would have given him "time to look\r
+about him."\r
+\r
+Naturally, the merry Christmas bringing the happy New Year, when\r
+fellow-citizens expect to be paid for the trouble and goods they have\r
+smilingly bestowed on their neighbors, had so tightened the pressure of\r
+sordid cares on Lydgate's mind that it was hardly possible for him to\r
+think unbrokenly of any other subject, even the most habitual and\r
+soliciting. He was not an ill-tempered man; his intellectual activity,\r
+the ardent kindness of his heart, as well as his strong frame, would\r
+always, under tolerably easy conditions, have kept him above the petty\r
+uncontrolled susceptibilities which make bad temper. But he was now a\r
+prey to that worst irritation which arises not simply from annoyances,\r
+but from the second consciousness underlying those annoyances, of\r
+wasted energy and a degrading preoccupation, which was the reverse of\r
+all his former purposes. "_This_ is what I am thinking of; and _that_\r
+is what I might have been thinking of," was the bitter incessant murmur\r
+within him, making every difficulty a double goad to impatience.\r
+\r
+Some gentlemen have made an amazing figure in literature by general\r
+discontent with the universe as a trap of dulness into which their\r
+great souls have fallen by mistake; but the sense of a stupendous self\r
+and an insignificant world may have its consolations. Lydgate's\r
+discontent was much harder to bear: it was the sense that there was a\r
+grand existence in thought and effective action lying around him, while\r
+his self was being narrowed into the miserable isolation of egoistic\r
+fears, and vulgar anxieties for events that might allay such fears.\r
+His troubles will perhaps appear miserably sordid, and beneath the\r
+attention of lofty persons who can know nothing of debt except on a\r
+magnificent scale. Doubtless they were sordid; and for the majority,\r
+who are not lofty, there is no escape from sordidness but by being free\r
+from money-craving, with all its base hopes and temptations, its\r
+watching for death, its hinted requests, its horse-dealer's desire to\r
+make bad work pass for good, its seeking for function which ought to be\r
+another's, its compulsion often to long for Luck in the shape of a wide\r
+calamity.\r
+\r
+It was because Lydgate writhed under the idea of getting his neck\r
+beneath this vile yoke that he had fallen into a bitter moody state\r
+which was continually widening Rosamond's alienation from him. After\r
+the first disclosure about the bill of sale, he had made many efforts\r
+to draw her into sympathy with him about possible measures for\r
+narrowing their expenses, and with the threatening approach of\r
+Christmas his propositions grew more and more definite. "We two can do\r
+with only one servant, and live on very little," he said, "and I shall\r
+manage with one horse." For Lydgate, as we have seen, had begun to\r
+reason, with a more distinct vision, about the expenses of living, and\r
+any share of pride he had given to appearances of that sort was meagre\r
+compared with the pride which made him revolt from exposure as a\r
+debtor, or from asking men to help him with their money.\r
+\r
+"Of course you can dismiss the other two servants, if you like," said\r
+Rosamond; "but I should have thought it would be very injurious to your\r
+position for us to live in a poor way. You must expect your practice\r
+to be lowered."\r
+\r
+"My dear Rosamond, it is not a question of choice. We have begun too\r
+expensively. Peacock, you know, lived in a much smaller house than\r
+this. It is my fault: I ought to have known better, and I deserve a\r
+thrashing--if there were anybody who had a right to give it me--for\r
+bringing you into the necessity of living in a poorer way than you have\r
+been used to. But we married because we loved each other, I suppose.\r
+And that may help us to pull along till things get better. Come, dear,\r
+put down that work and come to me."\r
+\r
+He was really in chill gloom about her at that moment, but he dreaded a\r
+future without affection, and was determined to resist the oncoming of\r
+division between them. Rosamond obeyed him, and he took her on his\r
+knee, but in her secret soul she was utterly aloof from him. The poor\r
+thing saw only that the world was not ordered to her liking, and\r
+Lydgate was part of that world. But he held her waist with one hand\r
+and laid the other gently on both of hers; for this rather abrupt man\r
+had much tenderness in his manners towards women, seeming to have\r
+always present in his imagination the weakness of their frames and the\r
+delicate poise of their health both in body and mind. And he began\r
+again to speak persuasively.\r
+\r
+"I find, now I look into things a little, Rosy, that it is wonderful\r
+what an amount of money slips away in our housekeeping. I suppose the\r
+servants are careless, and we have had a great many people coming. But\r
+there must be many in our rank who manage with much less: they must do\r
+with commoner things, I suppose, and look after the scraps. It seems,\r
+money goes but a little way in these matters, for Wrench has everything\r
+as plain as possible, and he has a very large practice."\r
+\r
+"Oh, if you think of living as the Wrenches do!" said Rosamond, with a\r
+little turn of her neck. "But I have heard you express your disgust at\r
+that way of living."\r
+\r
+"Yes, they have bad taste in everything--they make economy look ugly.\r
+We needn't do that. I only meant that they avoid expenses, although\r
+Wrench has a capital practice."\r
+\r
+"Why should not you have a good practice, Tertius? Mr. Peacock had.\r
+You should be more careful not to offend people, and you should send\r
+out medicines as the others do. I am sure you began well, and you got\r
+several good houses. It cannot answer to be eccentric; you should\r
+think what will be generally liked," said Rosamond, in a decided little\r
+tone of admonition.\r
+\r
+Lydgate's anger rose: he was prepared to be indulgent towards feminine\r
+weakness, but not towards feminine dictation. The shallowness of a\r
+waternixie's soul may have a charm until she becomes didactic. But he\r
+controlled himself, and only said, with a touch of despotic firmness--\r
+\r
+"What I am to do in my practice, Rosy, it is for me to judge. That is\r
+not the question between us. It is enough for you to know that our\r
+income is likely to be a very narrow one--hardly four hundred, perhaps\r
+less, for a long time to come, and we must try to re-arrange our lives\r
+in accordance with that fact."\r
+\r
+Rosamond was silent for a moment or two, looking before her, and then\r
+said, "My uncle Bulstrode ought to allow you a salary for the time you\r
+give to the Hospital: it is not right that you should work for nothing."\r
+\r
+"It was understood from the beginning that my services would be\r
+gratuitous. That, again, need not enter into our discussion. I have\r
+pointed out what is the only probability," said Lydgate, impatiently.\r
+Then checking himself, he went on more quietly--\r
+\r
+"I think I see one resource which would free us from a good deal of the\r
+present difficulty. I hear that young Ned Plymdale is going to be\r
+married to Miss Sophy Toller. They are rich, and it is not often that\r
+a good house is vacant in Middlemarch. I feel sure that they would be\r
+glad to take this house from us with most of our furniture, and they\r
+would be willing to pay handsomely for the lease. I can employ\r
+Trumbull to speak to Plymdale about it."\r
+\r
+Rosamond left her husband's knee and walked slowly to the other end of\r
+the room; when she turned round and walked towards him it was evident\r
+that the tears had come, and that she was biting her under-lip and\r
+clasping her hands to keep herself from crying. Lydgate was\r
+wretched--shaken with anger and yet feeling that it would be unmanly to\r
+vent the anger just now.\r
+\r
+"I am very sorry, Rosamond; I know this is painful."\r
+\r
+"I thought, at least, when I had borne to send the plate back and have\r
+that man taking an inventory of the furniture--I should have thought\r
+_that_ would suffice."\r
+\r
+"I explained it to you at the time, dear. That was only a security and\r
+behind that security there is a debt. And that debt must be paid\r
+within the next few months, else we shall have our furniture sold. If\r
+young Plymdale will take our house and most of our furniture, we shall\r
+be able to pay that debt, and some others too, and we shall be quit of\r
+a place too expensive for us. We might take a smaller house: Trumbull,\r
+I know, has a very decent one to let at thirty pounds a-year, and this\r
+is ninety." Lydgate uttered this speech in the curt hammering way with\r
+which we usually try to nail down a vague mind to imperative facts.\r
+Tears rolled silently down Rosamond's cheeks; she just pressed her\r
+handkerchief against them, and stood looking at the large vase on the\r
+mantel-piece. It was a moment of more intense bitterness than she had\r
+ever felt before. At last she said, without hurry and with careful\r
+emphasis--\r
+\r
+"I never could have believed that you would like to act in that way."\r
+\r
+"Like it?" burst out Lydgate, rising from his chair, thrusting his\r
+hands in his pockets and stalking away from the hearth; "it's not a\r
+question of liking. Of course, I don't like it; it's the only thing I\r
+can do." He wheeled round there, and turned towards her.\r
+\r
+"I should have thought there were many other means than that," said\r
+Rosamond. "Let us have a sale and leave Middlemarch altogether."\r
+\r
+"To do what? What is the use of my leaving my work in Middlemarch to\r
+go where I have none? We should be just as penniless elsewhere as we\r
+are here," said Lydgate still more angrily.\r
+\r
+"If we are to be in that position it will be entirely your own doing,\r
+Tertius," said Rosamond, turning round to speak with the fullest\r
+conviction. "You will not behave as you ought to do to your own\r
+family. You offended Captain Lydgate. Sir Godwin was very kind to me\r
+when we were at Quallingham, and I am sure if you showed proper regard\r
+to him and told him your affairs, he would do anything for you. But\r
+rather than that, you like giving up our house and furniture to Mr. Ned\r
+Plymdale."\r
+\r
+There was something like fierceness in Lydgate's eyes, as he answered\r
+with new violence, "Well, then, if you will have it so, I do like it.\r
+I admit that I like it better than making a fool of myself by going to\r
+beg where it's of no use. Understand then, that it is what I _like to\r
+do._"\r
+\r
+There was a tone in the last sentence which was equivalent to the\r
+clutch of his strong hand on Rosamond's delicate arm. But for all\r
+that, his will was not a whit stronger than hers. She immediately\r
+walked out of the room in silence, but with an intense determination to\r
+hinder what Lydgate liked to do.\r
+\r
+He went out of the house, but as his blood cooled he felt that the\r
+chief result of the discussion was a deposit of dread within him at the\r
+idea of opening with his wife in future subjects which might again urge\r
+him to violent speech. It was as if a fracture in delicate crystal had\r
+begun, and he was afraid of any movement that might make it fatal. His\r
+marriage would be a mere piece of bitter irony if they could not go on\r
+loving each other. He had long ago made up his mind to what he thought\r
+was her negative character--her want of sensibility, which showed\r
+itself in disregard both of his specific wishes and of his general\r
+aims. The first great disappointment had been borne: the tender\r
+devotedness and docile adoration of the ideal wife must be renounced,\r
+and life must be taken up on a lower stage of expectation, as it is by\r
+men who have lost their limbs. But the real wife had not only her\r
+claims, she had still a hold on his heart, and it was his intense\r
+desire that the hold should remain strong. In marriage, the certainty,\r
+"She will never love me much," is easier to bear than the fear, "I\r
+shall love her no more." Hence, after that outburst, his inward effort\r
+was entirely to excuse her, and to blame the hard circumstances which\r
+were partly his fault. He tried that evening, by petting her, to heal\r
+the wound he had made in the morning, and it was not in Rosamond's\r
+nature to be repellent or sulky; indeed, she welcomed the signs that\r
+her husband loved her and was under control. But this was something\r
+quite distinct from loving _him_. Lydgate would not have chosen soon to\r
+recur to the plan of parting with the house; he was resolved to carry\r
+it out, and say as little more about it as possible. But Rosamond\r
+herself touched on it at breakfast by saying, mildly--\r
+\r
+"Have you spoken to Trumbull yet?"\r
+\r
+"No," said Lydgate, "but I shall call on him as I go by this morning.\r
+No time must be lost." He took Rosamond's question as a sign that she\r
+withdrew her inward opposition, and kissed her head caressingly when he\r
+got up to go away.\r
+\r
+As soon as it was late enough to make a call, Rosamond went to Mrs.\r
+Plymdale, Mr. Ned's mother, and entered with pretty congratulations\r
+into the subject of the coming marriage. Mrs. Plymdale's maternal view\r
+was, that Rosamond might possibly now have retrospective glimpses of\r
+her own folly; and feeling the advantages to be at present all on the\r
+side of her son, was too kind a woman not to behave graciously.\r
+\r
+"Yes, Ned is most happy, I must say. And Sophy Toller is all I could\r
+desire in a daughter-in-law. Of course her father is able to do\r
+something handsome for her--that is only what would be expected with a\r
+brewery like his. And the connection is everything we should desire.\r
+But that is not what I look at. She is such a very nice girl--no airs,\r
+no pretensions, though on a level with the first. I don't mean with\r
+the titled aristocracy. I see very little good in people aiming out of\r
+their own sphere. I mean that Sophy is equal to the best in the town,\r
+and she is contented with that."\r
+\r
+"I have always thought her very agreeable," said Rosamond.\r
+\r
+"I look upon it as a reward for Ned, who never held his head too high,\r
+that he should have got into the very best connection," continued Mrs.\r
+Plymdale, her native sharpness softened by a fervid sense that she was\r
+taking a correct view. "And such particular people as the Tollers are,\r
+they might have objected because some of our friends are not theirs.\r
+It is well known that your aunt Bulstrode and I have been intimate from\r
+our youth, and Mr. Plymdale has been always on Mr. Bulstrode's side.\r
+And I myself prefer serious opinions. But the Tollers have welcomed\r
+Ned all the same."\r
+\r
+"I am sure he is a very deserving, well-principled young man," said\r
+Rosamond, with a neat air of patronage in return for Mrs. Plymdale's\r
+wholesome corrections.\r
+\r
+"Oh, he has not the style of a captain in the army, or that sort of\r
+carriage as if everybody was beneath him, or that showy kind of\r
+talking, and singing, and intellectual talent. But I am thankful he\r
+has not. It is a poor preparation both for here and Hereafter."\r
+\r
+"Oh dear, yes; appearances have very little to do with happiness," said\r
+Rosamond. "I think there is every prospect of their being a happy\r
+couple. What house will they take?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, as for that, they must put up with what they can get. They have\r
+been looking at the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's;\r
+it belongs to him, and he is putting it nicely in repair. I suppose\r
+they are not likely to hear of a better. Indeed, I think Ned will\r
+decide the matter to-day."\r
+\r
+"I should think it is a nice house; I like St. Peter's Place."\r
+\r
+"Well, it is near the Church, and a genteel situation. But the windows\r
+are narrow, and it is all ups and downs. You don't happen to know of\r
+any other that would be at liberty?" said Mrs. Plymdale, fixing her\r
+round black eyes on Rosamond with the animation of a sudden thought in\r
+them.\r
+\r
+"Oh no; I hear so little of those things."\r
+\r
+Rosamond had not foreseen that question and answer in setting out to\r
+pay her visit; she had simply meant to gather any information which\r
+would help her to avert the parting with her own house under\r
+circumstances thoroughly disagreeable to her. As to the untruth in her\r
+reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the untruth there\r
+was in her saying that appearances had very little to do with\r
+happiness. Her object, she was convinced, was thoroughly justifiable:\r
+it was Lydgate whose intention was inexcusable; and there was a plan in\r
+her mind which, when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very\r
+false a step it would have been for him to have descended from his\r
+position.\r
+\r
+She returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbull's office, meaning to call\r
+there. It was the first time in her life that Rosamond had thought of\r
+doing anything in the form of business, but she felt equal to the\r
+occasion. That she should be obliged to do what she intensely\r
+disliked, was an idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active\r
+invention. Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to\r
+disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act according to\r
+her judgment, and she said to herself that her judgment was\r
+right--"indeed, if it had not been, she would not have wished to act on\r
+it."\r
+\r
+Mr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and received Rosamond\r
+with his finest manners, not only because he had much sensibility to\r
+her charms, but because the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by\r
+his certainty that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this\r
+uncommonly pretty woman--this young lady with the highest personal\r
+attractions--was likely to feel the pinch of trouble--to find herself\r
+involved in circumstances beyond her control. He begged her to do him\r
+the honor to take a seat, and stood before her trimming and comporting\r
+himself with an eager solicitude, which was chiefly benevolent.\r
+Rosamond's first question was, whether her husband had called on Mr.\r
+Trumbull that morning, to speak about disposing of their house.\r
+\r
+"Yes, ma'am, yes, he did; he did so," said the good auctioneer, trying\r
+to throw something soothing into his iteration. "I was about to fulfil\r
+his order, if possible, this afternoon. He wished me not to\r
+procrastinate."\r
+\r
+"I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr. Trumbull; and I beg of\r
+you not to mention what has been said on the subject. Will you oblige\r
+me?"\r
+\r
+"Certainly I will, Mrs. Lydgate, certainly. Confidence is sacred with\r
+me on business or any other topic. I am then to consider the\r
+commission withdrawn?" said Mr. Trumbull, adjusting the long ends of\r
+his blue cravat with both hands, and looking at Rosamond deferentially.\r
+\r
+"Yes, if you please. I find that Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house--the\r
+one in St. Peter's Place next to Mr. Hackbutt's. Mr. Lydgate would be\r
+annoyed that his orders should be fulfilled uselessly. And besides\r
+that, there are other circumstances which render the proposal\r
+unnecessary."\r
+\r
+"Very good, Mrs. Lydgate, very good. I am at your commands, whenever\r
+you require any service of me," said Mr. Trumbull, who felt pleasure in\r
+conjecturing that some new resources had been opened. "Rely on me, I\r
+beg. The affair shall go no further."\r
+\r
+That evening Lydgate was a little comforted by observing that Rosamond\r
+was more lively than she had usually been of late, and even seemed\r
+interested in doing what would please him without being asked. He\r
+thought, "If she will be happy and I can rub through, what does it all\r
+signify? It is only a narrow swamp that we have to pass in a long\r
+journey. If I can get my mind clear again, I shall do."\r
+\r
+He was so much cheered that he began to search for an account of\r
+experiments which he had long ago meant to look up, and had neglected\r
+out of that creeping self-despair which comes in the train of petty\r
+anxieties. He felt again some of the old delightful absorption in a\r
+far-reaching inquiry, while Rosamond played the quiet music which was\r
+as helpful to his meditation as the plash of an oar on the evening\r
+lake. It was rather late; he had pushed away all the books, and was\r
+looking at the fire with his hands clasped behind his head in\r
+forgetfulness of everything except the construction of a new\r
+controlling experiment, when Rosamond, who had left the piano and was\r
+leaning back in her chair watching him, said--\r
+\r
+"Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house already."\r
+\r
+Lydgate, startled and jarred, looked up in silence for a moment, like a\r
+man who has been disturbed in his sleep. Then flushing with an\r
+unpleasant consciousness, he asked--\r
+\r
+"How do you know?"\r
+\r
+"I called at Mrs. Plymdale's this morning, and she told me that he had\r
+taken the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's."\r
+\r
+Lydgate was silent. He drew his hands from behind his head and pressed\r
+them against the hair which was hanging, as it was apt to do, in a mass\r
+on his forehead, while he rested his elbows on his knees. He was\r
+feeling bitter disappointment, as if he had opened a door out of a\r
+suffocating place and had found it walled up; but he also felt sure\r
+that Rosamond was pleased with the cause of his disappointment. He\r
+preferred not looking at her and not speaking, until he had got over\r
+the first spasm of vexation. After all, he said in his bitterness,\r
+what can a woman care about so much as house and furniture? a husband\r
+without them is an absurdity. When he looked up and pushed his hair\r
+aside, his dark eyes had a miserable blank non-expectance of sympathy\r
+in them, but he only said, coolly--\r
+\r
+"Perhaps some one else may turn up. I told Trumbull to be on the\r
+look-out if he failed with Plymdale."\r
+\r
+Rosamond made no remark. She trusted to the chance that nothing more\r
+would pass between her husband and the auctioneer until some issue\r
+should have justified her interference; at any rate, she had hindered\r
+the event which she immediately dreaded. After a pause, she said--\r
+\r
+"How much money is it that those disagreeable people want?"\r
+\r
+"What disagreeable people?"\r
+\r
+"Those who took the list--and the others. I mean, how much money would\r
+satisfy them so that you need not be troubled any more?"\r
+\r
+Lydgate surveyed her for a moment, as if he were looking for symptoms,\r
+and then said, "Oh, if I could have got six hundred from Plymdale for\r
+furniture and as premium, I might have managed. I could have paid off\r
+Dover, and given enough on account to the others to make them wait\r
+patiently, if we contracted our expenses."\r
+\r
+"But I mean how much should you want if we stayed in this house?"\r
+\r
+"More than I am likely to get anywhere," said Lydgate, with rather a\r
+grating sarcasm in his tone. It angered him to perceive that\r
+Rosamond's mind was wandering over impracticable wishes instead of\r
+facing possible efforts.\r
+\r
+"Why should you not mention the sum?" said Rosamond, with a mild\r
+indication that she did not like his manners.\r
+\r
+"Well," said Lydgate in a guessing tone, "it would take at least a\r
+thousand to set me at ease. But," he added, incisively, "I have to\r
+consider what I shall do without it, not with it."\r
+\r
+Rosamond said no more.\r
+\r
+But the next day she carried out her plan of writing to Sir Godwin\r
+Lydgate. Since the Captain's visit, she had received a letter from\r
+him, and also one from Mrs. Mengan, his married sister, condoling with\r
+her on the loss of her baby, and expressing vaguely the hope that they\r
+should see her again at Quallingham. Lydgate had told her that this\r
+politeness meant nothing; but she was secretly convinced that any\r
+backwardness in Lydgate's family towards him was due to his cold and\r
+contemptuous behavior, and she had answered the letters in her most\r
+charming manner, feeling some confidence that a specific invitation\r
+would follow. But there had been total silence. The Captain evidently\r
+was not a great penman, and Rosamond reflected that the sisters might\r
+have been abroad. However, the season was come for thinking of friends\r
+at home, and at any rate Sir Godwin, who had chucked her under the\r
+chin, and pronounced her to be like the celebrated beauty, Mrs. Croly,\r
+who had made a conquest of him in 1790, would be touched by any appeal\r
+from her, and would find it pleasant for her sake to behave as he ought\r
+to do towards his nephew. Rosamond was naively convinced of what an\r
+old gentleman ought to do to prevent her from suffering annoyance. And\r
+she wrote what she considered the most judicious letter possible--one\r
+which would strike Sir Godwin as a proof of her excellent sense--pointing\r
+out how desirable it was that Tertius should quit such a place\r
+as Middlemarch for one more fitted to his talents, how the unpleasant\r
+character of the inhabitants had hindered his professional success, and\r
+how in consequence he was in money difficulties, from which it would\r
+require a thousand pounds thoroughly to extricate him. She did not say\r
+that Tertius was unaware of her intention to write; for she had the\r
+idea that his supposed sanction of her letter would be in accordance\r
+with what she did say of his great regard for his uncle Godwin as the\r
+relative who had always been his best friend. Such was the force of\r
+Poor Rosamond's tactics now she applied them to affairs.\r
+\r
+This had happened before the party on New Year's Day, and no answer had\r
+yet come from Sir Godwin. But on the morning of that day Lydgate had\r
+to learn that Rosamond had revoked his order to Borthrop Trumbull.\r
+Feeling it necessary that she should be gradually accustomed to the\r
+idea of their quitting the house in Lowick Gate, he overcame his\r
+reluctance to speak to her again on the subject, and when they were\r
+breakfasting said--\r
+\r
+"I shall try to see Trumbull this morning, and tell him to advertise\r
+the house in the 'Pioneer' and the 'Trumpet.' If the thing were\r
+advertised, some one might be inclined to take it who would not\r
+otherwise have thought of a change. In these country places many\r
+people go on in their old houses when their families are too large for\r
+them, for want of knowing where they can find another. And Trumbull\r
+seems to have got no bite at all."\r
+\r
+Rosamond knew that the inevitable moment was come. "I ordered Trumbull\r
+not to inquire further," she said, with a careful calmness which was\r
+evidently defensive.\r
+\r
+Lydgate stared at her in mute amazement. Only half an hour before he\r
+had been fastening up her plaits for her, and talking the "little\r
+language" of affection, which Rosamond, though not returning it,\r
+accepted as if she had been a serene and lovely image, now and then\r
+miraculously dimpling towards her votary. With such fibres still astir\r
+in him, the shock he received could not at once be distinctly anger; it\r
+was confused pain. He laid down the knife and fork with which he was\r
+carving, and throwing himself back in his chair, said at last, with a\r
+cool irony in his tone--\r
+\r
+"May I ask when and why you did so?"\r
+\r
+"When I knew that the Plymdales had taken a house, I called to tell him\r
+not to mention ours to them; and at the same time I told him not to let\r
+the affair go on any further. I knew that it would be very injurious\r
+to you if it were known that you wished to part with your house and\r
+furniture, and I had a very strong objection to it. I think that was\r
+reason enough."\r
+\r
+"It was of no consequence then that I had told you imperative reasons\r
+of another kind; of no consequence that I had come to a different\r
+conclusion, and given an order accordingly?" said Lydgate, bitingly,\r
+the thunder and lightning gathering about his brow and eyes.\r
+\r
+The effect of any one's anger on Rosamond had always been to make her\r
+shrink in cold dislike, and to become all the more calmly correct, in\r
+the conviction that she was not the person to misbehave whatever others\r
+might do. She replied--\r
+\r
+"I think I had a perfect right to speak on a subject which concerns me\r
+at least as much as you."\r
+\r
+"Clearly--you had a right to speak, but only to me. You had no right\r
+to contradict my orders secretly, and treat me as if I were a fool,"\r
+said Lydgate, in the same tone as before. Then with some added scorn,\r
+"Is it possible to make you understand what the consequences will be?\r
+Is it of any use for me to tell you again why we must try to part with\r
+the house?"\r
+\r
+"It is not necessary for you to tell me again," said Rosamond, in a\r
+voice that fell and trickled like cold water-drops. "I remembered what\r
+you said. You spoke just as violently as you do now. But that does\r
+not alter my opinion that you ought to try every other means rather\r
+than take a step which is so painful to me. And as to advertising the\r
+house, I think it would be perfectly degrading to you."\r
+\r
+"And suppose I disregard your opinion as you disregard mine?"\r
+\r
+"You can do so, of course. But I think you ought to have told me\r
+before we were married that you would place me in the worst position,\r
+rather than give up your own will."\r
+\r
+Lydgate did not speak, but tossed his head on one side, and twitched\r
+the corners of his mouth in despair. Rosamond, seeing that he was not\r
+looking at her, rose and set his cup of coffee before him; but he took\r
+no notice of it, and went on with an inward drama and argument,\r
+occasionally moving in his seat, resting one arm on the table, and\r
+rubbing his hand against his hair. There was a conflux of emotions and\r
+thoughts in him that would not let him either give thorough way to his\r
+anger or persevere with simple rigidity of resolve. Rosamond took\r
+advantage of his silence.\r
+\r
+"When we were married everyone felt that your position was very high.\r
+I could not have imagined then that you would want to sell our\r
+furniture, and take a house in Bride Street, where the rooms are like\r
+cages. If we are to live in that way let us at least leave\r
+Middlemarch."\r
+\r
+"These would be very strong considerations," said Lydgate, half\r
+ironically--still there was a withered paleness about his lips as he\r
+looked at his coffee, and did not drink--"these would be very strong\r
+considerations if I did not happen to be in debt."\r
+\r
+"Many persons must have been in debt in the same way, but if they are\r
+respectable, people trust them. I am sure I have heard papa say that\r
+the Torbits were in debt, and they went on very well. It cannot be\r
+good to act rashly," said Rosamond, with serene wisdom.\r
+\r
+Lydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no reasoning he could\r
+apply to Rosamond seemed likely to conquer her assent, he wanted to\r
+smash and grind some object on which he could at least produce an\r
+impression, or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she\r
+must obey. But he not only dreaded the effect of such extremities on\r
+their mutual life--he had a growing dread of Rosamond's quiet elusive\r
+obstinacy, which would not allow any assertion of power to be final;\r
+and again, she had touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying\r
+that she had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in marrying\r
+him. As to saying that he was master, it was not the fact. The very\r
+resolution to which he had wrought himself by dint of logic and\r
+honorable pride was beginning to relax under her torpedo contact. He\r
+swallowed half his cup of coffee, and then rose to go.\r
+\r
+"I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull at\r
+present--until it has been seen that there are no other means," said\r
+Rosamond. Although she was not subject to much fear, she felt it safer\r
+not to betray that she had written to Sir Godwin. "Promise me that you\r
+will not go to him for a few weeks, or without telling me."\r
+\r
+Lydgate gave a short laugh. "I think it is I who should exact a\r
+promise that you will do nothing without telling me," he said, turning\r
+his eyes sharply upon her, and then moving to the door.\r
+\r
+"You remember that we are going to dine at papa's," said Rosamond,\r
+wishing that he should turn and make a more thorough concession to her.\r
+But he only said "Oh yes," impatiently, and went away. She held it to\r
+be very odious in him that he did not think the painful propositions he\r
+had had to make to her were enough, without showing so unpleasant a\r
+temper. And when she put the moderate request that he would defer\r
+going to Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of what\r
+he meant to do. She was convinced of her having acted in every way for\r
+the best; and each grating or angry speech of Lydgate's served only as\r
+an addition to the register of offences in her mind. Poor Rosamond for\r
+months had begun to associate her husband with feelings of\r
+disappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of marriage had\r
+lost its charm of encouraging delightful dreams. It had freed her from\r
+the disagreeables of her father's house, but it had not given her\r
+everything that she had wished and hoped. The Lydgate with whom she\r
+had been in love had been a group of airy conditions for her, most of\r
+which had disappeared, while their place had been taken by every-day\r
+details which must be lived through slowly from hour to hour, not\r
+floated through with a rapid selection of favorable aspects. The\r
+habits of Lydgate's profession, his home preoccupation with scientific\r
+subjects, which seemed to her almost like a morbid vampire's taste, his\r
+peculiar views of things which had never entered into the dialogue of\r
+courtship--all these continually alienating influences, even without\r
+the fact of his having placed himself at a disadvantage in the town,\r
+and without that first shock of revelation about Dover's debt, would\r
+have made his presence dull to her. There was another presence which\r
+ever since the early days of her marriage, until four months ago, had\r
+been an agreeable excitement, but that was gone: Rosamond would not\r
+confess to herself how much the consequent blank had to do with her\r
+utter ennui; and it seemed to her (perhaps she was right) that an\r
+invitation to Quallingham, and an opening for Lydgate to settle\r
+elsewhere than in Middlemarch--in London, or somewhere likely to be\r
+free from unpleasantness--would satisfy her quite well, and make her\r
+indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw, towards whom she felt some\r
+resentment for his exaltation of Mrs. Casaubon.\r
+\r
+That was the state of things with Lydgate and Rosamond on the New\r
+Year's Day when they dined at her father's, she looking mildly neutral\r
+towards him in remembrance of his ill-tempered behavior at breakfast,\r
+and he carrying a much deeper effect from the inward conflict in which\r
+that morning scene was only one of many epochs. His flushed effort\r
+while talking to Mr. Farebrother--his effort after the cynical pretence\r
+that all ways of getting money are essentially the same, and that\r
+chance has an empire which reduces choice to a fool's illusion--was but\r
+the symptom of a wavering resolve, a benumbed response to the old\r
+stimuli of enthusiasm.\r
+\r
+What was he to do? He saw even more keenly than Rosamond did the\r
+dreariness of taking her into the small house in Bride Street, where\r
+she would have scanty furniture around her and discontent within: a\r
+life of privation and life with Rosamond were two images which had\r
+become more and more irreconcilable ever since the threat of privation\r
+had disclosed itself. But even if his resolves had forced the two\r
+images into combination, the useful preliminaries to that hard change\r
+were not visibly within reach. And though he had not given the promise\r
+which his wife had asked for, he did not go again to Trumbull. He even\r
+began to think of taking a rapid journey to the North and seeing Sir\r
+Godwin. He had once believed that nothing would urge him into making\r
+an application for money to his uncle, but he had not then known the\r
+full pressure of alternatives yet more disagreeable. He could not\r
+depend on the effect of a letter; it was only in an interview, however\r
+disagreeable this might be to himself, that he could give a thorough\r
+explanation and could test the effectiveness of kinship. No sooner had\r
+Lydgate begun to represent this step to himself as the easiest than\r
+there was a reaction of anger that he--he who had long ago determined\r
+to live aloof from such abject calculations, such self-interested\r
+anxiety about the inclinations and the pockets of men with whom he had\r
+been proud to have no aims in common--should have fallen not simply to\r
+their level, but to the level of soliciting them.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXV.\r
+\r
+ "One of us two must bowen douteless,\r
+ And, sith a man is more reasonable\r
+ Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable.\r
+ --CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales.\r
+\r
+\r
+The bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence triumphs even\r
+over the present quickening in the general pace of things: what wonder\r
+then that in 1832 old Sir Godwin Lydgate was slow to write a letter\r
+which was of consequence to others rather than to himself? Nearly\r
+three weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond, awaiting an answer\r
+to her winning appeal, was every day disappointed. Lydgate, in total\r
+ignorance of her expectations, was seeing the bills come in, and\r
+feeling that Dover's use of his advantage over other creditors was\r
+imminent. He had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose of\r
+going to Quallingham: he did not want to admit what would appear to her\r
+a concession to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the last\r
+moment; but he was really expecting to set off soon. A slice of the\r
+railway would enable him to manage the whole journey and back in four\r
+days.\r
+\r
+But one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter came addressed to\r
+him, which Rosamond saw clearly to be from Sir Godwin. She was full of\r
+hope. Perhaps there might be a particular note to her enclosed; but\r
+Lydgate was naturally addressed on the question of money or other aid,\r
+and the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay in writing at\r
+all, seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant. She\r
+was too much excited by these thoughts to do anything but light\r
+stitching in a warm corner of the dining-room, with the outside of this\r
+momentous letter lying on the table before her. About twelve she heard\r
+her husband's step in the passage, and tripping to open the door, she\r
+said in her lightest tones, "Tertius, come in here--here is a letter\r
+for you."\r
+\r
+"Ah?" he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her round\r
+within his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay. "My\r
+uncle Godwin!" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, and\r
+watched him as he opened the letter. She had expected him to be\r
+surprised.\r
+\r
+While Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw his\r
+face, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrils\r
+and lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and said\r
+violently--\r
+\r
+"It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always be\r
+acting secretly--acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions."\r
+\r
+He checked his speech and turned his back on her--then wheeled round\r
+and walked about, sat down, and got up again restlessly, grasping hard\r
+the objects deep down in his pockets. He was afraid of saying\r
+something irremediably cruel.\r
+\r
+Rosamond too had changed color as she read. The letter ran in this\r
+way:--\r
+\r
+"DEAR TERTIUS,--Don't set your wife to write to me when you have\r
+anything to ask. It is a roundabout wheedling sort of thing which I\r
+should not have credited you with. I never choose to write to a woman\r
+on matters of business. As to my supplying you with a thousand pounds,\r
+or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the sort. My own family\r
+drains me to the last penny. With two younger sons and three\r
+daughters, I am not likely to have cash to spare. You seem to have got\r
+through your own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess where\r
+you are; the sooner you go somewhere else the better. But I have\r
+nothing to do with men of your profession, and can't help you there. I\r
+did the best I could for you as guardian, and let you have your own way\r
+in taking to medicine. You might have gone into the army or the\r
+Church. Your money would have held out for that, and there would have\r
+been a surer ladder before you. Your uncle Charles has had a grudge\r
+against you for not going into his profession, but not I. I have always\r
+wished you well, but you must consider yourself on your own legs\r
+entirely now.\r
+\r
+ Your affectionate uncle,\r
+ GODWIN LYDGATE."\r
+\r
+When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat quite still, with\r
+her hands folded before her, restraining any show of her keen\r
+disappointment, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under her\r
+husband's wrath. Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again,\r
+and said, with biting severity--\r
+\r
+"Will this be enough to convince you of the harm you may do by secret\r
+meddling? Have you sense enough to recognize now your incompetence to\r
+judge and act for me--to interfere with your ignorance in affairs which\r
+it belongs to me to decide on?"\r
+\r
+The words were hard; but this was not the first time that Lydgate had\r
+been frustrated by her. She did not look at him, and made no reply.\r
+\r
+"I had nearly resolved on going to Quallingham. It would have cost me\r
+pain enough to do it, yet it might have been of some use. But it has\r
+been of no use for me to think of anything. You have always been\r
+counteracting me secretly. You delude me with a false assent, and then\r
+I am at the mercy of your devices. If you mean to resist every wish I\r
+express, say so and defy me. I shall at least know what I am doing\r
+then."\r
+\r
+It is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love's\r
+bond has turned to this power of galling. In spite of Rosamond's\r
+self-control a tear fell silently and rolled over her lips. She still\r
+said nothing; but under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: she\r
+was in such entire disgust with her husband that she wished she had\r
+never seen him. Sir Godwin's rudeness towards her and utter want of\r
+feeling ranged him with Dover and all other creditors--disagreeable\r
+people who only thought of themselves, and did not mind how annoying\r
+they were to her. Even her father was unkind, and might have done more\r
+for them. In fact there was but one person in Rosamond's world whom\r
+she did not regard as blameworthy, and that was the graceful creature\r
+with blond plaits and with little hands crossed before her, who had\r
+never expressed herself unbecomingly, and had always acted for the\r
+best--the best naturally being what she best liked.\r
+\r
+Lydgate pausing and looking at her began to feel that half-maddening\r
+sense of helplessness which comes over passionate people when their\r
+passion is met by an innocent-looking silence whose meek victimized air\r
+seems to put them in the wrong, and at last infects even the justest\r
+indignation with a doubt of its justice. He needed to recover the full\r
+sense that he was in the right by moderating his words.\r
+\r
+"Can you not see, Rosamond," he began again, trying to be simply grave\r
+and not bitter, "that nothing can be so fatal as a want of openness and\r
+confidence between us? It has happened again and again that I have\r
+expressed a decided wish, and you have seemed to assent, yet after that\r
+you have secretly disobeyed my wish. In that way I can never know what\r
+I have to trust to. There would be some hope for us if you would admit\r
+this. Am I such an unreasonable, furious brute? Why should you not be\r
+open with me?" Still silence.\r
+\r
+"Will you only say that you have been mistaken, and that I may depend\r
+on your not acting secretly in future?" said Lydgate, urgently, but\r
+with something of request in his tone which Rosamond was quick to\r
+perceive. She spoke with coolness.\r
+\r
+"I cannot possibly make admissions or promises in answer to such words\r
+as you have used towards me. I have not been accustomed to language of\r
+that kind. You have spoken of my 'secret meddling,' and my\r
+'interfering ignorance,' and my 'false assent.' I have never expressed\r
+myself in that way to you, and I think that you ought to apologize.\r
+You spoke of its being impossible to live with me. Certainly you have\r
+not made my life pleasant to me of late. I think it was to be expected\r
+that I should try to avert some of the hardships which our marriage has\r
+brought on me." Another tear fell as Rosamond ceased speaking, and she\r
+pressed it away as quietly as the first.\r
+\r
+Lydgate flung himself into a chair, feeling checkmated. What place was\r
+there in her mind for a remonstrance to lodge in? He laid down his\r
+hat, flung an arm over the back of his chair, and looked down for some\r
+moments without speaking. Rosamond had the double purchase over him of\r
+insensibility to the point of justice in his reproach, and of\r
+sensibility to the undeniable hardships now present in her married\r
+life. Although her duplicity in the affair of the house had exceeded\r
+what he knew, and had really hindered the Plymdales from knowing of it,\r
+she had no consciousness that her action could rightly be called false.\r
+We are not obliged to identify our own acts according to a strict\r
+classification, any more than the materials of our grocery and clothes.\r
+Rosamond felt that she was aggrieved, and that this was what Lydgate\r
+had to recognize.\r
+\r
+As for him, the need of accommodating himself to her nature, which was\r
+inflexible in proportion to its negations, held him as with pincers.\r
+He had begun to have an alarmed foresight of her irrevocable loss of\r
+love for him, and the consequent dreariness of their life. The ready\r
+fulness of his emotions made this dread alternate quickly with the\r
+first violent movements of his anger. It would assuredly have been a\r
+vain boast in him to say that he was her master.\r
+\r
+"You have not made my life pleasant to me of late"--"the hardships\r
+which our marriage has brought on me"--these words were stinging his\r
+imagination as a pain makes an exaggerated dream. If he were not only\r
+to sink from his highest resolve, but to sink into the hideous\r
+fettering of domestic hate?\r
+\r
+"Rosamond," he said, turning his eyes on her with a melancholy look,\r
+"you should allow for a man's words when he is disappointed and\r
+provoked. You and I cannot have opposite interests. I cannot part my\r
+happiness from yours. If I am angry with you, it is that you seem not\r
+to see how any concealment divides us. How could I wish to make\r
+anything hard to you either by my words or conduct? When I hurt you, I\r
+hurt part of my own life. I should never be angry with you if you\r
+would be quite open with me."\r
+\r
+"I have only wished to prevent you from hurrying us into wretchedness\r
+without any necessity," said Rosamond, the tears coming again from a\r
+softened feeling now that her husband had softened. "It is so very\r
+hard to be disgraced here among all the people we know, and to live in\r
+such a miserable way. I wish I had died with the baby."\r
+\r
+She spoke and wept with that gentleness which makes such words and\r
+tears omnipotent over a loving-hearted man. Lydgate drew his chair\r
+near to hers and pressed her delicate head against his cheek with his\r
+powerful tender hand. He only caressed her; he did not say anything;\r
+for what was there to say? He could not promise to shield her from the\r
+dreaded wretchedness, for he could see no sure means of doing so. When\r
+he left her to go out again, he told himself that it was ten times\r
+harder for her than for him: he had a life away from home, and constant\r
+appeals to his activity on behalf of others. He wished to excuse\r
+everything in her if he could--but it was inevitable that in that\r
+excusing mood he should think of her as if she were an animal of\r
+another and feebler species. Nevertheless she had mastered him.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXVI.\r
+\r
+ "'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,\r
+ Another thing to fall."\r
+ --Measure for Measure.\r
+\r
+\r
+Lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the service his\r
+practice did him in counteracting his personal cares. He had no longer\r
+free energy enough for spontaneous research and speculative thinking,\r
+but by the bedside of patients, the direct external calls on his\r
+judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw him\r
+out of himself. It was not simply that beneficent harness of routine\r
+which enables silly men to live respectably and unhappy men to live\r
+calmly--it was a perpetual claim on the immediate fresh application of\r
+thought, and on the consideration of another's need and trial. Many of\r
+us looking back through life would say that the kindest man we have\r
+ever known has been a medical man, or perhaps that surgeon whose fine\r
+tact, directed by deeply informed perception, has come to us in our\r
+need with a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-workers. Some\r
+of that twice-blessed mercy was always with Lydgate in his work at the\r
+Hospital or in private houses, serving better than any opiate to quiet\r
+and sustain him under his anxieties and his sense of mental degeneracy.\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother's suspicion as to the opiate was true, however. Under\r
+the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and the first\r
+perception that his marriage, if it were not to be a yoked loneliness,\r
+must be a state of effort to go on loving without too much care about\r
+being loved, he had once or twice tried a dose of opium. But he had no\r
+hereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from the\r
+hauntings of misery. He was strong, could drink a great deal of wine,\r
+but did not care about it; and when the men round him were drinking\r
+spirits, he took sugar and water, having a contemptuous pity even for\r
+the earliest stages of excitement from drink. It was the same with\r
+gambling. He had looked on at a great deal of gambling in Paris,\r
+watching it as if it had been a disease. He was no more tempted by\r
+such winning than he was by drink. He had said to himself that the\r
+only winning he cared for must be attained by a conscious process of\r
+high, difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result. The\r
+power he longed for could not be represented by agitated fingers\r
+clutching a heap of coin, or by the half-barbarous, half-idiotic\r
+triumph in the eyes of a man who sweeps within his arms the ventures of\r
+twenty chapfallen companions.\r
+\r
+But just as he had tried opium, so his thought now began to turn upon\r
+gambling--not with appetite for its excitement, but with a sort of\r
+wistful inward gaze after that easy way of getting money, which implied\r
+no asking and brought no responsibility. If he had been in London or\r
+Paris at that time, it is probable that such thoughts, seconded by\r
+opportunity, would have taken him into a gambling-house, no longer to\r
+watch the gamblers, but to watch with them in kindred eagerness.\r
+Repugnance would have been surmounted by the immense need to win, if\r
+chance would be kind enough to let him. An incident which happened not\r
+very long after that airy notion of getting aid from his uncle had been\r
+excluded, was a strong sign of the effect that might have followed any\r
+extant opportunity of gambling.\r
+\r
+The billiard-room at the Green Dragon was the constant resort of a\r
+certain set, most of whom, like our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge, were\r
+regarded as men of pleasure. It was here that poor Fred Vincy had made\r
+part of his memorable debt, having lost money in betting, and been\r
+obliged to borrow of that gay companion. It was generally known in\r
+Middlemarch that a good deal of money was lost and won in this way; and\r
+the consequent repute of the Green Dragon as a place of dissipation\r
+naturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go there.\r
+Probably its regular visitants, like the initiates of freemasonry,\r
+wished that there were something a little more tremendous to keep to\r
+themselves concerning it; but they were not a closed community, and\r
+many decent seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned into the\r
+billiard-room to see what was going on. Lydgate, who had the muscular\r
+aptitude for billiards, and was fond of the game, had once or twice in\r
+the early days after his arrival in Middlemarch taken his turn with the\r
+cue at the Green Dragon; but afterwards he had no leisure for the game,\r
+and no inclination for the socialities there. One evening, however, he\r
+had occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge at that resort. The horsedealer had\r
+engaged to get him a customer for his remaining good horse, for which\r
+Lydgate had determined to substitute a cheap hack, hoping by this\r
+reduction of style to get perhaps twenty pounds; and he cared now for\r
+every small sum, as a help towards feeding the patience of his\r
+tradesmen. To run up to the billiard-room, as he was passing, would\r
+save time.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, but would be sure to arrive by-and-by,\r
+said his friend Mr. Horrock; and Lydgate stayed, playing a game for the\r
+sake of passing the time. That evening he had the peculiar light in\r
+the eyes and the unusual vivacity which had been once noticed in him by\r
+Mr. Farebrother. The exceptional fact of his presence was much noticed\r
+in the room, where there was a good deal of Middlemarch company; and\r
+several lookers-on, as well as some of the players, were betting with\r
+animation. Lydgate was playing well, and felt confident; the bets were\r
+dropping round him, and with a swift glancing thought of the probable\r
+gain which might double the sum he was saving from his horse, he began\r
+to bet on his own play, and won again and again. Mr. Bambridge had\r
+come in, but Lydgate did not notice him. He was not only excited with\r
+his play, but visions were gleaming on him of going the next day to\r
+Brassing, where there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, and\r
+where, by one powerful snatch at the devil's bait, he might carry it\r
+off without the hook, and buy his rescue from his daily solicitings.\r
+\r
+He was still winning when two new visitors entered. One of them was a\r
+young Hawley, just come from his law studies in town, and the other was\r
+Fred Vincy, who had spent several evenings of late at this old haunt of\r
+his. Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player, brought a cool\r
+fresh hand to the cue. But Fred Vincy, startled at seeing Lydgate, and\r
+astonished to see him betting with an excited air, stood aside, and\r
+kept out of the circle round the table.\r
+\r
+Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of late. He had\r
+been working heartily for six months at all outdoor occupations under\r
+Mr. Garth, and by dint of severe practice had nearly mastered the\r
+defects of his handwriting, this practice being, perhaps, a little the\r
+less severe that it was often carried on in the evening at Mr. Garth's\r
+under the eyes of Mary. But the last fortnight Mary had been staying\r
+at Lowick Parsonage with the ladies there, during Mr. Farebrother's\r
+residence in Middlemarch, where he was carrying out some parochial\r
+plans; and Fred, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, had turned\r
+into the Green Dragon, partly to play at billiards, partly to taste the\r
+old flavor of discourse about horses, sport, and things in general,\r
+considered from a point of view which was not strenuously correct. He\r
+had not been out hunting once this season, had had no horse of his own\r
+to ride, and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth in his\r
+gig, or on the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him. It was a\r
+little too bad, Fred began to think, that he should be kept in the\r
+traces with more severity than if he had been a clergyman. "I will\r
+tell you what, Mistress Mary--it will be rather harder work to learn\r
+surveying and drawing plans than it would have been to write sermons,"\r
+he had said, wishing her to appreciate what he went through for her\r
+sake; "and as to Hercules and Theseus, they were nothing to me. They\r
+had sport, and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand." And now,\r
+Mary being out of the way for a little while, Fred, like any other\r
+strong dog who cannot slip his collar, had pulled up the staple of his\r
+chain and made a small escape, not of course meaning to go fast or far.\r
+There could be no reason why he should not play at billiards, but he\r
+was determined not to bet. As to money just now, Fred had in his mind\r
+the heroic project of saving almost all of the eighty pounds that Mr.\r
+Garth offered him, and returning it, which he could easily do by giving\r
+up all futile money-spending, since he had a superfluous stock of\r
+clothes, and no expense in his board. In that way he could, in one\r
+year, go a good way towards repaying the ninety pounds of which he had\r
+deprived Mrs. Garth, unhappily at a time when she needed that sum more\r
+than she did now. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that on this\r
+evening, which was the fifth of his recent visits to the billiard-room,\r
+Fred had, not in his pocket, but in his mind, the ten pounds which he\r
+meant to reserve for himself from his half-year's salary (having before\r
+him the pleasure of carrying thirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was likely\r
+to be come home again)--he had those ten pounds in his mind as a fund\r
+from which he might risk something, if there were a chance of a good\r
+bet. Why? Well, when sovereigns were flying about, why shouldn't he\r
+catch a few? He would never go far along that road again; but a man\r
+likes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally, what he could\r
+do in the way of mischief if he chose, and that if he abstains from\r
+making himself ill, or beggaring himself, or talking with the utmost\r
+looseness which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it is\r
+not because he is a spooney. Fred did not enter into formal reasons,\r
+which are a very artificial, inexact way of representing the tingling\r
+returns of old habit, and the caprices of young blood: but there was\r
+lurking in him a prophetic sense that evening, that when he began to\r
+play he should also begin to bet--that he should enjoy some\r
+punch-drinking, and in general prepare himself for feeling "rather\r
+seedy" in the morning. It is in such indefinable movements that action\r
+often begins.\r
+\r
+But the last thing likely to have entered Fred's expectation was that\r
+he should see his brother-in-law Lydgate--of whom he had never quite\r
+dropped the old opinion that he was a prig, and tremendously conscious\r
+of his superiority--looking excited and betting, just as he himself\r
+might have done. Fred felt a shock greater than he could quite account\r
+for by the vague knowledge that Lydgate was in debt, and that his\r
+father had refused to help him; and his own inclination to enter into\r
+the play was suddenly checked. It was a strange reversal of attitudes:\r
+Fred's blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless, ready to\r
+give attention to anything that held out a promise of amusement,\r
+looking involuntarily grave and almost embarrassed as if by the sight\r
+of something unfitting; while Lydgate, who had habitually an air of\r
+self-possessed strength, and a certain meditativeness that seemed to\r
+lie behind his most observant attention, was acting, watching, speaking\r
+with that excited narrow consciousness which reminds one of an animal\r
+with fierce eyes and retractile claws.\r
+\r
+Lydgate, by betting on his own strokes, had won sixteen pounds; but\r
+young Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things. He made\r
+first-rate strokes himself, and began to bet against Lydgate's strokes,\r
+the strain of whose nerves was thus changed from simple confidence in\r
+his own movements to defying another person's doubt in them. The\r
+defiance was more exciting than the confidence, but it was less sure.\r
+He continued to bet on his own play, but began often to fail. Still he\r
+went on, for his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous\r
+crevice of play as if he had been the most ignorant lounger there.\r
+Fred observed that Lydgate was losing fast, and found himself in the\r
+new situation of puzzling his brains to think of some device by which,\r
+without being offensive, he could withdraw Lydgate's attention, and\r
+perhaps suggest to him a reason for quitting the room. He saw that\r
+others were observing Lydgate's strange unlikeness to himself, and it\r
+occurred to him that merely to touch his elbow and call him aside for a\r
+moment might rouse him from his absorption. He could think of nothing\r
+cleverer than the daring improbability of saying that he wanted to see\r
+Rosy, and wished to know if she were at home this evening; and he was\r
+going desperately to carry out this weak device, when a waiter came up\r
+to him with a message, saying that Mr. Farebrother was below, and\r
+begged to speak with him.\r
+\r
+Fred was surprised, not quite comfortably, but sending word that he\r
+would be down immediately, he went with a new impulse up to Lydgate,\r
+said, "Can I speak to you a moment?" and drew him aside.\r
+\r
+"Farebrother has just sent up a message to say that he wants to speak\r
+to me. He is below. I thought you might like to know he was there, if\r
+you had anything to say to him."\r
+\r
+Fred had simply snatched up this pretext for speaking, because he could\r
+not say, "You are losing confoundedly, and are making everybody stare\r
+at you; you had better come away." But inspiration could hardly have\r
+served him better. Lydgate had not before seen that Fred was present,\r
+and his sudden appearance with an announcement of Mr. Farebrother had\r
+the effect of a sharp concussion.\r
+\r
+"No, no," said Lydgate; "I have nothing particular to say to him.\r
+But--the game is up--I must be going--I came in just to see Bambridge."\r
+\r
+"Bambridge is over there, but he is making a row--I don't think he's\r
+ready for business. Come down with me to Farebrother. I expect he is\r
+going to blow me up, and you will shield me," said Fred, with some\r
+adroitness.\r
+\r
+Lydgate felt shame, but could not bear to act as if he felt it, by\r
+refusing to see Mr. Farebrother; and he went down. They merely shook\r
+hands, however, and spoke of the frost; and when all three had turned\r
+into the street, the Vicar seemed quite willing to say good-by to\r
+Lydgate. His present purpose was clearly to talk with Fred alone, and\r
+he said, kindly, "I disturbed you, young gentleman, because I have some\r
+pressing business with you. Walk with me to St. Botolph's, will you?"\r
+\r
+It was a fine night, the sky thick with stars, and Mr. Farebrother\r
+proposed that they should make a circuit to the old church by the\r
+London road. The next thing he said was--\r
+\r
+"I thought Lydgate never went to the Green Dragon?"\r
+\r
+"So did I," said Fred. "But he said that he went to see Bambridge."\r
+\r
+"He was not playing, then?"\r
+\r
+Fred had not meant to tell this, but he was obliged now to say, "Yes,\r
+he was. But I suppose it was an accidental thing. I have never seen\r
+him there before."\r
+\r
+"You have been going often yourself, then, lately?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, about five or six times."\r
+\r
+"I think you had some good reason for giving up the habit of going\r
+there?"\r
+\r
+"Yes. You know all about it," said Fred, not liking to be catechised\r
+in this way. "I made a clean breast to you."\r
+\r
+"I suppose that gives me a warrant to speak about the matter now. It\r
+is understood between us, is it not?--that we are on a footing of open\r
+friendship: I have listened to you, and you will be willing to listen\r
+to me. I may take my turn in talking a little about myself?"\r
+\r
+"I am under the deepest obligation to you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred,\r
+in a state of uncomfortable surmise.\r
+\r
+"I will not affect to deny that you are under some obligation to me.\r
+But I am going to confess to you, Fred, that I have been tempted to\r
+reverse all that by keeping silence with you just now. When somebody\r
+said to me, 'Young Vincy has taken to being at the billiard-table every\r
+night again--he won't bear the curb long;' I was tempted to do the\r
+opposite of what I am doing--to hold my tongue and wait while you went\r
+down the ladder again, betting first and then--"\r
+\r
+"I have not made any bets," said Fred, hastily.\r
+\r
+"Glad to hear it. But I say, my prompting was to look on and see you\r
+take the wrong turning, wear out Garth's patience, and lose the best\r
+opportunity of your life--the opportunity which you made some rather\r
+difficult effort to secure. You can guess the feeling which raised\r
+that temptation in me--I am sure you know it. I am sure you know that\r
+the satisfaction of your affections stands in the way of mine."\r
+\r
+There was a pause. Mr. Farebrother seemed to wait for a recognition of\r
+the fact; and the emotion perceptible in the tones of his fine voice\r
+gave solemnity to his words. But no feeling could quell Fred's alarm.\r
+\r
+"I could not be expected to give her up," he said, after a moment's\r
+hesitation: it was not a case for any pretence of generosity.\r
+\r
+"Clearly not, when her affection met yours. But relations of this\r
+sort, even when they are of long standing, are always liable to change.\r
+I can easily conceive that you might act in a way to loosen the tie she\r
+feels towards you--it must be remembered that she is only conditionally\r
+bound to you--and that in that case, another man, who may flatter\r
+himself that he has a hold on her regard, might succeed in winning that\r
+firm place in her love as well as respect which you had let slip. I\r
+can easily conceive such a result," repeated Mr. Farebrother,\r
+emphatically. "There is a companionship of ready sympathy, which might\r
+get the advantage even over the longest associations." It seemed to\r
+Fred that if Mr. Farebrother had had a beak and talons instead of his\r
+very capable tongue, his mode of attack could hardly be more cruel. He\r
+had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statement\r
+there was a knowledge of some actual change in Mary's feeling.\r
+\r
+"Of course I know it might easily be all up with me," he said, in a\r
+troubled voice. "If she is beginning to compare--" He broke off, not\r
+liking to betray all he felt, and then said, by the help of a little\r
+bitterness, "But I thought you were friendly to me."\r
+\r
+"So I am; that is why we are here. But I have had a strong disposition\r
+to be otherwise. I have said to myself, 'If there is a likelihood of\r
+that youngster doing himself harm, why should you interfere? Aren't\r
+you worth as much as he is, and don't your sixteen years over and above\r
+his, in which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right to\r
+satisfaction than he has? If there's a chance of his going to the\r
+dogs, let him--perhaps you could nohow hinder it--and do you take the\r
+benefit.'"\r
+\r
+There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most uncomfortable\r
+chill. What was coming next? He dreaded to hear that something had\r
+been said to Mary--he felt as if he were listening to a threat rather\r
+than a warning. When the Vicar began again there was a change in his\r
+tone like the encouraging transition to a major key.\r
+\r
+"But I had once meant better than that, and I am come back to my old\r
+intention. I thought that I could hardly _secure myself_ in it better,\r
+Fred, than by telling you just what had gone on in me. And now, do you\r
+understand me? I want you to make the happiness of her life and your\r
+own, and if there is any chance that a word of warning from me may turn\r
+aside any risk to the contrary--well, I have uttered it."\r
+\r
+There was a drop in the Vicar's voice when he spoke the last words. He\r
+paused--they were standing on a patch of green where the road diverged\r
+towards St. Botolph's, and he put out his hand, as if to imply that the\r
+conversation was closed. Fred was moved quite newly. Some one highly\r
+susceptible to the contemplation of a fine act has said, that it\r
+produces a sort of regenerating shudder through the frame, and makes\r
+one feel ready to begin a new life. A good degree of that effect was\r
+just then present in Fred Vincy.\r
+\r
+"I will try to be worthy," he said, breaking off before he could say\r
+"of you as well as of her." And meanwhile Mr. Farebrother had gathered\r
+the impulse to say something more.\r
+\r
+"You must not imagine that I believe there is at present any decline in\r
+her preference of you, Fred. Set your heart at rest, that if you keep\r
+right, other things will keep right."\r
+\r
+"I shall never forget what you have done," Fred answered. "I can't say\r
+anything that seems worth saying--only I will try that your goodness\r
+shall not be thrown away."\r
+\r
+"That's enough. Good-by, and God bless you."\r
+\r
+In that way they parted. But both of them walked about a long while\r
+before they went out of the starlight. Much of Fred's rumination might\r
+be summed up in the words, "It certainly would have been a fine thing\r
+for her to marry Farebrother--but if she loves me best and I am a good\r
+husband?"\r
+\r
+Perhaps Mr. Farebrother's might be concentrated into a single shrug and\r
+one little speech. "To think of the part one little woman can play in\r
+the life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a very good imitation\r
+of heroism, and to win her may be a discipline!"\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXVII.\r
+\r
+ Now is there civil war within the soul:\r
+ Resolve is thrust from off the sacred throne\r
+ By clamorous Needs, and Pride the grand-vizier\r
+ Makes humble compact, plays the supple part\r
+ Of envoy and deft-tongued apologist\r
+ For hungry rebels.\r
+\r
+\r
+Happily Lydgate had ended by losing in the billiard-room, and brought\r
+away no encouragement to make a raid on luck. On the contrary, he felt\r
+unmixed disgust with himself the next day when he had to pay four or\r
+five pounds over and above his gains, and he carried about with him a\r
+most unpleasant vision of the figure he had made, not only rubbing\r
+elbows with the men at the Green Dragon but behaving just as they did.\r
+A philosopher fallen to betting is hardly distinguishable from a\r
+Philistine under the same circumstances: the difference will chiefly be\r
+found in his subsequent reflections, and Lydgate chewed a very\r
+disagreeable cud in that way. His reason told him how the affair might\r
+have been magnified into ruin by a slight change of scenery--if it had\r
+been a gambling-house that he had turned into, where chance could be\r
+clutched with both hands instead of being picked up with thumb and\r
+fore-finger. Nevertheless, though reason strangled the desire to\r
+gamble, there remained the feeling that, with an assurance of luck to\r
+the needful amount, he would have liked to gamble, rather than take the\r
+alternative which was beginning to urge itself as inevitable.\r
+\r
+That alternative was to apply to Mr. Bulstrode. Lydgate had so many\r
+times boasted both to himself and others that he was totally\r
+independent of Bulstrode, to whose plans he had lent himself solely\r
+because they enabled him to carry out his own ideas of professional\r
+work and public benefit--he had so constantly in their personal\r
+intercourse had his pride sustained by the sense that he was making a\r
+good social use of this predominating banker, whose opinions he thought\r
+contemptible and whose motives often seemed to him an absurd mixture of\r
+contradictory impressions--that he had been creating for himself\r
+strong ideal obstacles to the proffering of any considerable request to\r
+him on his own account.\r
+\r
+Still, early in March his affairs were at that pass in which men begin\r
+to say that their oaths were delivered in ignorance, and to perceive\r
+that the act which they had called impossible to them is becoming\r
+manifestly possible. With Dover's ugly security soon to be put in\r
+force, with the proceeds of his practice immediately absorbed in paying\r
+back debts, and with the chance, if the worst were known, of daily\r
+supplies being refused on credit, above all with the vision of\r
+Rosamond's hopeless discontent continually haunting him, Lydgate had\r
+begun to see that he should inevitably bend himself to ask help from\r
+somebody or other. At first he had considered whether he should write\r
+to Mr. Vincy; but on questioning Rosamond he found that, as he had\r
+suspected, she had already applied twice to her father, the last time\r
+being since the disappointment from Sir Godwin; and papa had said that\r
+Lydgate must look out for himself. "Papa said he had come, with one\r
+bad year after another, to trade more and more on borrowed capital, and\r
+had had to give up many indulgences; he could not spare a single\r
+hundred from the charges of his family. He said, let Lydgate ask\r
+Bulstrode: they have always been hand and glove."\r
+\r
+Indeed, Lydgate himself had come to the conclusion that if he must end\r
+by asking for a free loan, his relations with Bulstrode, more at least\r
+than with any other man, might take the shape of a claim which was not\r
+purely personal. Bulstrode had indirectly helped to cause the failure\r
+of his practice, and had also been highly gratified by getting a\r
+medical partner in his plans:--but who among us ever reduced himself\r
+to the sort of dependence in which Lydgate now stood, without trying to\r
+believe that he had claims which diminished the humiliation of asking?\r
+It was true that of late there had seemed to be a new languor of\r
+interest in Bulstrode about the Hospital; but his health had got worse,\r
+and showed signs of a deep-seated nervous affection. In other respects\r
+he did not appear to be changed: he had always been highly polite, but\r
+Lydgate had observed in him from the first a marked coldness about his\r
+marriage and other private circumstances, a coldness which he had\r
+hitherto preferred to any warmth of familiarity between them. He\r
+deferred the intention from day to day, his habit of acting on his\r
+conclusions being made infirm by his repugnance to every possible\r
+conclusion and its consequent act. He saw Mr. Bulstrode often, but he\r
+did not try to use any occasion for his private purpose. At one moment\r
+he thought, "I will write a letter: I prefer that to any circuitous\r
+talk;" at another he thought, "No; if I were talking to him, I could\r
+make a retreat before any signs of disinclination."\r
+\r
+Still the days passed and no letter was written, no special interview\r
+sought. In his shrinking from the humiliation of a dependent attitude\r
+towards Bulstrode, he began to familiarize his imagination with another\r
+step even more unlike his remembered self. He began spontaneously to\r
+consider whether it would be possible to carry out that puerile notion\r
+of Rosamond's which had often made him angry, namely, that they should\r
+quit Middlemarch without seeing anything beyond that preface. The\r
+question came--"Would any man buy the practice of me even now, for as\r
+little as it is worth? Then the sale might happen as a necessary\r
+preparation for going away."\r
+\r
+But against his taking this step, which he still felt to be a\r
+contemptible relinquishment of present work, a guilty turning aside\r
+from what was a real and might be a widening channel for worthy\r
+activity, to start again without any justified destination, there was\r
+this obstacle, that the purchaser, if procurable at all, might not be\r
+quickly forthcoming. And afterwards? Rosamond in a poor lodging,\r
+though in the largest city or most distant town, would not find the\r
+life that could save her from gloom, and save him from the reproach of\r
+having plunged her into it. For when a man is at the foot of the hill\r
+in his fortunes, he may stay a long while there in spite of\r
+professional accomplishment. In the British climate there is no\r
+incompatibility between scientific insight and furnished lodgings: the\r
+incompatibility is chiefly between scientific ambition and a wife who\r
+objects to that kind of residence.\r
+\r
+But in the midst of his hesitation, opportunity came to decide him. A\r
+note from Mr. Bulstrode requested Lydgate to call on him at the Bank.\r
+A hypochondriacal tendency had shown itself in the banker's\r
+constitution of late; and a lack of sleep, which was really only a\r
+slight exaggeration of an habitual dyspeptic symptom, had been dwelt on\r
+by him as a sign of threatening insanity. He wanted to consult Lydgate\r
+without delay on that particular morning, although he had nothing to\r
+tell beyond what he had told before. He listened eagerly to what\r
+Lydgate had to say in dissipation of his fears, though this too was\r
+only repetition; and this moment in which Bulstrode was receiving a\r
+medical opinion with a sense of comfort, seemed to make the\r
+communication of a personal need to him easier than it had been in\r
+Lydgate's contemplation beforehand. He had been insisting that it\r
+would be well for Mr. Bulstrode to relax his attention to business.\r
+\r
+"One sees how any mental strain, however slight, may affect a delicate\r
+frame," said Lydgate at that stage of the consultation when the remarks\r
+tend to pass from the personal to the general, "by the deep stamp which\r
+anxiety will make for a time even on the young and vigorous. I am\r
+naturally very strong; yet I have been thoroughly shaken lately by an\r
+accumulation of trouble."\r
+\r
+"I presume that a constitution in the susceptible state in which mine\r
+at present is, would be especially liable to fall a victim to cholera,\r
+if it visited our district. And since its appearance near London, we\r
+may well besiege the Mercy-seat for our protection," said Mr.\r
+Bulstrode, not intending to evade Lydgate's allusion, but really\r
+preoccupied with alarms about himself.\r
+\r
+"You have at all events taken your share in using good practical\r
+precautions for the town, and that is the best mode of asking for\r
+protection," said Lydgate, with a strong distaste for the broken\r
+metaphor and bad logic of the banker's religion, somewhat increased by\r
+the apparent deafness of his sympathy. But his mind had taken up its\r
+long-prepared movement towards getting help, and was not yet arrested.\r
+He added, "The town has done well in the way of cleansing, and finding\r
+appliances; and I think that if the cholera should come, even our\r
+enemies will admit that the arrangements in the Hospital are a public\r
+good."\r
+\r
+"Truly," said Mr. Bulstrode, with some coldness. "With regard to what\r
+you say, Mr. Lydgate, about the relaxation of my mental labor, I have\r
+for some time been entertaining a purpose to that effect--a purpose of\r
+a very decided character. I contemplate at least a temporary\r
+withdrawal from the management of much business, whether benevolent or\r
+commercial. Also I think of changing my residence for a time: probably\r
+I shall close or let 'The Shrubs,' and take some place near the\r
+coast--under advice of course as to salubrity. That would be a measure\r
+which you would recommend?"\r
+\r
+"Oh yes," said Lydgate, falling backward in his chair, with\r
+ill-repressed impatience under the banker's pale earnest eyes and\r
+intense preoccupation with himself.\r
+\r
+"I have for some time felt that I should open this subject with you in\r
+relation to our Hospital," continued Bulstrode. "Under the\r
+circumstances I have indicated, of course I must cease to have any\r
+personal share in the management, and it is contrary to my views of\r
+responsibility to continue a large application of means to an\r
+institution which I cannot watch over and to some extent regulate. I\r
+shall therefore, in case of my ultimate decision to leave Middlemarch,\r
+consider that I withdraw other support to the New Hospital than that\r
+which will subsist in the fact that I chiefly supplied the expenses of\r
+building it, and have contributed further large sums to its successful\r
+working."\r
+\r
+Lydgate's thought, when Bulstrode paused according to his wont, was,\r
+"He has perhaps been losing a good deal of money." This was the most\r
+plausible explanation of a speech which had caused rather a startling\r
+change in his expectations. He said in reply--\r
+\r
+"The loss to the Hospital can hardly be made up, I fear."\r
+\r
+"Hardly," returned Bulstrode, in the same deliberate, silvery tone;\r
+"except by some changes of plan. The only person who may be certainly\r
+counted on as willing to increase her contributions is Mrs. Casaubon.\r
+I have had an interview with her on the subject, and I have pointed out\r
+to her, as I am about to do to you, that it will be desirable to win a\r
+more general support to the New Hospital by a change of system."\r
+Another pause, but Lydgate did not speak.\r
+\r
+"The change I mean is an amalgamation with the Infirmary, so that the\r
+New Hospital shall be regarded as a special addition to the elder\r
+institution, having the same directing board. It will be necessary,\r
+also, that the medical management of the two shall be combined. In\r
+this way any difficulty as to the adequate maintenance of our new\r
+establishment will be removed; the benevolent interests of the town\r
+will cease to be divided."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode had lowered his eyes from Lydgate's face to the buttons\r
+of his coat as he again paused.\r
+\r
+"No doubt that is a good device as to ways and means," said Lydgate,\r
+with an edge of irony in his tone. "But I can't be expected to rejoice\r
+in it at once, since one of the first results will be that the other\r
+medical men will upset or interrupt my methods, if it were only because\r
+they are mine."\r
+\r
+"I myself, as you know, Mr. Lydgate, highly valued the opportunity of\r
+new and independent procedure which you have diligently employed: the\r
+original plan, I confess, was one which I had much at heart, under\r
+submission to the Divine Will. But since providential indications\r
+demand a renunciation from me, I renounce."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode showed a rather exasperating ability in this conversation.\r
+The broken metaphor and bad logic of motive which had stirred his\r
+hearer's contempt were quite consistent with a mode of putting the\r
+facts which made it difficult for Lydgate to vent his own indignation\r
+and disappointment. After some rapid reflection, he only asked--\r
+\r
+"What did Mrs. Casaubon say?"\r
+\r
+"That was the further statement which I wished to make to you," said\r
+Bulstrode, who had thoroughly prepared his ministerial explanation.\r
+"She is, you are aware, a woman of most munificent disposition, and\r
+happily in possession--not I presume of great wealth, but of funds\r
+which she can well spare. She has informed me that though she has\r
+destined the chief part of those funds to another purpose, she is\r
+willing to consider whether she cannot fully take my place in relation\r
+to the Hospital. But she wishes for ample time to mature her thoughts\r
+on the subject, and I have told her that there is no need for\r
+haste--that, in fact, my own plans are not yet absolute."\r
+\r
+Lydgate was ready to say, "If Mrs. Casaubon would take your place,\r
+there would be gain, instead of loss." But there was still a weight on\r
+his mind which arrested this cheerful candor. He replied, "I suppose,\r
+then, that I may enter into the subject with Mrs. Casaubon."\r
+\r
+"Precisely; that is what she expressly desires. Her decision, she\r
+says, will much depend on what you can tell her. But not at present:\r
+she is, I believe, just setting out on a journey. I have her letter\r
+here," said Mr. Bulstrode, drawing it out, and reading from it. "'I am\r
+immediately otherwise engaged,' she says. 'I am going into Yorkshire\r
+with Sir James and Lady Chettam; and the conclusions I come to about\r
+some land which I am to see there may affect my power of contributing\r
+to the Hospital.' Thus, Mr. Lydgate, there is no haste necessary in\r
+this matter; but I wished to apprise you beforehand of what may\r
+possibly occur."\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode returned the letter to his side-pocket, and changed his\r
+attitude as if his business were closed. Lydgate, whose renewed hope\r
+about the Hospital only made him more conscious of the facts which\r
+poisoned his hope, felt that his effort after help, if made at all,\r
+must be made now and vigorously.\r
+\r
+"I am much obliged to you for giving me full notice," he said, with a\r
+firm intention in his tone, yet with an interruptedness in his delivery\r
+which showed that he spoke unwillingly. "The highest object to me is\r
+my profession, and I had identified the Hospital with the best use I\r
+can at present make of my profession. But the best use is not always\r
+the same with monetary success. Everything which has made the Hospital\r
+unpopular has helped with other causes--I think they are all connected\r
+with my professional zeal--to make me unpopular as a practitioner. I\r
+get chiefly patients who can't pay me. I should like them best, if I\r
+had nobody to pay on my own side." Lydgate waited a little, but\r
+Bulstrode only bowed, looking at him fixedly, and he went on with the\r
+same interrupted enunciation--as if he were biting an objectional leek.\r
+\r
+"I have slipped into money difficulties which I can see no way out of,\r
+unless some one who trusts me and my future will advance me a sum\r
+without other security. I had very little fortune left when I came\r
+here. I have no prospects of money from my own family. My expenses,\r
+in consequence of my marriage, have been very much greater than I had\r
+expected. The result at this moment is that it would take a thousand\r
+pounds to clear me. I mean, to free me from the risk of having all my\r
+goods sold in security of my largest debt--as well as to pay my other\r
+debts--and leave anything to keep us a little beforehand with our small\r
+income. I find that it is out of the question that my wife's father\r
+should make such an advance. That is why I mention my position to--to\r
+the only other man who may be held to have some personal connection\r
+with my prosperity or ruin."\r
+\r
+Lydgate hated to hear himself. But he had spoken now, and had spoken\r
+with unmistakable directness. Mr. Bulstrode replied without haste, but\r
+also without hesitation.\r
+\r
+"I am grieved, though, I confess, not surprised by this information,\r
+Mr. Lydgate. For my own part, I regretted your alliance with my\r
+brother-in-law's family, which has always been of prodigal habits, and\r
+which has already been much indebted to me for sustainment in its\r
+present position. My advice to you, Mr. Lydgate, would be, that\r
+instead of involving yourself in further obligations, and continuing a\r
+doubtful struggle, you should simply become a bankrupt."\r
+\r
+"That would not improve my prospect," said Lydgate, rising and speaking\r
+bitterly, "even if it were a more agreeable thing in itself."\r
+\r
+"It is always a trial," said Mr. Bulstrode; "but trial, my dear sir, is\r
+our portion here, and is a needed corrective. I recommend you to weigh\r
+the advice I have given."\r
+\r
+"Thank you," said Lydgate, not quite knowing what he said. "I have\r
+occupied you too long. Good-day."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXVIII.\r
+\r
+ "What suit of grace hath Virtue to put on\r
+ If Vice shall wear as good, and do as well?\r
+ If Wrong, if Craft, if Indiscretion\r
+ Act as fair parts with ends as laudable?\r
+ Which all this mighty volume of events\r
+ The world, the universal map of deeds,\r
+ Strongly controls, and proves from all descents,\r
+ That the directest course still best succeeds.\r
+ For should not grave and learn'd Experience\r
+ That looks with the eyes of all the world beside,\r
+ And with all ages holds intelligence,\r
+ Go safer than Deceit without a guide!\r
+ --DANIEL: Musophilus.\r
+\r
+\r
+That change of plan and shifting of interest which Bulstrode stated or\r
+betrayed in his conversation with Lydgate, had been determined in him\r
+by some severe experience which he had gone through since the epoch of\r
+Mr. Larcher's sale, when Raffles had recognized Will Ladislaw, and when\r
+the banker had in vain attempted an act of restitution which might move\r
+Divine Providence to arrest painful consequences.\r
+\r
+His certainty that Raffles, unless he were dead, would return to\r
+Middlemarch before long, had been justified. On Christmas Eve he had\r
+reappeared at The Shrubs. Bulstrode was at home to receive him, and\r
+hinder his communication with the rest of the family, but he could not\r
+altogether hinder the circumstances of the visit from compromising\r
+himself and alarming his wife. Raffles proved more unmanageable than\r
+he had shown himself to be in his former appearances, his chronic state\r
+of mental restlessness, the growing effect of habitual intemperance,\r
+quickly shaking off every impression from what was said to him. He\r
+insisted on staying in the house, and Bulstrode, weighing two sets of\r
+evils, felt that this was at least not a worse alternative than his\r
+going into the town. He kept him in his own room for the evening and\r
+saw him to bed, Raffles all the while amusing himself with the\r
+annoyance he was causing this decent and highly prosperous\r
+fellow-sinner, an amusement which he facetiously expressed as sympathy\r
+with his friend's pleasure in entertaining a man who had been\r
+serviceable to him, and who had not had all his earnings. There was a\r
+cunning calculation under this noisy joking--a cool resolve to extract\r
+something the handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this\r
+new application of torture. But his cunning had a little overcast its\r
+mark.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode was indeed more tortured than the coarse fibre of Raffles\r
+could enable him to imagine. He had told his wife that he was simply\r
+taking care of this wretched creature, the victim of vice, who might\r
+otherwise injure himself; he implied, without the direct form of\r
+falsehood, that there was a family tie which bound him to this care,\r
+and that there were signs of mental alienation in Raffles which urged\r
+caution. He would himself drive the unfortunate being away the next\r
+morning. In these hints he felt that he was supplying Mrs. Bulstrode\r
+with precautionary information for his daughters and servants, and\r
+accounting for his allowing no one but himself to enter the room even\r
+with food and drink. But he sat in an agony of fear lest Raffles\r
+should be overheard in his loud and plain references to past facts--lest\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode should be even tempted to listen at the door. How\r
+could he hinder her, how betray his terror by opening the door to\r
+detect her? She was a woman of honest direct habits, and little likely\r
+to take so low a course in order to arrive at painful knowledge; but\r
+fear was stronger than the calculation of probabilities.\r
+\r
+In this way Raffles had pushed the torture too far, and produced an\r
+effect which had not been in his plan. By showing himself hopelessly\r
+unmanageable he had made Bulstrode feel that a strong defiance was the\r
+only resource left. After taking Raffles to bed that night the banker\r
+ordered his closed carriage to be ready at half-past seven the next\r
+morning. At six o'clock he had already been long dressed, and had\r
+spent some of his wretchedness in prayer, pleading his motives for\r
+averting the worst evil if in anything he had used falsity and spoken\r
+what was not true before God. For Bulstrode shrank from a direct lie\r
+with an intensity disproportionate to the number of his more indirect\r
+misdeeds. But many of these misdeeds were like the subtle muscular\r
+movements which are not taken account of in the consciousness, though\r
+they bring about the end that we fix our mind on and desire. And it is\r
+only what we are vividly conscious of that we can vividly imagine to be\r
+seen by Omniscience.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode carried his candle to the bedside of Raffles, who was\r
+apparently in a painful dream. He stood silent, hoping that the\r
+presence of the light would serve to waken the sleeper gradually and\r
+gently, for he feared some noise as the consequence of a too sudden\r
+awakening. He had watched for a couple of minutes or more the\r
+shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to end in waking, when\r
+Raffles, with a long half-stifled moan, started up and stared round him\r
+in terror, trembling and gasping. But he made no further noise, and\r
+Bulstrode, setting down the candle, awaited his recovery.\r
+\r
+It was a quarter of an hour later before Bulstrode, with a cold\r
+peremptoriness of manner which he had not before shown, said, "I came\r
+to call you thus early, Mr. Raffles, because I have ordered the\r
+carriage to be ready at half-past seven, and intend myself to conduct\r
+you as far as Ilsely, where you can either take the railway or await a\r
+coach." Raffles was about to speak, but Bulstrode anticipated him\r
+imperiously with the words, "Be silent, sir, and hear what I have to\r
+say. I shall supply you with money now, and I will furnish you with a\r
+reasonable sum from time to time, on your application to me by letter;\r
+but if you choose to present yourself here again, if you return to\r
+Middlemarch, if you use your tongue in a manner injurious to me, you\r
+will have to live on such fruits as your malice can bring you, without\r
+help from me. Nobody will pay you well for blasting my name: I know\r
+the worst you can do against me, and I shall brave it if you dare to\r
+thrust yourself upon me again. Get up, sir, and do as I order you,\r
+without noise, or I will send for a policeman to take you off my\r
+premises, and you may carry your stories into every pothouse in the\r
+town, but you shall have no sixpence from me to pay your expenses\r
+there."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode had rarely in his life spoken with such nervous energy: he\r
+had been deliberating on this speech and its probable effects through a\r
+large part of the night; and though he did not trust to its ultimately\r
+saving him from any return of Raffles, he had concluded that it was the\r
+best throw he could make. It succeeded in enforcing submission from\r
+the jaded man this morning: his empoisoned system at this moment\r
+quailed before Bulstrode's cold, resolute bearing, and he was taken off\r
+quietly in the carriage before the family breakfast time. The servants\r
+imagined him to be a poor relation, and were not surprised that a\r
+strict man like their master, who held his head high in the world,\r
+should be ashamed of such a cousin and want to get rid of him. The\r
+banker's drive of ten miles with his hated companion was a dreary\r
+beginning of the Christmas day; but at the end of the drive, Raffles\r
+had recovered his spirits, and parted in a contentment for which there\r
+was the good reason that the banker had given him a hundred pounds.\r
+Various motives urged Bulstrode to this open-handedness, but he did not\r
+himself inquire closely into all of them. As he had stood watching\r
+Raffles in his uneasy sleep, it had certainly entered his mind that the\r
+man had been much shattered since the first gift of two hundred pounds.\r
+\r
+He had taken care to repeat the incisive statement of his resolve not\r
+to be played on any more; and had tried to penetrate Raffles with the\r
+fact that he had shown the risks of bribing him to be quite equal to\r
+the risks of defying him. But when, freed from his repulsive presence,\r
+Bulstrode returned to his quiet home, he brought with him no confidence\r
+that he had secured more than a respite. It was as if he had had a\r
+loathsome dream, and could not shake off its images with their hateful\r
+kindred of sensations--as if on all the pleasant surroundings of his\r
+life a dangerous reptile had left his slimy traces.\r
+\r
+Who can know how much of his most inward life is made up of the\r
+thoughts he believes other men to have about him, until that fabric of\r
+opinion is threatened with ruin?\r
+\r
+Bulstrode was only the more conscious that there was a deposit of\r
+uneasy presentiment in his wife's mind, because she carefully avoided\r
+any allusion to it. He had been used every day to taste the flavor of\r
+supremacy and the tribute of complete deference: and the certainty that\r
+he was watched or measured with a hidden suspicion of his having some\r
+discreditable secret, made his voice totter when he was speaking to\r
+edification. Foreseeing, to men of Bulstrode's anxious temperament, is\r
+often worse than seeing; and his imagination continually heightened the\r
+anguish of an imminent disgrace. Yes, imminent; for if his defiance of\r
+Raffles did not keep the man away--and though he prayed for this result\r
+he hardly hoped for it--the disgrace was certain. In vain he said to\r
+himself that, if permitted, it would be a divine visitation, a\r
+chastisement, a preparation; he recoiled from the imagined burning; and\r
+he judged that it must be more for the Divine glory that he should\r
+escape dishonor. That recoil had at last urged him to make\r
+preparations for quitting Middlemarch. If evil truth must be reported\r
+of him, he would then be at a less scorching distance from the contempt\r
+of his old neighbors; and in a new scene, where his life would not have\r
+gathered the same wide sensibility, the tormentor, if he pursued him,\r
+would be less formidable. To leave the place finally would, he knew,\r
+be extremely painful to his wife, and on other grounds he would have\r
+preferred to stay where he had struck root. Hence he made his\r
+preparations at first in a conditional way, wishing to leave on all\r
+sides an opening for his return after brief absence, if any favorable\r
+intervention of Providence should dissipate his fears. He was\r
+preparing to transfer his management of the Bank, and to give up any\r
+active control of other commercial affairs in the neighborhood, on the\r
+ground of his failing health, but without excluding his future\r
+resumption of such work. The measure would cause him some added\r
+expense and some diminution of income beyond what he had already\r
+undergone from the general depression of trade; and the Hospital\r
+presented itself as a principal object of outlay on which he could\r
+fairly economize.\r
+\r
+This was the experience which had determined his conversation with\r
+Lydgate. But at this time his arrangements had most of them gone no\r
+farther than a stage at which he could recall them if they proved to be\r
+unnecessary. He continually deferred the final steps; in the midst of\r
+his fears, like many a man who is in danger of shipwreck or of being\r
+dashed from his carriage by runaway horses, he had a clinging\r
+impression that something would happen to hinder the worst, and that to\r
+spoil his life by a late transplantation might be over-hasty--especially\r
+since it was difficult to account satisfactorily to his wife for the\r
+project of their indefinite exile from the only place where she would\r
+like to live.\r
+\r
+Among the affairs Bulstrode had to care for, was the management of the\r
+farm at Stone Court in case of his absence; and on this as well as on\r
+all other matters connected with any houses and land he possessed in or\r
+about Middlemarch, he had consulted Caleb Garth. Like every one else\r
+who had business of that sort, he wanted to get the agent who was more\r
+anxious for his employer's interests than his own. With regard to\r
+Stone Court, since Bulstrode wished to retain his hold on the stock,\r
+and to have an arrangement by which he himself could, if he chose,\r
+resume his favorite recreation of superintendence, Caleb had advised\r
+him not to trust to a mere bailiff, but to let the land, stock, and\r
+implements yearly, and take a proportionate share of the proceeds.\r
+\r
+"May I trust to you to find me a tenant on these terms, Mr. Garth?"\r
+said Bulstrode. "And will you mention to me the yearly sum which would\r
+repay you for managing these affairs which we have discussed together?"\r
+\r
+"I'll think about it," said Caleb, in his blunt way. "I'll see how I\r
+can make it out."\r
+\r
+If it had not been that he had to consider Fred Vincy's future, Mr.\r
+Garth would not probably have been glad of any addition to his work, of\r
+which his wife was always fearing an excess for him as he grew older.\r
+But on quitting Bulstrode after that conversation, a very alluring idea\r
+occurred to him about this said letting of Stone Court. What if\r
+Bulstrode would agree to his placing Fred Vincy there on the\r
+understanding that he, Caleb Garth, should be responsible for the\r
+management? It would be an excellent schooling for Fred; he might make\r
+a modest income there, and still have time left to get knowledge by\r
+helping in other business. He mentioned his notion to Mrs. Garth with\r
+such evident delight that she could not bear to chill his pleasure by\r
+expressing her constant fear of his undertaking too much.\r
+\r
+"The lad would be as happy as two," he said, throwing himself back in\r
+his chair, and looking radiant, "if I could tell him it was all\r
+settled. Think; Susan! His mind had been running on that place for\r
+years before old Featherstone died. And it would be as pretty a turn\r
+of things as could be that he should hold the place in a good\r
+industrious way after all--by his taking to business. For it's likely\r
+enough Bulstrode might let him go on, and gradually buy the stock. He\r
+hasn't made up his mind, I can see, whether or not he shall settle\r
+somewhere else as a lasting thing. I never was better pleased with a\r
+notion in my life. And then the children might be married by-and-by,\r
+Susan."\r
+\r
+"You will not give any hint of the plan to Fred, until you are sure\r
+that Bulstrode would agree to the plan?" said Mrs. Garth, in a tone of\r
+gentle caution. "And as to marriage, Caleb, we old people need not\r
+help to hasten it."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I don't know," said Caleb, swinging his head aside. "Marriage is\r
+a taming thing. Fred would want less of my bit and bridle. However, I\r
+shall say nothing till I know the ground I'm treading on. I shall\r
+speak to Bulstrode again."\r
+\r
+He took his earliest opportunity of doing so. Bulstrode had anything\r
+but a warm interest in his nephew Fred Vincy, but he had a strong wish\r
+to secure Mr. Garth's services on many scattered points of business at\r
+which he was sure to be a considerable loser, if they were under less\r
+conscientious management. On that ground he made no objection to Mr.\r
+Garth's proposal; and there was also another reason why he was not\r
+sorry to give a consent which was to benefit one of the Vincy family.\r
+It was that Mrs. Bulstrode, having heard of Lydgate's debts, had been\r
+anxious to know whether her husband could not do something for poor\r
+Rosamond, and had been much troubled on learning from him that\r
+Lydgate's affairs were not easily remediable, and that the wisest plan\r
+was to let them "take their course." Mrs. Bulstrode had then said for\r
+the first time, "I think you are always a little hard towards my\r
+family, Nicholas. And I am sure I have no reason to deny any of my\r
+relatives. Too worldly they may be, but no one ever had to say that\r
+they were not respectable."\r
+\r
+"My dear Harriet," said Mr. Bulstrode, wincing under his wife's eyes,\r
+which were filling with tears, "I have supplied your brother with a\r
+great deal of capital. I cannot be expected to take care of his\r
+married children."\r
+\r
+That seemed to be true, and Mrs. Bulstrode's remonstrance subsided into\r
+pity for poor Rosamond, whose extravagant education she had always\r
+foreseen the fruits of.\r
+\r
+But remembering that dialogue, Mr. Bulstrode felt that when he had to\r
+talk to his wife fully about his plan of quitting Middlemarch, he\r
+should be glad to tell her that he had made an arrangement which might\r
+be for the good of her nephew Fred. At present he had merely mentioned\r
+to her that he thought of shutting up The Shrubs for a few months, and\r
+taking a house on the Southern Coast.\r
+\r
+Hence Mr. Garth got the assurance he desired, namely, that in case of\r
+Bulstrode's departure from Middlemarch for an indefinite time, Fred\r
+Vincy should be allowed to have the tenancy of Stone Court on the terms\r
+proposed.\r
+\r
+Caleb was so elated with his hope of this "neat turn" being given to\r
+things, that if his self-control had not been braced by a little\r
+affectionate wifely scolding, he would have betrayed everything to\r
+Mary, wanting "to give the child comfort." However, he restrained\r
+himself, and kept in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he\r
+was making to Stone Court, in order to look more thoroughly into the\r
+state of the land and stock, and take a preliminary estimate. He was\r
+certainly more eager in these visits than the probable speed of events\r
+required him to be; but he was stimulated by a fatherly delight in\r
+occupying his mind with this bit of probable happiness which he held in\r
+store like a hidden birthday gift for Fred and Mary.\r
+\r
+"But suppose the whole scheme should turn out to be a castle in the\r
+air?" said Mrs. Garth.\r
+\r
+"Well, well," replied Caleb; "the castle will tumble about nobody's\r
+head."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXIX.\r
+\r
+ "If thou hast heard a word, let it die with thee."\r
+ --Ecclesiasticus.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode was still seated in his manager's room at the Bank, about\r
+three o'clock of the same day on which he had received Lydgate there,\r
+when the clerk entered to say that his horse was waiting, and also that\r
+Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak with him.\r
+\r
+"By all means," said Bulstrode; and Caleb entered. "Pray sit down, Mr.\r
+Garth," continued the banker, in his suavest tone.\r
+\r
+"I am glad that you arrived just in time to find me here. I know you\r
+count your minutes."\r
+\r
+"Oh," said Caleb, gently, with a slow swing of his head on one side, as\r
+he seated himself and laid his hat on the floor.\r
+\r
+He looked at the ground, leaning forward and letting his long fingers\r
+droop between his legs, while each finger moved in succession, as if it\r
+were sharing some thought which filled his large quiet brow.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, like every one else who knew Caleb, was used to his\r
+slowness in beginning to speak on any topic which he felt to be\r
+important, and rather expected that he was about to recur to the buying\r
+of some houses in Blindman's Court, for the sake of pulling them down,\r
+as a sacrifice of property which would be well repaid by the influx of\r
+air and light on that spot. It was by propositions of this kind that\r
+Caleb was sometimes troublesome to his employers; but he had usually\r
+found Bulstrode ready to meet him in projects of improvement, and they\r
+had got on well together. When he spoke again, however, it was to say,\r
+in rather a subdued voice--\r
+\r
+"I have just come away from Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode."\r
+\r
+"You found nothing wrong there, I hope," said the banker; "I was there\r
+myself yesterday. Abel has done well with the lambs this year."\r
+\r
+"Why, yes," said Caleb, looking up gravely, "there is something wrong--a\r
+stranger, who is very ill, I think. He wants a doctor, and I came to\r
+tell you of that. His name is Raffles."\r
+\r
+He saw the shock of his words passing through Bulstrode's frame. On\r
+this subject the banker had thought that his fears were too constantly\r
+on the watch to be taken by surprise; but he had been mistaken.\r
+\r
+"Poor wretch!" he said in a compassionate tone, though his lips\r
+trembled a little. "Do you know how he came there?"\r
+\r
+"I took him myself," said Caleb, quietly--"took him up in my gig. He\r
+had got down from the coach, and was walking a little beyond the\r
+turning from the toll-house, and I overtook him. He remembered seeing\r
+me with you once before, at Stone Court, and he asked me to take him\r
+on. I saw he was ill: it seemed to me the right thing to do, to carry\r
+him under shelter. And now I think you should lose no time in getting\r
+advice for him." Caleb took up his hat from the floor as he ended, and\r
+rose slowly from his seat.\r
+\r
+"Certainly," said Bulstrode, whose mind was very active at this moment.\r
+"Perhaps you will yourself oblige me, Mr. Garth, by calling at Mr.\r
+Lydgate's as you pass--or stay! he may at this hour probably be at the\r
+Hospital. I will first send my man on the horse there with a note this\r
+instant, and then I will myself ride to Stone Court."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode quickly wrote a note, and went out himself to give the\r
+commission to his man. When he returned, Caleb was standing as before\r
+with one hand on the back of the chair, holding his hat with the other.\r
+In Bulstrode's mind the dominant thought was, "Perhaps Raffles only\r
+spoke to Garth of his illness. Garth may wonder, as he must have done\r
+before, at this disreputable fellow's claiming intimacy with me; but he\r
+will know nothing. And he is friendly to me--I can be of use to him."\r
+\r
+He longed for some confirmation of this hopeful conjecture, but to have\r
+asked any question as to what Raffles had said or done would have been\r
+to betray fear.\r
+\r
+"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Garth," he said, in his usual\r
+tone of politeness. "My servant will be back in a few minutes, and I\r
+shall then go myself to see what can be done for this unfortunate man.\r
+Perhaps you had some other business with me? If so, pray be seated."\r
+\r
+"Thank you," said Caleb, making a slight gesture with his right hand to\r
+waive the invitation. "I wish to say, Mr. Bulstrode, that I must\r
+request you to put your business into some other hands than mine. I am\r
+obliged to you for your handsome way of meeting me--about the letting\r
+of Stone Court, and all other business. But I must give it up." A\r
+sharp certainty entered like a stab into Bulstrode's soul.\r
+\r
+"This is sudden, Mr. Garth," was all he could say at first.\r
+\r
+"It is," said Caleb; "but it is quite fixed. I must give it up."\r
+\r
+He spoke with a firmness which was very gentle, and yet he could see\r
+that Bulstrode seemed to cower under that gentleness, his face looking\r
+dried and his eyes swerving away from the glance which rested on him.\r
+Caleb felt a deep pity for him, but he could have used no pretexts to\r
+account for his resolve, even if they would have been of any use.\r
+\r
+"You have been led to this, I apprehend, by some slanders concerning me\r
+uttered by that unhappy creature," said Bulstrode, anxious now to know\r
+the utmost.\r
+\r
+"That is true. I can't deny that I act upon what I heard from him."\r
+\r
+"You are a conscientious man, Mr. Garth--a man, I trust, who feels\r
+himself accountable to God. You would not wish to injure me by being\r
+too ready to believe a slander," said Bulstrode, casting about for\r
+pleas that might be adapted to his hearer's mind. "That is a poor\r
+reason for giving up a connection which I think I may say will be\r
+mutually beneficial."\r
+\r
+"I would injure no man if I could help it," said Caleb; "even if I\r
+thought God winked at it. I hope I should have a feeling for my\r
+fellow-creature. But, sir--I am obliged to believe that this Raffles\r
+has told me the truth. And I can't be happy in working with you, or\r
+profiting by you. It hurts my mind. I must beg you to seek another\r
+agent."\r
+\r
+"Very well, Mr. Garth. But I must at least claim to know the worst\r
+that he has told you. I must know what is the foul speech that I am\r
+liable to be the victim of," said Bulstrode, a certain amount of anger\r
+beginning to mingle with his humiliation before this quiet man who\r
+renounced his benefits.\r
+\r
+"That's needless," said Caleb, waving his hand, bowing his head\r
+slightly, and not swerving from the tone which had in it the merciful\r
+intention to spare this pitiable man. "What he has said to me will\r
+never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from\r
+me. If you led a harmful life for gain, and kept others out of their\r
+rights by deceit, to get the more for yourself, I dare say you\r
+repent--you would like to go back, and can't: that must be a bitter\r
+thing"--Caleb paused a moment and shook his head--"it is not for me to\r
+make your life harder to you."\r
+\r
+"But you do--you do make it harder to me," said Bulstrode constrained\r
+into a genuine, pleading cry. "You make it harder to me by turning\r
+your back on me."\r
+\r
+"That I'm forced to do," said Caleb, still more gently, lifting up his\r
+hand. "I am sorry. I don't judge you and say, he is wicked, and I am\r
+righteous. God forbid. I don't know everything. A man may do wrong,\r
+and his will may rise clear out of it, though he can't get his life\r
+clear. That's a bad punishment. If it is so with you,--well, I'm\r
+very sorry for you. But I have that feeling inside me, that I can't go\r
+on working with you. That's all, Mr. Bulstrode. Everything else is\r
+buried, so far as my will goes. And I wish you good-day."\r
+\r
+"One moment, Mr. Garth!" said Bulstrode, hurriedly. "I may trust then\r
+to your solemn assurance that you will not repeat either to man or\r
+woman what--even if it have any degree of truth in it--is yet a\r
+malicious representation?" Caleb's wrath was stirred, and he said,\r
+indignantly--\r
+\r
+"Why should I have said it if I didn't mean it? I am in no fear of\r
+you. Such tales as that will never tempt my tongue."\r
+\r
+"Excuse me--I am agitated--I am the victim of this abandoned man."\r
+\r
+"Stop a bit! you have got to consider whether you didn't help to make\r
+him worse, when you profited by his vices."\r
+\r
+"You are wronging me by too readily believing him," said Bulstrode,\r
+oppressed, as by a nightmare, with the inability to deny flatly what\r
+Raffles might have said; and yet feeling it an escape that Caleb had\r
+not so stated it to him as to ask for that flat denial.\r
+\r
+"No," said Caleb, lifting his hand deprecatingly; "I am ready to\r
+believe better, when better is proved. I rob you of no good chance.\r
+As to speaking, I hold it a crime to expose a man's sin unless I'm\r
+clear it must be done to save the innocent. That is my way of\r
+thinking, Mr. Bulstrode, and what I say, I've no need to swear. I wish\r
+you good-day."\r
+\r
+Some hours later, when he was at home, Caleb said to his wife,\r
+incidentally, that he had had some little differences with Bulstrode,\r
+and that in consequence, he had given up all notion of taking Stone\r
+Court, and indeed had resigned doing further business for him.\r
+\r
+"He was disposed to interfere too much, was he?" said Mrs. Garth,\r
+imagining that her husband had been touched on his sensitive point, and\r
+not been allowed to do what he thought right as to materials and modes\r
+of work.\r
+\r
+"Oh," said Caleb, bowing his head and waving his hand gravely. And\r
+Mrs. Garth knew that this was a sign of his not intending to speak\r
+further on the subject.\r
+\r
+As for Bulstrode, he had almost immediately mounted his horse and set\r
+off for Stone Court, being anxious to arrive there before Lydgate.\r
+\r
+His mind was crowded with images and conjectures, which were a language\r
+to his hopes and fears, just as we hear tones from the vibrations which\r
+shake our whole system. The deep humiliation with which he had winced\r
+under Caleb Garth's knowledge of his past and rejection of his\r
+patronage, alternated with and almost gave way to the sense of safety\r
+in the fact that Garth, and no other, had been the man to whom Raffles\r
+had spoken. It seemed to him a sort of earnest that Providence\r
+intended his rescue from worse consequences; the way being thus left\r
+open for the hope of secrecy. That Raffles should be afflicted with\r
+illness, that he should have been led to Stone Court rather than\r
+elsewhere--Bulstrode's heart fluttered at the vision of probabilities\r
+which these events conjured up. If it should turn out that he was\r
+freed from all danger of disgrace--if he could breathe in perfect\r
+liberty--his life should be more consecrated than it had ever been\r
+before. He mentally lifted up this vow as if it would urge the result\r
+he longed for--he tried to believe in the potency of that prayerful\r
+resolution--its potency to determine death. He knew that he ought to\r
+say, "Thy will be done;" and he said it often. But the intense desire\r
+remained that the will of God might be the death of that hated man.\r
+\r
+Yet when he arrived at Stone Court he could not see the change in\r
+Raffles without a shock. But for his pallor and feebleness, Bulstrode\r
+would have called the change in him entirely mental. Instead of his\r
+loud tormenting mood, he showed an intense, vague terror, and seemed to\r
+deprecate Bulstrode's anger, because the money was all gone--he had\r
+been robbed--it had half of it been taken from him. He had only come\r
+here because he was ill and somebody was hunting him--somebody was\r
+after him, he had told nobody anything, he had kept his mouth shut.\r
+Bulstrode, not knowing the significance of these symptoms, interpreted\r
+this new nervous susceptibility into a means of alarming Raffles into\r
+true confessions, and taxed him with falsehood in saying that he had\r
+not told anything, since he had just told the man who took him up in\r
+his gig and brought him to Stone Court. Raffles denied this with\r
+solemn adjurations; the fact being that the links of consciousness were\r
+interrupted in him, and that his minute terror-stricken narrative to\r
+Caleb Garth had been delivered under a set of visionary impulses which\r
+had dropped back into darkness.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode's heart sank again at this sign that he could get no grasp\r
+over the wretched man's mind, and that no word of Raffles could be\r
+trusted as to the fact which he most wanted to know, namely, whether or\r
+not he had really kept silence to every one in the neighborhood except\r
+Caleb Garth. The housekeeper had told him without the least constraint\r
+of manner that since Mr. Garth left, Raffles had asked her for beer,\r
+and after that had not spoken, seeming very ill. On that side it might\r
+be concluded that there had been no betrayal. Mrs. Abel thought, like\r
+the servants at The Shrubs, that the strange man belonged to the\r
+unpleasant "kin" who are among the troubles of the rich; she had at\r
+first referred the kinship to Mr. Rigg, and where there was property\r
+left, the buzzing presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural\r
+enough. How he could be "kin" to Bulstrode as well was not so clear,\r
+but Mrs. Abel agreed with her husband that there was "no knowing," a\r
+proposition which had a great deal of mental food for her, so that she\r
+shook her head over it without further speculation.\r
+\r
+In less than an hour Lydgate arrived. Bulstrode met him outside the\r
+wainscoted parlor, where Raffles was, and said--\r
+\r
+"I have called you in, Mr. Lydgate, to an unfortunate man who was once\r
+in my employment, many years ago. Afterwards he went to America, and\r
+returned I fear to an idle dissolute life. Being destitute, he has a\r
+claim on me. He was slightly connected with Rigg, the former owner of\r
+this place, and in consequence found his way here. I believe he is\r
+seriously ill: apparently his mind is affected. I feel bound to do the\r
+utmost for him."\r
+\r
+Lydgate, who had the remembrance of his last conversation with\r
+Bulstrode strongly upon him, was not disposed to say an unnecessary\r
+word to him, and bowed slightly in answer to this account; but just\r
+before entering the room he turned automatically and said, "What is his\r
+name?"--to know names being as much a part of the medical man's\r
+accomplishment as of the practical politician's.\r
+\r
+"Raffles, John Raffles," said Bulstrode, who hoped that whatever became\r
+of Raffles, Lydgate would never know any more of him.\r
+\r
+When he had thoroughly examined and considered the patient, Lydgate\r
+ordered that he should go to bed, and be kept there in as complete\r
+quiet as possible, and then went with Bulstrode into another room.\r
+\r
+"It is a serious case, I apprehend," said the banker, before Lydgate\r
+began to speak.\r
+\r
+"No--and yes," said Lydgate, half dubiously. "It is difficult to\r
+decide as to the possible effect of long-standing complications; but\r
+the man had a robust constitution to begin with. I should not expect\r
+this attack to be fatal, though of course the system is in a ticklish\r
+state. He should be well watched and attended to."\r
+\r
+"I will remain here myself," said Bulstrode. "Mrs. Abel and her\r
+husband are inexperienced. I can easily remain here for the night, if\r
+you will oblige me by taking a note for Mrs. Bulstrode."\r
+\r
+"I should think that is hardly necessary," said Lydgate. "He seems\r
+tame and terrified enough. He might become more unmanageable. But\r
+there is a man here--is there not?"\r
+\r
+"I have more than once stayed here a few nights for the sake of\r
+seclusion," said Bulstrode, indifferently; "I am quite disposed to do\r
+so now. Mrs. Abel and her husband can relieve or aid me, if necessary."\r
+\r
+"Very well. Then I need give my directions only to you," said Lydgate,\r
+not feeling surprised at a little peculiarity in Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+"You think, then, that the case is hopeful?" said Bulstrode, when\r
+Lydgate had ended giving his orders.\r
+\r
+"Unless there turn out to be further complications, such as I have not\r
+at present detected--yes," said Lydgate. "He may pass on to a worse\r
+stage; but I should not wonder if he got better in a few days, by\r
+adhering to the treatment I have prescribed. There must be firmness.\r
+Remember, if he calls for liquors of any sort, not to give them to him.\r
+In my opinion, men in his condition are oftener killed by treatment\r
+than by the disease. Still, new symptoms may arise. I shall come\r
+again to-morrow morning."\r
+\r
+After waiting for the note to be carried to Mrs. Bulstrode, Lydgate\r
+rode away, forming no conjectures, in the first instance, about the\r
+history of Raffles, but rehearsing the whole argument, which had lately\r
+been much stirred by the publication of Dr. Ware's abundant experience\r
+in America, as to the right way of treating cases of alcoholic\r
+poisoning such as this. Lydgate, when abroad, had already been\r
+interested in this question: he was strongly convinced against the\r
+prevalent practice of allowing alcohol and persistently administering\r
+large doses of opium; and he had repeatedly acted on this conviction\r
+with a favorable result.\r
+\r
+"The man is in a diseased state," he thought, "but there's a good deal\r
+of wear in him still. I suppose he is an object of charity to\r
+Bulstrode. It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie\r
+side by side in men's dispositions. Bulstrode seems the most\r
+unsympathetic fellow I ever saw about some people, and yet he has taken\r
+no end of trouble, and spent a great deal of money, on benevolent\r
+objects. I suppose he has some test by which he finds out whom Heaven\r
+cares for--he has made up his mind that it doesn't care for me."\r
+\r
+This streak of bitterness came from a plenteous source, and kept\r
+widening in the current of his thought as he neared Lowick Gate. He\r
+had not been there since his first interview with Bulstrode in the\r
+morning, having been found at the Hospital by the banker's messenger;\r
+and for the first time he was returning to his home without the vision\r
+of any expedient in the background which left him a hope of raising\r
+money enough to deliver him from the coming destitution of everything\r
+which made his married life tolerable--everything which saved him and\r
+Rosamond from that bare isolation in which they would be forced to\r
+recognize how little of a comfort they could be to each other. It was\r
+more bearable to do without tenderness for himself than to see that his\r
+own tenderness could make no amends for the lack of other things to\r
+her. The sufferings of his own pride from humiliations past and to\r
+come were keen enough, yet they were hardly distinguishable to himself\r
+from that more acute pain which dominated them--the pain of foreseeing\r
+that Rosamond would come to regard him chiefly as the cause of\r
+disappointment and unhappiness to her. He had never liked the\r
+makeshifts of poverty, and they had never before entered into his\r
+prospects for himself; but he was beginning now to imagine how two\r
+creatures who loved each other, and had a stock of thoughts in common,\r
+might laugh over their shabby furniture, and their calculations how far\r
+they could afford butter and eggs. But the glimpse of that poetry\r
+seemed as far off from him as the carelessness of the golden age; in\r
+poor Rosamond's mind there was not room enough for luxuries to look\r
+small in. He got down from his horse in a very sad mood, and went into\r
+the house, not expecting to be cheered except by his dinner, and\r
+reflecting that before the evening closed it would be wise to tell\r
+Rosamond of his application to Bulstrode and its failure. It would be\r
+well not to lose time in preparing her for the worst.\r
+\r
+But his dinner waited long for him before he was able to eat it. For\r
+on entering he found that Dover's agent had already put a man in the\r
+house, and when he asked where Mrs. Lydgate was, he was told that she\r
+was in her bedroom. He went up and found her stretched on the bed pale\r
+and silent, without an answer even in her face to any word or look of\r
+his. He sat down by the bed and leaning over her said with almost a\r
+cry of prayer--\r
+\r
+"Forgive me for this misery, my poor Rosamond! Let us only love one\r
+another."\r
+\r
+She looked at him silently, still with the blank despair on her face;\r
+but then the tears began to fill her blue eyes, and her lip trembled.\r
+The strong man had had too much to bear that day. He let his head fall\r
+beside hers and sobbed.\r
+\r
+He did not hinder her from going to her father early in the morning--it\r
+seemed now that he ought not to hinder her from doing as she\r
+pleased. In half an hour she came back, and said that papa and mamma\r
+wished her to go and stay with them while things were in this miserable\r
+state. Papa said he could do nothing about the debt--if he paid this,\r
+there would be half-a-dozen more. She had better come back home again\r
+till Lydgate had got a comfortable home for her. "Do you object,\r
+Tertius?"\r
+\r
+"Do as you like," said Lydgate. "But things are not coming to a crisis\r
+immediately. There is no hurry."\r
+\r
+"I should not go till to-morrow," said Rosamond; "I shall want to pack\r
+my clothes."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I would wait a little longer than to-morrow--there is no knowing\r
+what may happen," said Lydgate, with bitter irony. "I may get my neck\r
+broken, and that may make things easier to you."\r
+\r
+It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, that his tenderness\r
+towards her, which was both an emotional prompting and a\r
+well-considered resolve, was inevitably interrupted by these outbursts\r
+of indignation either ironical or remonstrant. She thought them\r
+totally unwarranted, and the repulsion which this exceptional severity\r
+excited in her was in danger of making the more persistent tenderness\r
+unacceptable.\r
+\r
+"I see you do not wish me to go," she said, with chill mildness; "why\r
+can you not say so, without that kind of violence? I shall stay until\r
+you request me to do otherwise."\r
+\r
+Lydgate said no more, but went out on his rounds. He felt bruised and\r
+shattered, and there was a dark line under his eyes which Rosamond had\r
+not seen before. She could not bear to look at him. Tertius had a way\r
+of taking things which made them a great deal worse for her.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXX.\r
+\r
+ Our deeds still travel with us from afar,\r
+ And what we have been makes us what we are."\r
+\r
+\r
+Bulstrode's first object after Lydgate had left Stone Court was to\r
+examine Raffles's pockets, which he imagined were sure to carry signs\r
+in the shape of hotel-bills of the places he had stopped in, if he had\r
+not told the truth in saying that he had come straight from Liverpool\r
+because he was ill and had no money. There were various bills crammed\r
+into his pocketbook, but none of a later date than Christmas at any\r
+other place, except one, which bore date that morning. This was\r
+crumpled up with a hand-bill about a horse-fair in one of his\r
+tail-pockets, and represented the cost of three days' stay at an inn at\r
+Bilkley, where the fair was held--a town at least forty miles from\r
+Middlemarch. The bill was heavy, and since Raffles had no luggage with\r
+him, it seemed probable that he had left his portmanteau behind in\r
+payment, in order to save money for his travelling fare; for his purse\r
+was empty, and he had only a couple of sixpences and some loose pence\r
+in his pockets.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode gathered a sense of safety from these indications that\r
+Raffles had really kept at a distance from Middlemarch since his\r
+memorable visit at Christmas. At a distance and among people who were\r
+strangers to Bulstrode, what satisfaction could there be to Raffles's\r
+tormenting, self-magnifying vein in telling old scandalous stories\r
+about a Middlemarch banker? And what harm if he did talk? The chief\r
+point now was to keep watch over him as long as there was any danger of\r
+that intelligible raving, that unaccountable impulse to tell, which\r
+seemed to have acted towards Caleb Garth; and Bulstrode felt much\r
+anxiety lest some such impulse should come over him at the sight of\r
+Lydgate. He sat up alone with him through the night, only ordering the\r
+housekeeper to lie down in her clothes, so as to be ready when he\r
+called her, alleging his own indisposition to sleep, and his anxiety to\r
+carry out the doctor's orders. He did carry them out faithfully,\r
+although Raffles was incessantly asking for brandy, and declaring that\r
+he was sinking away--that the earth was sinking away from under him.\r
+He was restless and sleepless, but still quailing and manageable. On\r
+the offer of the food ordered by Lydgate, which he refused, and the\r
+denial of other things which he demanded, he seemed to concentrate all\r
+his terror on Bulstrode, imploringly deprecating his anger, his revenge\r
+on him by starvation, and declaring with strong oaths that he had never\r
+told any mortal a word against him. Even this Bulstrode felt that he\r
+would not have liked Lydgate to hear; but a more alarming sign of\r
+fitful alternation in his delirium was, that in-the morning twilight\r
+Raffles suddenly seemed to imagine a doctor present, addressing him and\r
+declaring that Bulstrode wanted to starve him to death out of revenge\r
+for telling, when he never had told.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode's native imperiousness and strength of determination served\r
+him well. This delicate-looking man, himself nervously perturbed,\r
+found the needed stimulus in his strenuous circumstances, and through\r
+that difficult night and morning, while he had the air of an animated\r
+corpse returned to movement without warmth, holding the mastery by its\r
+chill impassibility his mind was intensely at work thinking of what he\r
+had to guard against and what would win him security. Whatever prayers\r
+he might lift up, whatever statements he might inwardly make of this\r
+man's wretched spiritual condition, and the duty he himself was under\r
+to submit to the punishment divinely appointed for him rather than to\r
+wish for evil to another--through all this effort to condense words\r
+into a solid mental state, there pierced and spread with irresistible\r
+vividness the images of the events he desired. And in the train of\r
+those images came their apology. He could not but see the death of\r
+Raffles, and see in it his own deliverance. What was the removal of\r
+this wretched creature? He was impenitent--but were not public\r
+criminals impenitent?--yet the law decided on their fate. Should\r
+Providence in this case award death, there was no sin in contemplating\r
+death as the desirable issue--if he kept his hands from hastening\r
+it--if he scrupulously did what was prescribed. Even here there might\r
+be a mistake: human prescriptions were fallible things: Lydgate had\r
+said that treatment had hastened death,--why not his own method of\r
+treatment? But of course intention was everything in the question of\r
+right and wrong.\r
+\r
+And Bulstrode set himself to keep his intention separate from his\r
+desire. He inwardly declared that he intended to obey orders. Why\r
+should he have got into any argument about the validity of these\r
+orders? It was only the common trick of desire--which avails itself of\r
+any irrelevant scepticism, finding larger room for itself in all\r
+uncertainty about effects, in every obscurity that looks like the\r
+absence of law. Still, he did obey the orders.\r
+\r
+His anxieties continually glanced towards Lydgate, and his remembrance\r
+of what had taken place between them the morning before was accompanied\r
+with sensibilities which had not been roused at all during the actual\r
+scene. He had then cared but little about Lydgate's painful\r
+impressions with regard to the suggested change in the Hospital, or\r
+about the disposition towards himself which what he held to be his\r
+justifiable refusal of a rather exorbitant request might call forth.\r
+He recurred to the scene now with a perception that he had probably\r
+made Lydgate his enemy, and with an awakened desire to propitiate him,\r
+or rather to create in him a strong sense of personal obligation. He\r
+regretted that he had not at once made even an unreasonable\r
+money-sacrifice. For in case of unpleasant suspicions, or even\r
+knowledge gathered from the raving of Raffles, Bulstrode would have\r
+felt that he had a defence in Lydgate's mind by having conferred a\r
+momentous benefit on him. But the regret had perhaps come too late.\r
+\r
+Strange, piteous conflict in the soul of this unhappy man, who had\r
+longed for years to be better than he was--who had taken his selfish\r
+passions into discipline and clad them in severe robes, so that he had\r
+walked with them as a devout choir, till now that a terror had risen\r
+among them, and they could chant no longer, but threw out their common\r
+cries for safety.\r
+\r
+It was nearly the middle of the day before Lydgate arrived: he had\r
+meant to come earlier, but had been detained, he said; and his\r
+shattered looks were noticed by Balstrode. But he immediately threw\r
+himself into the consideration of the patient, and inquired strictly\r
+into all that had occurred. Raffles was worse, would take hardly any\r
+food, was persistently wakeful and restlessly raving; but still not\r
+violent. Contrary to Bulstrode's alarmed expectation, he took little\r
+notice of Lydgate's presence, and continued to talk or murmur\r
+incoherently.\r
+\r
+"What do you think of him?" said Bulstrode, in private.\r
+\r
+"The symptoms are worse."\r
+\r
+"You are less hopeful?"\r
+\r
+"No; I still think he may come round. Are you going to stay here\r
+yourself?" said Lydgate, looking at Bulstrode with an abrupt question,\r
+which made him uneasy, though in reality it was not due to any\r
+suspicious conjecture.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I think so," said Bulstrode, governing himself and speaking with\r
+deliberation. "Mrs. Bulstrode is advised of the reasons which detain\r
+me. Mrs. Abel and her husband are not experienced enough to be left\r
+quite alone, and this kind of responsibility is scarcely included in\r
+their service of me. You have some fresh instructions, I presume."\r
+\r
+The chief new instruction that Lydgate had to give was on the\r
+administration of extremely moderate doses of opium, in case of the\r
+sleeplessness continuing after several hours. He had taken the\r
+precaution of bringing opium in his pocket, and he gave minute\r
+directions to Bulstrode as to the doses, and the point at which they\r
+should cease. He insisted on the risk of not ceasing; and repeated his\r
+order that no alcohol should be given.\r
+\r
+"From what I see of the case," he ended, "narcotism is the only thing I\r
+should be much afraid of. He may wear through even without much food.\r
+There's a good deal of strength in him."\r
+\r
+"You look ill yourself, Mr. Lydgate--a most unusual, I may say\r
+unprecedented thing in my knowledge of you," said Bulstrode, showing a\r
+solicitude as unlike his indifference the day before, as his present\r
+recklessness about his own fatigue was unlike his habitual\r
+self-cherishing anxiety. "I fear you are harassed."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I am," said Lydgate, brusquely, holding his hat, and ready to go.\r
+\r
+"Something new, I fear," said Bulstrode, inquiringly. "Pray be seated."\r
+\r
+"No, thank you," said Lydgate, with some hauteur. "I mentioned to you\r
+yesterday what was the state of my affairs. There is nothing to add,\r
+except that the execution has since then been actually put into my\r
+house. One can tell a good deal of trouble in a short sentence. I\r
+will say good morning."\r
+\r
+"Stay, Mr. Lydgate, stay," said Bulstrode; "I have been reconsidering\r
+this subject. I was yesterday taken by surprise, and saw it\r
+superficially. Mrs. Bulstrode is anxious for her niece, and I myself\r
+should grieve at a calamitous change in your position. Claims on me\r
+are numerous, but on reconsideration, I esteem it right that I should\r
+incur a small sacrifice rather than leave you unaided. You said, I\r
+think, that a thousand pounds would suffice entirely to free you from\r
+your burthens, and enable you to recover a firm stand?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Lydgate, a great leap of joy within him surmounting every\r
+other feeling; "that would pay all my debts, and leave me a little on\r
+hand. I could set about economizing in our way of living. And\r
+by-and-by my practice might look up."\r
+\r
+"If you will wait a moment, Mr. Lydgate, I will draw a check to that\r
+amount. I am aware that help, to be effectual in these cases, should\r
+be thorough."\r
+\r
+While Bulstrode wrote, Lydgate turned to the window thinking of his\r
+home--thinking of his life with its good start saved from frustration,\r
+its good purposes still unbroken.\r
+\r
+"You can give me a note of hand for this, Mr. Lydgate," said the\r
+banker, advancing towards him with the check. "And by-and-by, I hope,\r
+you may be in circumstances gradually to repay me. Meanwhile, I have\r
+pleasure in thinking that you will be released from further difficulty."\r
+\r
+"I am deeply obliged to you," said Lydgate. "You have restored to me\r
+the prospect of working with some happiness and some chance of good."\r
+\r
+It appeared to him a very natural movement in Bulstrode that he should\r
+have reconsidered his refusal: it corresponded with the more munificent\r
+side of his character. But as he put his hack into a canter, that he\r
+might get the sooner home, and tell the good news to Rosamond, and get\r
+cash at the bank to pay over to Dover's agent, there crossed his mind,\r
+with an unpleasant impression, as from a dark-winged flight of evil\r
+augury across his vision, the thought of that contrast in himself which\r
+a few months had brought--that he should be overjoyed at being under a\r
+strong personal obligation--that he should be overjoyed at getting\r
+money for himself from Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+The banker felt that he had done something to nullify one cause of\r
+uneasiness, and yet he was scarcely the easier. He did not measure the\r
+quantity of diseased motive which had made him wish for Lydgate's\r
+good-will, but the quantity was none the less actively there, like an\r
+irritating agent in his blood. A man vows, and yet will not cast away\r
+the means of breaking his vow. Is it that he distinctly means to break\r
+it? Not at all; but the desires which tend to break it are at work in\r
+him dimly, and make their way into his imagination, and relax his\r
+muscles in the very moments when he is telling himself over again the\r
+reasons for his vow. Raffles, recovering quickly, returning to the\r
+free use of his odious powers--how could Bulstrode wish for that?\r
+Raffles dead was the image that brought release, and indirectly he\r
+prayed for that way of release, beseeching that, if it were possible,\r
+the rest of his days here below might be freed from the threat of an\r
+ignominy which would break him utterly as an instrument of God's\r
+service. Lydgate's opinion was not on the side of promise that this\r
+prayer would be fulfilled; and as the day advanced, Bulstrode felt\r
+himself getting irritated at the persistent life in this man, whom he\r
+would fain have seen sinking into the silence of death: imperious will\r
+stirred murderous impulses towards this brute life, over which will, by\r
+itself, had no power. He said inwardly that he was getting too much\r
+worn; he would not sit up with the patient to-night, but leave him to\r
+Mrs. Abel, who, if necessary, could call her husband.\r
+\r
+At six o'clock, Raffles, having had only fitful perturbed snatches of\r
+sleep, from which he waked with fresh restlessness and perpetual cries\r
+that he was sinking away, Bulstrode began to administer the opium\r
+according to Lydgate's directions. At the end of half an hour or more\r
+he called Mrs. Abel and told her that he found himself unfit for\r
+further watching. He must now consign the patient to her care; and he\r
+proceeded to repeat to her Lydgate's directions as to the quantity of\r
+each dose. Mrs. Abel had not before known anything of Lydgate's\r
+prescriptions; she had simply prepared and brought whatever Bulstrode\r
+ordered, and had done what he pointed out to her. She began now to ask\r
+what else she should do besides administering the opium.\r
+\r
+"Nothing at present, except the offer of the soup or the soda-water:\r
+you can come to me for further directions. Unless there is any\r
+important change, I shall not come into the room again to-night. You\r
+will ask your husband for help if necessary. I must go to bed early."\r
+\r
+"You've much need, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Abel, "and to take\r
+something more strengthening than what you've done."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode went away now without anxiety as to what Raffles might say in\r
+his raving, which had taken on a muttering incoherence not likely to\r
+create any dangerous belief. At any rate he must risk this. He went\r
+down into the wainscoted parlor first, and began to consider whether he\r
+would not have his horse saddled and go home by the moonlight, and give\r
+up caring for earthly consequences. Then, he wished that he had begged\r
+Lydgate to come again that evening. Perhaps he might deliver a\r
+different opinion, and think that Raffles was getting into a less\r
+hopeful state. Should he send for Lydgate? If Raffles were really\r
+getting worse, and slowly dying, Bulstrode felt that he could go to bed\r
+and sleep in gratitude to Providence. But was he worse? Lydgate might\r
+come and simply say that he was going on as he expected, and predict\r
+that he would by-and-by fall into a good sleep, and get well. What was\r
+the use of sending for him? Bulstrode shrank from that result. No\r
+ideas or opinions could hinder him from seeing the one probability to\r
+be, that Raffles recovered would be just the same man as before, with\r
+his strength as a tormentor renewed, obliging him to drag away his wife\r
+to spend her years apart from her friends and native place, carrying an\r
+alienating suspicion against him in her heart.\r
+\r
+He had sat an hour and a half in this conflict by the firelight only,\r
+when a sudden thought made him rise and light the bed-candle, which he\r
+had brought down with him. The thought was, that he had not told Mrs.\r
+Abel when the doses of opium must cease.\r
+\r
+He took hold of the candlestick, but stood motionless for a long while.\r
+She might already have given him more than Lydgate had prescribed. But\r
+it was excusable in him, that he should forget part of an order, in his\r
+present wearied condition. He walked up-stairs, candle in hand, not\r
+knowing whether he should straightway enter his own room and go to bed,\r
+or turn to the patient's room and rectify his omission. He paused in\r
+the passage, with his face turned towards Raffles's room, and he could\r
+hear him moaning and murmuring. He was not asleep, then. Who could\r
+know that Lydgate's prescription would not be better disobeyed than\r
+followed, since there was still no sleep?\r
+\r
+He turned into his own room. Before he had quite undressed, Mrs. Abel\r
+rapped at the door; he opened it an inch, so that he could hear her\r
+speak low.\r
+\r
+"If you please, sir, should I have no brandy nor nothing to give the\r
+poor creetur? He feels sinking away, and nothing else will he\r
+swaller--and but little strength in it, if he did--only the opium. And\r
+he says more and more he's sinking down through the earth."\r
+\r
+To her surprise, Mr. Bulstrode did not answer. A struggle was going on\r
+within him.\r
+\r
+"I think he must die for want o' support, if he goes on in that way.\r
+When I nursed my poor master, Mr. Robisson, I had to give him port-wine\r
+and brandy constant, and a big glass at a time," added Mrs. Abel, with\r
+a touch of remonstrance in her tone.\r
+\r
+But again Mr. Bulstrode did not answer immediately, and she continued,\r
+"It's not a time to spare when people are at death's door, nor would\r
+you wish it, sir, I'm sure. Else I should give him our own bottle o'\r
+rum as we keep by us. But a sitter-up so as you've been, and doing\r
+everything as laid in your power--"\r
+\r
+Here a key was thrust through the inch of doorway, and Mr. Bulstrode\r
+said huskily, "That is the key of the wine-cooler. You will find plenty\r
+of brandy there."\r
+\r
+Early in the morning--about six--Mr. Bulstrode rose and spent some time\r
+in prayer. Does any one suppose that private prayer is necessarily\r
+candid--necessarily goes to the roots of action? Private prayer is\r
+inaudible speech, and speech is representative: who can represent\r
+himself just as he is, even in his own reflections? Bulstrode had not\r
+yet unravelled in his thought the confused promptings of the last\r
+four-and-twenty hours.\r
+\r
+He listened in the passage, and could hear hard stertorous breathing.\r
+Then he walked out in the garden, and looked at the early rime on the\r
+grass and fresh spring leaves. When he re-entered the house, he felt\r
+startled at the sight of Mrs. Abel.\r
+\r
+"How is your patient--asleep, I think?" he said, with an attempt at\r
+cheerfulness in his tone.\r
+\r
+"He's gone very deep, sir," said Mrs. Abel. "He went off gradual\r
+between three and four o'clock. Would you please to go and look at\r
+him? I thought it no harm to leave him. My man's gone afield, and the\r
+little girl's seeing to the kettles."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode went up. At a glance he knew that Raffles was not in the\r
+sleep which brings revival, but in the sleep which streams deeper and\r
+deeper into the gulf of death.\r
+\r
+He looked round the room and saw a bottle with some brandy in it, and\r
+the almost empty opium phial. He put the phial out of sight, and\r
+carried the brandy-bottle down-stairs with him, locking it again in the\r
+wine-cooler.\r
+\r
+While breakfasting he considered whether he should ride to Middlemarch\r
+at once, or wait for Lydgate's arrival. He decided to wait, and told\r
+Mrs. Abel that she might go about her work--he could watch in the\r
+bed-chamber.\r
+\r
+As he sat there and beheld the enemy of his peace going irrevocably\r
+into silence, he felt more at rest than he had done for many months.\r
+His conscience was soothed by the enfolding wing of secrecy, which\r
+seemed just then like an angel sent down for his relief. He drew out\r
+his pocket-book to review various memoranda there as to the\r
+arrangements he had projected and partly carried out in the prospect of\r
+quitting Middlemarch, and considered how far he would let them stand or\r
+recall them, now that his absence would be brief. Some economies which\r
+he felt desirable might still find a suitable occasion in his temporary\r
+withdrawal from management, and he hoped still that Mrs. Casaubon would\r
+take a large share in the expenses of the Hospital. In that way the\r
+moments passed, until a change in the stertorous breathing was marked\r
+enough to draw his attention wholly to the bed, and forced him to think\r
+of the departing life, which had once been subservient to his\r
+own--which he had once been glad to find base enough for him to act on\r
+as he would. It was his gladness then which impelled him now to be\r
+glad that the life was at an end.\r
+\r
+And who could say that the death of Raffles had been hastened? Who\r
+knew what would have saved him?\r
+\r
+Lydgate arrived at half-past ten, in time to witness the final pause of\r
+the breath. When he entered the room Bulstrode observed a sudden\r
+expression in his face, which was not so much surprise as a recognition\r
+that he had not judged correctly. He stood by the bed in silence for\r
+some time, with his eyes turned on the dying man, but with that subdued\r
+activity of expression which showed that he was carrying on an inward\r
+debate.\r
+\r
+"When did this change begin?" said he, looking at Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+"I did not watch by him last night," said Bulstrode. "I was over-worn,\r
+and left him under Mrs. Abel's care. She said that he sank into sleep\r
+between three and four o'clock. When I came in before eight he was\r
+nearly in this condition."\r
+\r
+Lydgate did not ask another question, but watched in silence until he\r
+said, "It's all over."\r
+\r
+This morning Lydgate was in a state of recovered hope and freedom. He\r
+had set out on his work with all his old animation, and felt himself\r
+strong enough to bear all the deficiencies of his married life. And he\r
+was conscious that Bulstrode had been a benefactor to him. But he was\r
+uneasy about this case. He had not expected it to terminate as it had\r
+done. Yet he hardly knew how to put a question on the subject to\r
+Bulstrode without appearing to insult him; and if he examined the\r
+housekeeper--why, the man was dead. There seemed to be no use in\r
+implying that somebody's ignorance or imprudence had killed him. And\r
+after all, he himself might be wrong.\r
+\r
+He and Bulstrode rode back to Middlemarch together, talking of many\r
+things--chiefly cholera and the chances of the Reform Bill in the House\r
+of Lords, and the firm resolve of the political Unions. Nothing was\r
+said about Raffles, except that Bulstrode mentioned the necessity of\r
+having a grave for him in Lowick churchyard, and observed that, so far\r
+as he knew, the poor man had no connections, except Rigg, whom he had\r
+stated to be unfriendly towards him.\r
+\r
+On returning home Lydgate had a visit from Mr. Farebrother. The Vicar\r
+had not been in the town the day before, but the news that there was an\r
+execution in Lydgate's house had got to Lowick by the evening, having\r
+been carried by Mr. Spicer, shoemaker and parish-clerk, who had it from\r
+his brother, the respectable bell-hanger in Lowick Gate. Since that\r
+evening when Lydgate had come down from the billiard room with Fred\r
+Vincy, Mr. Farebrother's thoughts about him had been rather gloomy.\r
+Playing at the Green Dragon once or oftener might have been a trifle in\r
+another man; but in Lydgate it was one of several signs that he was\r
+getting unlike his former self. He was beginning to do things for\r
+which he had formerly even an excessive scorn. Whatever certain\r
+dissatisfactions in marriage, which some silly tinklings of gossip had\r
+given him hints of, might have to do with this change, Mr. Farebrother\r
+felt sure that it was chiefly connected with the debts which were being\r
+more and more distinctly reported, and he began to fear that any notion\r
+of Lydgate's having resources or friends in the background must be\r
+quite illusory. The rebuff he had met with in his first attempt to win\r
+Lydgate's confidence, disinclined him to a second; but this news of the\r
+execution being actually in the house, determined the Vicar to overcome\r
+his reluctance.\r
+\r
+Lydgate had just dismissed a poor patient, in whom he was much\r
+interested, and he came forward to put out his hand--with an open\r
+cheerfulness which surprised Mr. Farebrother. Could this too be a\r
+proud rejection of sympathy and help? Never mind; the sympathy and\r
+help should be offered.\r
+\r
+"How are you, Lydgate? I came to see you because I had heard something\r
+which made me anxious about you," said the Vicar, in the tone of a good\r
+brother, only that there was no reproach in it. They were both seated\r
+by this time, and Lydgate answered immediately--\r
+\r
+"I think I know what you mean. You had heard that there was an\r
+execution in the house?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; is it true?"\r
+\r
+"It was true," said Lydgate, with an air of freedom, as if he did not\r
+mind talking about the affair now. "But the danger is over; the debt\r
+is paid. I am out of my difficulties now: I shall be freed from debts,\r
+and able, I hope, to start afresh on a better plan."\r
+\r
+"I am very thankful to hear it," said the Vicar, falling back in his\r
+chair, and speaking with that low-toned quickness which often follows\r
+the removal of a load. "I like that better than all the news in the\r
+'Times.' I confess I came to you with a heavy heart."\r
+\r
+"Thank you for coming," said Lydgate, cordially. "I can enjoy the\r
+kindness all the more because I am happier. I have certainly been a\r
+good deal crushed. I'm afraid I shall find the bruises still painful\r
+by-and by," he added, smiling rather sadly; "but just now I can only\r
+feel that the torture-screw is off."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother was silent for a moment, and then said earnestly, "My\r
+dear fellow, let me ask you one question. Forgive me if I take a\r
+liberty."\r
+\r
+"I don't believe you will ask anything that ought to offend me."\r
+\r
+"Then--this is necessary to set my heart quite at rest--you have\r
+not--have you?--in order to pay your debts, incurred another debt which\r
+may harass you worse hereafter?"\r
+\r
+"No," said Lydgate, coloring slightly. "There is no reason why I\r
+should not tell you--since the fact is so--that the person to whom I am\r
+indebted is Bulstrode. He has made me a very handsome advance--a\r
+thousand pounds--and he can afford to wait for repayment."\r
+\r
+"Well, that is generous," said Mr. Farebrother, compelling himself to\r
+approve of the man whom he disliked. His delicate feeling shrank from\r
+dwelling even in his thought on the fact that he had always urged\r
+Lydgate to avoid any personal entanglement with Bulstrode. He added\r
+immediately, "And Bulstrode must naturally feel an interest in your\r
+welfare, after you have worked with him in a way which has probably\r
+reduced your income instead of adding to it. I am glad to think that\r
+he has acted accordingly."\r
+\r
+Lydgate felt uncomfortable under these kindly suppositions. They made\r
+more distinct within him the uneasy consciousness which had shown its\r
+first dim stirrings only a few hours before, that Bulstrode's motives\r
+for his sudden beneficence following close upon the chillest\r
+indifference might be merely selfish. He let the kindly suppositions\r
+pass. He could not tell the history of the loan, but it was more\r
+vividly present with him than ever, as well as the fact which the Vicar\r
+delicately ignored--that this relation of personal indebtedness to\r
+Bulstrode was what he had once been most resolved to avoid.\r
+\r
+He began, instead of answering, to speak of his projected economies,\r
+and of his having come to look at his life from a different point of\r
+view.\r
+\r
+"I shall set up a surgery," he said. "I really think I made a mistaken\r
+effort in that respect. And if Rosamond will not mind, I shall take an\r
+apprentice. I don't like these things, but if one carries them out\r
+faithfully they are not really lowering. I have had a severe galling\r
+to begin with: that will make the small rubs seem easy."\r
+\r
+Poor Lydgate! the "if Rosamond will not mind," which had fallen from\r
+him involuntarily as part of his thought, was a significant mark of the\r
+yoke he bore. But Mr. Farebrother, whose hopes entered strongly into\r
+the same current with Lydgate's, and who knew nothing about him that\r
+could now raise a melancholy presentiment, left him with affectionate\r
+congratulation.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXI.\r
+\r
+ Clown. . . . 'Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed,\r
+ you have a delight to sit, have you not?\r
+ Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter.\r
+ Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths.\r
+ --Measure for Measure.\r
+\r
+\r
+Five days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge was standing at his\r
+leisure under the large archway leading into the yard of the Green\r
+Dragon. He was not fond of solitary contemplation, but he had only\r
+just come out of the house, and any human figure standing at ease under\r
+the archway in the early afternoon was as certain to attract\r
+companionship as a pigeon which has found something worth pecking at.\r
+In this case there was no material object to feed upon, but the eye of\r
+reason saw a probability of mental sustenance in the shape of gossip.\r
+Mr. Hopkins, the meek-mannered draper opposite, was the first to act on\r
+this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little masculine talk\r
+because his customers were chiefly women. Mr. Bambridge was rather\r
+curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to\r
+_him_, but that he was not going to waste much of his talk on Hopkins.\r
+Soon, however, there was a small cluster of more important listeners,\r
+who were either deposited from the passers-by, or had sauntered to the\r
+spot expressly to see if there were anything going on at the Green\r
+Dragon; and Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many\r
+impressive things about the fine studs he had been seeing and the\r
+purchases he had made on a journey in the north from which he had just\r
+returned. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him\r
+anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was to be\r
+seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge\r
+would gratify them by being shot "from here to Hereford." Also, a pair\r
+of blacks which he was going to put into the break recalled vividly to\r
+his mind a pair which he had sold to Faulkner in '19, for a hundred\r
+guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred and sixty two months\r
+later--any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the\r
+privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the\r
+exercise made his throat dry.\r
+\r
+When the discourse was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank\r
+Hawley. He was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging at the\r
+Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing\r
+Bambridge on the other side, he took some of his long strides across to\r
+ask the horsedealer whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse which\r
+he had engaged to look for. Mr. Hawley was requested to wait until he\r
+had seen a gray selected at Bilkley: if that did not meet his wishes to\r
+a hair, Bambridge did not know a horse when he saw it, which seemed to\r
+be the highest conceivable unlikelihood. Mr. Hawley, standing with his\r
+back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the gray and\r
+seeing it tried, when a horseman passed slowly by.\r
+\r
+"Bulstrode!" said two or three voices at once in a low tone, one of\r
+them, which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the "Mr.;" but\r
+nobody having more intention in this interjectural naming than if they\r
+had said "the Riverston coach" when that vehicle appeared in the\r
+distance. Mr. Hawley gave a careless glance round at Bulstrode's back,\r
+but as Bambridge's eyes followed it he made a sarcastic grimace.\r
+\r
+"By jingo! that reminds me," he began, lowering his voice a little, "I\r
+picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley.\r
+I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode. Do you know how he came by\r
+his fortune? Any gentleman wanting a bit of curious information, I can\r
+give it him free of expense. If everybody got their deserts, Bulstrode\r
+might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay."\r
+\r
+"What do you mean?" said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his\r
+pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway. If Bulstrode\r
+should turn out to be a rascal, Frank Hawley had a prophetic soul.\r
+\r
+"I had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'll tell\r
+you where I first picked him up," said Bambridge, with a sudden gesture\r
+of his fore-finger. "He was at Larcher's sale, but I knew nothing of\r
+him then--he slipped through my fingers--was after Bulstrode, no\r
+doubt. He tells me he can tap Bulstrode to any amount, knows all his\r
+secrets. However, he blabbed to me at Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass.\r
+Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort\r
+of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him,\r
+till he'd brag of a spavin as if it 'ud fetch money. A man should know\r
+when to pull up." Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of\r
+disgust, satisfied that his own bragging showed a fine sense of the\r
+marketable.\r
+\r
+"What's the man's name? Where can he be found?" said Mr. Hawley.\r
+\r
+"As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head;\r
+but his name is Raffles."\r
+\r
+"Raffles!" exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. "I furnished his funeral yesterday.\r
+He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. A very decent\r
+funeral." There was a strong sensation among the listeners. Mr.\r
+Bambridge gave an ejaculation in which "brimstone" was the mildest\r
+word, and Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head forward,\r
+exclaimed, "What?--where did the man die?"\r
+\r
+"At Stone Court," said the draper. "The housekeeper said he was a\r
+relation of the master's. He came there ill on Friday."\r
+\r
+"Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him," interposed\r
+Bambridge.\r
+\r
+"Did any doctor attend him?" said Mr. Hawley\r
+\r
+"Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. He died\r
+the third morning."\r
+\r
+"Go on, Bambridge," said Mr. Hawley, insistently. "What did this\r
+fellow say about Bulstrode?"\r
+\r
+The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a\r
+guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr.\r
+Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven. It was\r
+mainly what we know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some\r
+local color and circumstance added: it was what Bulstrode had dreaded\r
+the betrayal of--and hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of\r
+Raffles--it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he\r
+rode past the archway of the Green Dragon he was trusting that\r
+Providence had delivered him from. Yes, Providence. He had not\r
+confessed to himself yet that he had done anything in the way of\r
+contrivance to this end; he had accepted what seemed to have been\r
+offered. It was impossible to prove that he had done anything which\r
+hastened the departure of that man's soul.\r
+\r
+But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the\r
+smell of fire. Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending\r
+a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court on a pretext of inquiring\r
+about hay, but really to gather all that could be learned about Raffles\r
+and his illness from Mrs. Abel. In this way it came to his knowledge\r
+that Mr. Garth had carried the man to Stone Court in his gig; and Mr.\r
+Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of seeing Caleb, calling at\r
+his office to ask whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it\r
+were required, and then asking him incidentally about Raffles. Caleb\r
+was betrayed into no word injurious to Bulstrode beyond the fact which\r
+he was forced to admit, that he had given up acting for him within the\r
+last week. Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced that\r
+Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that Garth had given up\r
+Bulstrode's affairs in consequence, said so a few hours later to Mr.\r
+Toller. The statement was passed on until it had quite lost the stamp\r
+of an inference, and was taken as information coming straight from\r
+Garth, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to\r
+be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.\r
+\r
+Mr. Hawley was not slow to perceive that there was no handle for the\r
+law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances\r
+of his death. He had himself ridden to Lowick village that he might\r
+look at the register and talk over the whole matter with Mr.\r
+Farebrother, who was not more surprised than the lawyer that an ugly\r
+secret should have come to light about Bulstrode, though he had always\r
+had justice enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into\r
+conclusions. But while they were talking another combination was\r
+silently going forward in Mr. Farebrother's mind, which foreshadowed\r
+what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarch as a necessary\r
+"putting of two and two together." With the reasons which kept\r
+Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread\r
+might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical\r
+man; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been consciously\r
+accepted in any way as a bribe, he had a foreboding that this\r
+complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's\r
+reputation. He perceived that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of\r
+the sudden relief from debt, and he himself was careful to glide away\r
+from all approaches towards the subject.\r
+\r
+"Well," he said, with a deep breath, wanting to wind up the illimitable\r
+discussion of what might have been, though nothing could be legally\r
+proven, "it is a strange story. So our mercurial Ladislaw has a queer\r
+genealogy! A high-spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot\r
+made a likely enough stock for him to spring from, but I should never\r
+have suspected a grafting of the Jew pawnbroker. However, there's no\r
+knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. Some sorts of dirt\r
+serve to clarify."\r
+\r
+"It's just what I should have expected," said Mr. Hawley, mounting his\r
+horse. "Any cursed alien blood, Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy."\r
+\r
+"I know he's one of your black sheep, Hawley. But he is really a\r
+disinterested, unworldly fellow," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling.\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay, that is your Whiggish twist," said Mr. Hawley, who had been in\r
+the habit of saying apologetically that Farebrother was such a damned\r
+pleasant good-hearted fellow you would mistake him for a Tory.\r
+\r
+Mr. Hawley rode home without thinking of Lydgate's attendance on\r
+Raffles in any other light than as a piece of evidence on the side of\r
+Bulstrode. But the news that Lydgate had all at once become able not\r
+only to get rid of the execution in his house but to pay all his debts\r
+in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and\r
+comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears\r
+of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to see a\r
+significant relation between this sudden command of money and\r
+Bulstrode's desire to stifle the scandal of Raffles. That the money\r
+came from Bulstrode would infallibly have been guessed even if there\r
+had been no direct evidence of it; for it had beforehand entered into\r
+the gossip about Lydgate's affairs, that neither his father-in-law nor\r
+his own family would do anything for him, and direct evidence was\r
+furnished not only by a clerk at the Bank, but by innocent Mrs.\r
+Bulstrode herself, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. Plymdale, who\r
+mentioned it to her daughter-in-law of the house of Toller, who\r
+mentioned it generally. The business was felt to be so public and\r
+important that it required dinners to feed it, and many invitations\r
+were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal\r
+concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took\r
+their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public\r
+conviviality, from the Green Dragon to Dollop's, gathered a zest which\r
+could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out\r
+the Reform Bill.\r
+\r
+For hardly anybody doubted that some scandalous reason or other was at\r
+the bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate. Mr. Hawley indeed, in\r
+the first instance, invited a select party, including the two\r
+physicians, with Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close\r
+discussion as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness, reciting to\r
+them all the particulars which had been gathered from Mrs. Abel in\r
+connection with Lydgate's certificate, that the death was due to\r
+delirium tremens; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood\r
+undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to this disease, declared\r
+that they could see nothing in these particulars which could be\r
+transformed into a positive ground of suspicion. But the moral grounds\r
+of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for\r
+wishing to be rid of Raffles, and the fact that at this critical moment\r
+he had given Lydgate the help which he must for some time have known\r
+the need for; the disposition, moreover, to believe that Bulstrode\r
+would be unscrupulous, and the absence of any indisposition to believe\r
+that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when\r
+they have found themselves in want of money. Even if the money had\r
+been given merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of\r
+Bulstrode's earlier life, the fact threw an odious light on Lydgate,\r
+who had long been sneered at as making himself subservient to the\r
+banker for the sake of working himself into predominance, and\r
+discrediting the elder members of his profession. Hence, in spite of\r
+the negative as to any direct sign of guilt in relation to the death at\r
+Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the sense that the\r
+affair had "an ugly look."\r
+\r
+But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was enough to\r
+keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantial\r
+professional seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power\r
+of mystery over fact. Everybody liked better to conjecture how the\r
+thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture soon became more\r
+confident than knowledge, and had a more liberal allowance for the\r
+incompatible. Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's\r
+earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as\r
+so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such\r
+fantastic shapes as heaven pleased.\r
+\r
+This was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. Dollop, the\r
+spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had often to\r
+resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that their\r
+reports from the outer world were of equal force with what had "come\r
+up" in her mind. How it had been brought to her she didn't know, but\r
+it was there before her as if it had been "scored with the chalk on the\r
+chimney-board--" as Bulstrode should say, "his inside was _that black_\r
+as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear\r
+'em up by the roots."\r
+\r
+"That's odd," said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and\r
+a piping voice. "Why, I read in the 'Trumpet' that was what the Duke\r
+of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the Romans."\r
+\r
+"Very like," said Mrs. Dollop. "If one raskill said it, it's more\r
+reason why another should. But hypo_crite_ as he's been, and holding\r
+things with that high hand, as there was no parson i' the country good\r
+enough for him, he was forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and\r
+Old Harry's been too many for him."\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the country," said Mr.\r
+Crabbe, the glazier, who gathered much news and groped among it dimly.\r
+"But by what I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for\r
+running away, for fear o' being found out, before now."\r
+\r
+"He'll be drove away, whether or no," said Mr. Dill, the barber, who\r
+had just dropped in. "I shaved Fletcher, Hawley's clerk, this\r
+morning--he's got a bad finger--and he says they're all of one mind to\r
+get rid of Bulstrode. Mr. Thesiger is turned against him, and wants\r
+him out o' the parish. And there's gentlemen in this town says they'd\r
+as soon dine with a fellow from the hulks. 'And a deal sooner I\r
+would,' says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a\r
+man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving\r
+out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and all the while\r
+he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill?' Fletcher said so\r
+himself."\r
+\r
+"It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes\r
+out of it," said Mr. Limp, quaveringly.\r
+\r
+"Ah, there's better folks spend their money worse," said a firm-voiced\r
+dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured\r
+face.\r
+\r
+"But he won't keep his money, by what I can make out," said the\r
+glazier. "Don't they say as there's somebody can strip it off him? By\r
+what I can understan', they could take every penny off him, if they\r
+went to lawing."\r
+\r
+"No such thing!" said the barber, who felt himself a little above his\r
+company at Dollop's, but liked it none the worse. "Fletcher says it's\r
+no such thing. He says they might prove over and over again whose\r
+child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than if they\r
+proved I came out of the Fens--he couldn't touch a penny."\r
+\r
+"Look you there now!" said Mrs. Dollop, indignantly. "I thank the Lord\r
+he took my children to Himself, if that's all the law can do for the\r
+motherless. Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother\r
+is. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking\r
+another--I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. It's well\r
+known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I\r
+should like to know? It's a poor tale, with all the law as there is up\r
+and down, if it's no use proving whose child you are. Fletcher may say\r
+that if he likes, but I say, don't Fletcher _me_!"\r
+\r
+Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at Mrs. Dollop, as a\r
+woman who was more than a match for the lawyers; being disposed to\r
+submit to much twitting from a landlady who had a long score against\r
+him.\r
+\r
+"If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say, there's more\r
+to be looked to nor money," said the glazier. "There's this poor\r
+creetur as is dead and gone; by what I can make out, he'd seen the day\r
+when he was a deal finer gentleman nor Bulstrode."\r
+\r
+"Finer gentleman! I'll warrant him," said Mrs. Dollop; "and a far\r
+personabler man, by what I can hear. As I said when Mr. Baldwin, the\r
+tax-gatherer, comes in, a-standing where you sit, and says, 'Bulstrode\r
+got all his money as he brought into this town by thieving and\r
+swindling,'--I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set\r
+my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin' here he came into\r
+Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over my head: folks don't\r
+look the color o' the dough-tub and stare at you as if they wanted to\r
+see into your backbone for nothingk.' That was what I said, and Mr.\r
+Baldwin can bear me witness."\r
+\r
+"And in the rights of it too," said Mr. Crabbe. "For by what I can\r
+make out, this Raffles, as they call him, was a lusty, fresh-colored\r
+man as you'd wish to see, and the best o' company--though dead he lies\r
+in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can understan', there's\r
+them knows more than they _should_ know about how he got there."\r
+\r
+"I'll believe you!" said Mrs. Dallop, with a touch of scorn at Mr.\r
+Crabbe's apparent dimness. "When a man's been 'ticed to a lone house,\r
+and there's them can pay for hospitals and nurses for half the\r
+country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day, and nobody to come\r
+near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he\r
+can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he can pay off\r
+Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best o'\r
+joints since last Michaelmas was a twelvemonth--I don't want anybody to\r
+come and tell me as there's been more going on nor the Prayer-book's\r
+got a service for--I don't want to stand winking and blinking and\r
+thinking."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Dollop looked round with the air of a landlady accustomed to\r
+dominate her company. There was a chorus of adhesion from the more\r
+courageous; but Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands\r
+together and pressed them hard between his knees, looking down at them\r
+with blear-eyed contemplation, as if the scorching power of Mrs.\r
+Dollop's speech had quite dried up and nullified his wits until they\r
+could be brought round again by further moisture.\r
+\r
+"Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner?" said the\r
+dyer. "It's been done many and many's the time. If there's been foul\r
+play they might find it out."\r
+\r
+"Not they, Mr. Jonas!" said Mrs Dollop, emphatically. "I know what\r
+doctors are. They're a deal too cunning to be found out. And this\r
+Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath\r
+was well out o' their body--it's plain enough what use he wanted to\r
+make o' looking into respectable people's insides. He knows drugs, you\r
+may be sure, as you can neither smell nor see, neither before they're\r
+swallowed nor after. Why, I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor\r
+Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought\r
+more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch--I\r
+say I've seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in\r
+the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day. So I'll leave\r
+your own sense to judge. Don't tell me! All I say is, it's a mercy\r
+they didn't take this Doctor Lydgate on to our club. There's many a\r
+mother's child might ha' rued it."\r
+\r
+The heads of this discussion at "Dollop's" had been the common theme\r
+among all classes in the town, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on\r
+one side and to Tipton Grange on the other, had come fully to the ears\r
+of the Vincy family, and had been discussed with sad reference to "poor\r
+Harriet" by all Mrs. Bulstrode's friends, before Lydgate knew\r
+distinctly why people were looking strangely at him, and before\r
+Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of his secrets. He had not\r
+been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence\r
+he could not miss the signs of cordiality; moreover, he had been taking\r
+journeys on business of various kinds, having now made up his mind that\r
+he need not quit Middlemarch, and feeling able consequently to\r
+determine on matters which he had before left in suspense.\r
+\r
+"We will make a journey to Cheltenham in the course of a month or two,"\r
+he had said to his wife. "There are great spiritual advantages to be\r
+had in that town along with the air and the waters, and six weeks there\r
+will be eminently refreshing to us."\r
+\r
+He really believed in the spiritual advantages, and meant that his life\r
+henceforth should be the more devoted because of those later sins which\r
+he represented to himself as hypothetic, praying hypothetically for\r
+their pardon:--"if I have herein transgressed."\r
+\r
+As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate,\r
+fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the\r
+death of Raffles. In his secret soul he believed that Lydgate\r
+suspected his orders to have been intentionally disobeyed, and\r
+suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. But nothing had been\r
+betrayed to him as to the history of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious\r
+not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined\r
+suspicions. As to any certainty that a particular method of treatment\r
+would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly arguing\r
+against such dogmatism; he had no right to speak, and he had every\r
+motive for being silent. Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially\r
+secured. The only incident he had strongly winced under had been an\r
+occasional encounter with Caleb Garth, who, however, had raised his hat\r
+with mild gravity.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile, on the part of the principal townsmen a strong determination\r
+was growing against him.\r
+\r
+A meeting was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which\r
+had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case\r
+in the town. Since the Act of Parliament, which had been hurriedly\r
+passed, authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had been a\r
+Board for the superintendence of such measures appointed in\r
+Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in\r
+by Whigs and Tories. The question now was, whether a piece of ground\r
+outside the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means of\r
+assessment or by private subscription. The meeting was to be open, and\r
+almost everybody of importance in the town was expected to be there.\r
+\r
+Mr. Bulstrode was a member of the Board, and just before twelve o'clock\r
+he started from the Bank with the intention of urging the plan of\r
+private subscription. Under the hesitation of his projects, he had for\r
+some time kept himself in the background, and he felt that he should\r
+this morning resume his old position as a man of action and influence\r
+in the public affairs of the town where he expected to end his days.\r
+Among the various persons going in the same direction, he saw Lydgate;\r
+they joined, talked over the object of the meeting, and entered it\r
+together.\r
+\r
+It seemed that everybody of mark had been earlier than they. But there\r
+were still spaces left near the head of the large central table, and\r
+they made their way thither. Mr. Farebrother sat opposite, not far\r
+from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in\r
+the chair, and Mr. Brooke of Tipton was on his right hand.\r
+\r
+Lydgate noticed a peculiar interchange of glances when he and Bulstrode\r
+took their seats.\r
+\r
+After the business had been fully opened by the chairman, who pointed\r
+out the advantages of purchasing by subscription a piece of ground\r
+large enough to be ultimately used as a general cemetery, Mr.\r
+Bulstrode, whose rather high-pitched but subdued and fluent voice the\r
+town was used to at meetings of this sort, rose and asked leave to\r
+deliver his opinion. Lydgate could see again the peculiar interchange\r
+of glances before Mr. Hawley started up, and said in his firm resonant\r
+voice, "Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his\r
+opinion on this point I may be permitted to speak on a question of\r
+public feeling, which not only by myself, but by many gentlemen\r
+present, is regarded as preliminary."\r
+\r
+Mr. Hawley's mode of speech, even when public decorum repressed his\r
+"awful language," was formidable in its curtness and self-possession.\r
+Mr. Thesiger sanctioned the request, Mr. Bulstrode sat down, and Mr.\r
+Hawley continued.\r
+\r
+"In what I have to say, Mr. Chairman, I am not speaking simply on my\r
+own behalf: I am speaking with the concurrence and at the express\r
+request of no fewer than eight of my fellow-townsmen, who are\r
+immediately around us. It is our united sentiment that Mr. Bulstrode\r
+should be called upon--and I do now call upon him--to resign public\r
+positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as a gentleman\r
+among gentlemen. There are practices and there are acts which, owing\r
+to circumstances, the law cannot visit, though they may be worse than\r
+many things which are legally punishable. Honest men and gentlemen, if\r
+they don't want the company of people who perpetrate such acts, have\r
+got to defend themselves as they best can, and that is what I and the\r
+friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do.\r
+I don't say that Mr. Bulstrode has been guilty of shameful acts, but I\r
+call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous\r
+statements made against him by a man now dead, and who died in his\r
+house--the statement that he was for many years engaged in nefarious\r
+practices, and that he won his fortune by dishonest procedures--or else\r
+to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a\r
+gentleman among gentlemen."\r
+\r
+All eyes in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, who, since the first\r
+mention of his name, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost\r
+too violent for his delicate frame to support. Lydgate, who himself\r
+was undergoing a shock as from the terrible practical interpretation of\r
+some faint augury, felt, nevertheless, that his own movement of\r
+resentful hatred was checked by that instinct of the Healer which\r
+thinks first of bringing rescue or relief to the sufferer, when he\r
+looked at the shrunken misery of Bulstrode's livid face.\r
+\r
+The quick vision that his life was after all a failure, that he was a\r
+dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom\r
+he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover--that God had\r
+disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn\r
+of those who were glad to have their hatred justified--the sense of\r
+utter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with\r
+the life of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomously\r
+upon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie:--all this\r
+rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and\r
+leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration. The\r
+sudden sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety\r
+came--not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to--the\r
+susceptible nerve of a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery\r
+and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him.\r
+\r
+But in that intense being lay the strength of reaction. Through all\r
+his bodily infirmity there ran a tenacious nerve of ambitious\r
+self-preserving will, which had continually leaped out like a flame,\r
+scattering all doctrinal fears, and which, even while he sat an object\r
+of compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under\r
+his ashy paleness. Before the last words were out of Mr. Hawley's\r
+mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should answer, and that his answer would\r
+be a retort. He dared not get up and say, "I am not guilty, the whole\r
+story is false"--even if he had dared this, it would have seemed to\r
+him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for\r
+covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would rend at every little\r
+strain.\r
+\r
+For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the room\r
+was looking at Bulstrode. He sat perfectly still, leaning hard against\r
+the back of his chair; he could not venture to rise, and when he began\r
+to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. But\r
+his voice was perfectly audible, though hoarser than usual, and his\r
+words were distinctly pronounced, though he paused between sentence as\r
+if short of breath. He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, and\r
+then looking at Mr. Hawley--\r
+\r
+"I protest before you, sir, as a Christian minister, against the\r
+sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulent\r
+hatred. Those who are hostile to me are glad to believe any libel\r
+uttered by a loose tongue against me. And their consciences become\r
+strict against me. Say that the evil-speaking of which I am to be made\r
+the victim accuses me of malpractices--" here Bulstrode's voice rose\r
+and took on a more biting accent, till it seemed a low cry--"who shall\r
+be my accuser? Not men whose own lives are unchristian, nay,\r
+scandalous--not men who themselves use low instruments to carry out\r
+their ends--whose profession is a tissue of chicanery--who have been\r
+spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have\r
+been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life\r
+and the next."\r
+\r
+After the word chicanery there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and\r
+half of hisses, while four persons started up at once--Mr. Hawley, Mr.\r
+Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Hackbutt; but Mr. Hawley's outburst was\r
+instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence.\r
+\r
+"If you mean me, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection\r
+of my professional life. As to Christian or unchristian, I repudiate\r
+your canting palavering Christianity; and as to the way in which I\r
+spend my income, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat\r
+offspring of their due inheritance in order to support religion and set\r
+myself up as a saintly Killjoy. I affect no niceness of conscience--I\r
+have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions\r
+by, sir. And I again call upon you to enter into satisfactory\r
+explanations concerning the scandals against you, or else to withdraw\r
+from posts in which we at any rate decline you as a colleague. I say,\r
+sir, we decline to co-operate with a man whose character is not cleared\r
+from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by reports but by recent\r
+actions."\r
+\r
+"Allow me, Mr. Hawley," said the chairman; and Mr. Hawley, still\r
+fuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat down with his hands thrust deep\r
+in his pockets.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Bulstrode, it is not desirable, I think, to prolong the present\r
+discussion," said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; "I\r
+must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in expression\r
+of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession\r
+that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions.\r
+I for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and\r
+hearing. But I must say that your present attitude is painfully\r
+inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify\r
+yourself with, and for the honor of which I am bound to care. I\r
+recommend you at present, as your clergyman, and one who hopes for your\r
+reinstatement in respect, to quit the room, and avoid further hindrance\r
+to business."\r
+\r
+Bulstrode, after a moment's hesitation, took his hat from the floor and\r
+slowly rose, but he grasped the corner of the chair so totteringly that\r
+Lydgate felt sure there was not strength enough in him to walk away\r
+without support. What could he do? He could not see a man sink close\r
+to him for want of help. He rose and gave his arm to Bulstrode, and in\r
+that way led him out of the room; yet this act, which might have been\r
+one of gentle duty and pure compassion, was at this moment unspeakably\r
+bitter to him. It seemed as if he were putting his sign-manual to that\r
+association of himself with Bulstrode, of which he now saw the full\r
+meaning as it must have presented itself to other minds. He now felt\r
+the conviction that this man who was leaning tremblingly on his arm,\r
+had given him the thousand pounds as a bribe, and that somehow the\r
+treatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive. The\r
+inferences were closely linked enough; the town knew of the loan,\r
+believed it to be a bribe, and believed that he took it as a bribe.\r
+\r
+Poor Lydgate, his mind struggling under the terrible clutch of this\r
+revelation, was all the while morally forced to take Mr. Bulstrode to\r
+the Bank, send a man off for his carriage, and wait to accompany him\r
+home.\r
+\r
+Meanwhile the business of the meeting was despatched, and fringed off\r
+into eager discussion among various groups concerning this affair of\r
+Bulstrode--and Lydgate.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, and was\r
+very uneasy that he had "gone a little too far" in countenancing\r
+Bulstrode, now got himself fully informed, and felt some benevolent\r
+sadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which\r
+Lydgate had come to be regarded. Mr. Farebrother was going to walk\r
+back to Lowick.\r
+\r
+"Step into my carriage," said Mr. Brooke. "I am going round to see\r
+Mrs. Casaubon. She was to come back from Yorkshire last night. She\r
+will like to see me, you know."\r
+\r
+So they drove along, Mr. Brooke chatting with good-natured hope that\r
+there had not really been anything black in Lydgate's behavior--a\r
+young fellow whom he had seen to be quite above the common mark, when\r
+he brought a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin. Mr. Farebrother said\r
+little: he was deeply mournful: with a keen perception of human\r
+weakness, he could not be confident that under the pressure of\r
+humiliating needs Lydgate had not fallen below himself.\r
+\r
+When the carriage drove up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea was out\r
+on the gravel, and came to greet them.\r
+\r
+"Well, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have just come from a meeting--a\r
+sanitary meeting, you know."\r
+\r
+"Was Mr. Lydgate there?" said Dorothea, who looked full of health and\r
+animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April\r
+lights. "I want to see him and have a great consultation with him\r
+about the Hospital. I have engaged with Mr. Bulstrode to do so."\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have been hearing bad news--bad\r
+news, you know."\r
+\r
+They walked through the garden towards the churchyard gate, Mr.\r
+Farebrother wanting to go on to the parsonage; and Dorothea heard the\r
+whole sad story.\r
+\r
+She listened with deep interest, and begged to hear twice over the\r
+facts and impressions concerning Lydgate. After a short silence,\r
+pausing at the churchyard gate, and addressing Mr. Farebrother, she\r
+said energetically--\r
+\r
+"You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base? I will\r
+not believe it. Let us find out the truth and clear him!"\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+BOOK VIII.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+SUNSET AND SUNRISE.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXII.\r
+\r
+ Full souls are double mirrors, making still\r
+ An endless vista of fair things before,\r
+ Repeating things behind.\r
+\r
+\r
+Dorothea's impetuous generosity, which would have leaped at once to the\r
+vindication of Lydgate from the suspicion of having accepted money as a\r
+bribe, underwent a melancholy check when she came to consider all the\r
+circumstances of the case by the light of Mr. Farebrother's experience.\r
+\r
+"It is a delicate matter to touch," he said. "How can we begin to\r
+inquire into it? It must be either publicly by setting the magistrate\r
+and coroner to work, or privately by questioning Lydgate. As to the\r
+first proceeding there is no solid ground to go upon, else Hawley would\r
+have adopted it; and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confess\r
+I should shrink from it. He would probably take it as a deadly insult.\r
+I have more than once experienced the difficulty of speaking to him on\r
+personal matters. And--one should know the truth about his conduct\r
+beforehand, to feel very confident of a good result."\r
+\r
+"I feel convinced that his conduct has not been guilty: I believe that\r
+people are almost always better than their neighbors think they are,"\r
+said Dorothea. Some of her intensest experience in the last two years\r
+had set her mind strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction\r
+of others; and for the first time she felt rather discontented with Mr.\r
+Farebrother. She disliked this cautious weighing of consequences,\r
+instead of an ardent faith in efforts of justice and mercy, which would\r
+conquer by their emotional force. Two days afterwards, he was dining\r
+at the Manor with her uncle and the Chettams, and when the dessert was\r
+standing uneaten, the servants were out of the room, and Mr. Brooke was\r
+nodding in a nap, she returned to the subject with renewed vivacity.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate would understand that if his friends hear a calumny about\r
+him their first wish must be to justify him. What do we live for, if\r
+it is not to make life less difficult to each other? I cannot be\r
+indifferent to the troubles of a man who advised me in _my_ trouble,\r
+and attended me in my illness."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's tone and manner were not more energetic than they had been\r
+when she was at the head of her uncle's table nearly three years\r
+before, and her experience since had given her more right to express a\r
+decided opinion. But Sir James Chettam was no longer the diffident and\r
+acquiescent suitor: he was the anxious brother-in-law, with a devout\r
+admiration for his sister, but with a constant alarm lest she should\r
+fall under some new illusion almost as bad as marrying Casaubon. He\r
+smiled much less; when he said "Exactly" it was more often an\r
+introduction to a dissentient opinion than in those submissive bachelor\r
+days; and Dorothea found to her surprise that she had to resolve not to\r
+be afraid of him--all the more because he was really her best friend.\r
+He disagreed with her now.\r
+\r
+"But, Dorothea," he said, remonstrantly, "you can't undertake to manage\r
+a man's life for him in that way. Lydgate must know--at least he will\r
+soon come to know how he stands. If he can clear himself, he will. He\r
+must act for himself."\r
+\r
+"I think his friends must wait till they find an opportunity," added\r
+Mr. Farebrother. "It is possible--I have often felt so much weakness\r
+in myself that I can conceive even a man of honorable disposition, such\r
+as I have always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such a\r
+temptation as that of accepting money which was offered more or less\r
+indirectly as a bribe to insure his silence about scandalous facts long\r
+gone by. I say, I can conceive this, if he were under the pressure of\r
+hard circumstances--if he had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate has\r
+been. I would not believe anything worse of him except under stringent\r
+proof. But there is the terrible Nemesis following on some errors,\r
+that it is always possible for those who like it to interpret them into\r
+a crime: there is no proof in favor of the man outside his own\r
+consciousness and assertion."\r
+\r
+"Oh, how cruel!" said Dorothea, clasping her hands. "And would you not\r
+like to be the one person who believed in that man's innocence, if the\r
+rest of the world belied him? Besides, there is a man's character\r
+beforehand to speak for him."\r
+\r
+"But, my dear Mrs. Casaubon," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling gently at\r
+her ardor, "character is not cut in marble--it is not something solid\r
+and unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may become\r
+diseased as our bodies do."\r
+\r
+"Then it may be rescued and healed," said Dorothea "I should not be\r
+afraid of asking Mr. Lydgate to tell me the truth, that I might help\r
+him. Why should I be afraid? Now that I am not to have the land,\r
+James, I might do as Mr. Bulstrode proposed, and take his place in\r
+providing for the Hospital; and I have to consult Mr. Lydgate, to know\r
+thoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by keeping up the\r
+present plans. There is the best opportunity in the world for me to\r
+ask for his confidence; and he would be able to tell me things which\r
+might make all the circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by him\r
+and bring him out of his trouble. People glorify all sorts of bravery\r
+except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest\r
+neighbors." Dorothea's eyes had a moist brightness in them, and the\r
+changed tones of her voice roused her uncle, who began to listen.\r
+\r
+"It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of sympathy which\r
+would hardly succeed if we men undertook them," said Mr. Farebrother,\r
+almost converted by Dorothea's ardor.\r
+\r
+"Surely, a woman is bound to be cautious and listen to those who know\r
+the world better than she does." said Sir James, with his little\r
+frown. "Whatever you do in the end, Dorothea, you should really keep\r
+back at present, and not volunteer any meddling with this Bulstrode\r
+business. We don't know yet what may turn up. You must agree with\r
+me?" he ended, looking at Mr. Farebrother.\r
+\r
+"I do think it would be better to wait," said the latter.\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, not quite knowing at what point\r
+the discussion had arrived, but coming up to it with a contribution\r
+which was generally appropriate. "It is easy to go too far, you know.\r
+You must not let your ideas run away with you. And as to being in a\r
+hurry to put money into schemes--it won't do, you know. Garth has\r
+drawn me in uncommonly with repairs, draining, that sort of thing: I'm\r
+uncommonly out of pocket with one thing or another. I must pull up.\r
+As for you, Chettam, you are spending a fortune on those oak fences\r
+round your demesne."\r
+\r
+Dorothea, submitting uneasily to this discouragement, went with Celia\r
+into the library, which was her usual drawing-room.\r
+\r
+"Now, Dodo, do listen to what James says," said Celia, "else you will\r
+be getting into a scrape. You always did, and you always will, when\r
+you set about doing as you please. And I think it is a mercy now after\r
+all that you have got James to think for you. He lets you have your\r
+plans, only he hinders you from being taken in. And that is the good\r
+of having a brother instead of a husband. A husband would not let you\r
+have your plans."\r
+\r
+"As if I wanted a husband!" said Dorothea. "I only want not to have my\r
+feelings checked at every turn." Mrs. Casaubon was still undisciplined\r
+enough to burst into angry tears.\r
+\r
+"Now, really, Dodo," said Celia, with rather a deeper guttural than\r
+usual, "you _are_ contradictory: first one thing and then another. You\r
+used to submit to Mr. Casaubon quite shamefully: I think you would have\r
+given up ever coming to see me if he had asked you."\r
+\r
+"Of course I submitted to him, because it was my duty; it was my\r
+feeling for him," said Dorothea, looking through the prism of her tears.\r
+\r
+"Then why can't you think it your duty to submit a little to what James\r
+wishes?" said Celia, with a sense of stringency in her argument.\r
+"Because he only wishes what is for your own good. And, of course, men\r
+know best about everything, except what women know better." Dorothea\r
+laughed and forgot her tears.\r
+\r
+"Well, I mean about babies and those things," explained Celia. "I\r
+should not give up to James when I knew he was wrong, as you used to do\r
+to Mr. Casaubon."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXIII.\r
+\r
+ Pity the laden one; this wandering woe\r
+ May visit you and me.\r
+\r
+\r
+When Lydgate had allayed Mrs. Bulstrode's anxiety by telling her that\r
+her husband had been seized with faintness at the meeting, but that he\r
+trusted soon to see him better and would call again the next day,\r
+unless she sent for him earlier, he went directly home, got on his\r
+horse, and rode three miles out of the town for the sake of being out\r
+of reach.\r
+\r
+He felt himself becoming violent and unreasonable as if raging under\r
+the pain of stings: he was ready to curse the day on which he had come\r
+to Middlemarch. Everything that bad happened to him there seemed a\r
+mere preparation for this hateful fatality, which had come as a blight\r
+on his honorable ambition, and must make even people who had only\r
+vulgar standards regard his reputation as irrevocably damaged. In such\r
+moments a man can hardly escape being unloving. Lydgate thought of\r
+himself as the sufferer, and of others as the agents who had injured\r
+his lot. He had meant everything to turn out differently; and others\r
+had thrust themselves into his life and thwarted his purposes. His\r
+marriage seemed an unmitigated calamity; and he was afraid of going to\r
+Rosamond before he had vented himself in this solitary rage, lest the\r
+mere sight of her should exasperate him and make him behave\r
+unwarrantably. There are episodes in most men's lives in which their\r
+highest qualities can only cast a deterring shadow over the objects\r
+that fill their inward vision: Lydgate's tenderheartedness was present\r
+just then only as a dread lest he should offend against it, not as an\r
+emotion that swayed him to tenderness. For he was very miserable.\r
+Only those who know the supremacy of the intellectual life--the life\r
+which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it--can\r
+understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into\r
+the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances.\r
+\r
+How was he to live on without vindicating himself among people who\r
+suspected him of baseness? How could he go silently away from\r
+Middlemarch as if he were retreating before a just condemnation? And\r
+yet how was he to set about vindicating himself?\r
+\r
+For that scene at the meeting, which he had just witnessed, although it\r
+had told him no particulars, had been enough to make his own situation\r
+thoroughly clear to him. Bulstrode had been in dread of scandalous\r
+disclosures on the part of Raffles. Lydgate could now construct all\r
+the probabilities of the case. "He was afraid of some betrayal in my\r
+hearing: all he wanted was to bind me to him by a strong obligation:\r
+that was why he passed on a sudden from hardness to liberality. And he\r
+may have tampered with the patient--he may have disobeyed my orders. I\r
+fear he did. But whether he did or not, the world believes that he\r
+somehow or other poisoned the man and that I winked at the crime, if I\r
+didn't help in it. And yet--and yet he may not be guilty of the last\r
+offence; and it is just possible that the change towards me may have\r
+been a genuine relenting--the effect of second thoughts such as he\r
+alleged. What we call the 'just possible' is sometimes true and the\r
+thing we find it easier to believe is grossly false. In his last\r
+dealings with this man Bulstrode may have kept his hands pure, in spite\r
+of my suspicion to the contrary."\r
+\r
+There was a benumbing cruelty in his position. Even if he renounced\r
+every other consideration than that of justifying himself--if he met\r
+shrugs, cold glances, and avoidance as an accusation, and made a public\r
+statement of all the facts as he knew them, who would be convinced? It\r
+would be playing the part of a fool to offer his own testimony on\r
+behalf of himself, and say, "I did not take the money as a bribe." The\r
+circumstances would always be stronger than his assertion. And\r
+besides, to come forward and tell everything about himself must include\r
+declarations about Bulstrode which would darken the suspicions of\r
+others against him. He must tell that he had not known of Raffles's\r
+existence when he first mentioned his pressing need of money to\r
+Bulstrode, and that he took the money innocently as a result of that\r
+communication, not knowing that a new motive for the loan might have\r
+arisen on his being called in to this man. And after all, the\r
+suspicion of Bulstrode's motives might be unjust.\r
+\r
+But then came the question whether he should have acted in precisely\r
+the same way if he had not taken the money? Certainly, if Raffles had\r
+continued alive and susceptible of further treatment when he arrived,\r
+and he had then imagined any disobedience to his orders on the part of\r
+Bulstrode, he would have made a strict inquiry, and if his conjecture\r
+had been verified he would have thrown up the case, in spite of his\r
+recent heavy obligation. But if he had not received any money--if\r
+Bulstrode had never revoked his cold recommendation of bankruptcy--would\r
+he, Lydgate, have abstained from all inquiry even on finding the\r
+man dead?--would the shrinking from an insult to Bulstrode--would the\r
+dubiousness of all medical treatment and the argument that his own\r
+treatment would pass for the wrong with most members of his\r
+profession--have had just the same force or significance with him?\r
+\r
+That was the uneasy corner of Lydgate's consciousness while he was\r
+reviewing the facts and resisting all reproach. If he had been\r
+independent, this matter of a patient's treatment and the distinct rule\r
+that he must do or see done that which he believed best for the life\r
+committed to him, would have been the point on which he would have been\r
+the sturdiest. As it was, he had rested in the consideration that\r
+disobedience to his orders, however it might have arisen, could not be\r
+considered a crime, that in the dominant opinion obedience to his\r
+orders was just as likely to be fatal, and that the affair was simply\r
+one of etiquette. Whereas, again and again, in his time of freedom, he\r
+had denounced the perversion of pathological doubt into moral doubt and\r
+had said--"the purest experiment in treatment may still be\r
+conscientious: my business is to take care of life, and to do the best\r
+I can think of for it. Science is properly more scrupulous than dogma.\r
+Dogma gives a charter to mistake, but the very breath of science is a\r
+contest with mistake, and must keep the conscience alive." Alas! the\r
+scientific conscience had got into the debasing company of money\r
+obligation and selfish respects.\r
+\r
+"Is there a medical man of them all in Middlemarch who would question\r
+himself as I do?" said poor Lydgate, with a renewed outburst of\r
+rebellion against the oppression of his lot. "And yet they will all\r
+feel warranted in making a wide space between me and them, as if I were\r
+a leper! My practice and my reputation are utterly damned--I can see\r
+that. Even if I could be cleared by valid evidence, it would make\r
+little difference to the blessed world here. I have been set down as\r
+tainted and should be cheapened to them all the same."\r
+\r
+Already there had been abundant signs which had hitherto puzzled him,\r
+that just when he had been paying off his debts and getting cheerfully\r
+on his feet, the townsmen were avoiding him or looking strangely at\r
+him, and in two instances it came to his knowledge that patients of his\r
+had called in another practitioner. The reasons were too plain now.\r
+The general black-balling had begun.\r
+\r
+No wonder that in Lydgate's energetic nature the sense of a hopeless\r
+misconstruction easily turned into a dogged resistance. The scowl\r
+which occasionally showed itself on his square brow was not a\r
+meaningless accident. Already when he was re-entering the town after\r
+that ride taken in the first hours of stinging pain, he was setting his\r
+mind on remaining in Middlemarch in spite of the worst that could be\r
+done against him. He would not retreat before calumny, as if he\r
+submitted to it. He would face it to the utmost, and no act of his\r
+should show that he was afraid. It belonged to the generosity as well\r
+as defiant force of his nature that he resolved not to shrink from\r
+showing to the full his sense of obligation to Bulstrode. It was true\r
+that the association with this man had been fatal to him--true that if\r
+he had had the thousand pounds still in his hands with all his debts\r
+unpaid he would have returned the money to Bulstrode, and taken beggary\r
+rather than the rescue which had been sullied with the suspicion of a\r
+bribe (for, remember, he was one of the proudest among the sons of\r
+men)--nevertheless, he would not turn away from this crushed\r
+fellow-mortal whose aid he had used, and make a pitiful effort to get\r
+acquittal for himself by howling against another. "I shall do as I\r
+think right, and explain to nobody. They will try to starve me out,\r
+but--" he was going on with an obstinate resolve, but he was getting\r
+near home, and the thought of Rosamond urged itself again into that\r
+chief place from which it had been thrust by the agonized struggles of\r
+wounded honor and pride.\r
+\r
+How would Rosamond take it all? Here was another weight of chain to\r
+drag, and poor Lydgate was in a bad mood for bearing her dumb mastery.\r
+He had no impulse to tell her the trouble which must soon be common to\r
+them both. He preferred waiting for the incidental disclosure which\r
+events must soon bring about.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXIV.\r
+\r
+ "Mercifully grant that we may grow aged together."\r
+ --BOOK OF TOBIT: Marriage Prayer.\r
+\r
+\r
+In Middlemarch a wife could not long remain ignorant that the town held\r
+a bad opinion of her husband. No feminine intimate might carry her\r
+friendship so far as to make a plain statement to the wife of the\r
+unpleasant fact known or believed about her husband; but when a woman\r
+with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on\r
+something grievously disadvantageous to her neighbors, various moral\r
+impulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance.\r
+Candor was one. To be candid, in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to\r
+use an early opportunity of letting your friends know that you did not\r
+take a cheerful view of their capacity, their conduct, or their\r
+position; and a robust candor never waited to be asked for its opinion.\r
+Then, again, there was the love of truth--a wide phrase, but meaning in\r
+this relation, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than\r
+her husband's character warranted, or manifest too much satisfaction in\r
+her lot--the poor thing should have some hint given her that if she\r
+knew the truth she would have less complacency in her bonnet, and in\r
+light dishes for a supper-party. Stronger than all, there was the\r
+regard for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her soul,\r
+which was likely to be benefited by remarks tending to gloom, uttered\r
+with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the furniture and a manner\r
+implying that the speaker would not tell what was on her mind, from\r
+regard to the feelings of her hearer. On the whole, one might say that\r
+an ardent charity was at work setting the virtuous mind to make a\r
+neighbor unhappy for her good.\r
+\r
+There were hardly any wives in Middlemarch whose matrimonial\r
+misfortunes would in different ways be likely to call forth more of\r
+this moral activity than Rosamond and her aunt Bulstrode. Mrs.\r
+Bulstrode was not an object of dislike, and had never consciously\r
+injured any human being. Men had always thought her a handsome\r
+comfortable woman, and had reckoned it among the signs of Bulstrode's\r
+hypocrisy that he had chosen a red-blooded Vincy, instead of a ghastly\r
+and melancholy person suited to his low esteem for earthly pleasure.\r
+When the scandal about her husband was disclosed they remarked of\r
+her--"Ah, poor woman! She's as honest as the day--_she_ never\r
+suspected anything wrong in him, you may depend on it." Women, who\r
+were intimate with her, talked together much of "poor Harriet,"\r
+imagined what her feelings must be when she came to know everything,\r
+and conjectured how much she had already come to know. There was no\r
+spiteful disposition towards her; rather, there was a busy benevolence\r
+anxious to ascertain what it would be well for her to feel and do under\r
+the circumstances, which of course kept the imagination occupied with\r
+her character and history from the times when she was Harriet Vincy\r
+till now. With the review of Mrs. Bulstrode and her position it was\r
+inevitable to associate Rosamond, whose prospects were under the same\r
+blight with her aunt's. Rosamond was more severely criticised and less\r
+pitied, though she too, as one of the good old Vincy family who had\r
+always been known in Middlemarch, was regarded as a victim to marriage\r
+with an interloper. The Vincys had their weaknesses, but then they lay\r
+on the surface: there was never anything bad to be "found out"\r
+concerning them. Mrs. Bulstrode was vindicated from any resemblance to\r
+her husband. Harriet's faults were her own.\r
+\r
+"She has always been showy," said Mrs. Hackbutt, making tea for a small\r
+party, "though she has got into the way of putting her religion\r
+forward, to conform to her husband; she has tried to hold her head up\r
+above Middlemarch by making it known that she invites clergymen and\r
+heaven-knows-who from Riverston and those places."\r
+\r
+"We can hardly blame her for that," said Mrs. Sprague; "because few of\r
+the best people in the town cared to associate with Bulstrode, and she\r
+must have somebody to sit down at her table."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Thesiger has always countenanced him," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "I\r
+think he must be sorry now."\r
+\r
+"But he was never fond of him in his heart--that every one knows," said\r
+Mrs. Tom Toller. "Mr. Thesiger never goes into extremes. He keeps to\r
+the truth in what is evangelical. It is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke,\r
+who want to use Dissenting hymn-books and that low kind of religion,\r
+who ever found Bulstrode to their taste."\r
+\r
+"I understand, Mr. Tyke is in great distress about him," said Mrs.\r
+Hackbutt. "And well he may be: they say the Bulstrodes have half kept\r
+the Tyke family."\r
+\r
+"And of course it is a discredit to his doctrines," said Mrs. Sprague,\r
+who was elderly, and old-fashioned in her opinions.\r
+\r
+"People will not make a boast of being methodistical in Middlemarch for\r
+a good while to come."\r
+\r
+"I think we must not set down people's bad actions to their religion,"\r
+said falcon-faced Mrs. Plymdale, who had been listening hitherto.\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, we are forgetting," said Mrs. Sprague. "We ought not to\r
+be talking of this before you."\r
+\r
+"I am sure I have no reason to be partial," said Mrs. Plymdale,\r
+coloring. "It's true Mr. Plymdale has always been on good terms with\r
+Mr. Bulstrode, and Harriet Vincy was my friend long before she married\r
+him. But I have always kept my own opinions and told her where she was\r
+wrong, poor thing. Still, in point of religion, I must say, Mr.\r
+Bulstrode might have done what he has, and worse, and yet have been a\r
+man of no religion. I don't say that there has not been a little too\r
+much of that--I like moderation myself. But truth is truth. The men\r
+tried at the assizes are not all over-religious, I suppose."\r
+\r
+"Well," said Mrs. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, "all I can say is, that\r
+I think she ought to separate from him."\r
+\r
+"I can't say that," said Mrs. Sprague. "She took him for better or\r
+worse, you know."\r
+\r
+"But 'worse' can never mean finding out that your husband is fit for\r
+Newgate," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "Fancy living with such a man! I should\r
+expect to be poisoned."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I think myself it is an encouragement to crime if such men are to\r
+be taken care of and waited on by good wives," said Mrs. Tom Toller.\r
+\r
+"And a good wife poor Harriet has been," said Mrs. Plymdale. "She\r
+thinks her husband the first of men. It's true he has never denied her\r
+anything."\r
+\r
+"Well, we shall see what she will do," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "I suppose\r
+she knows nothing yet, poor creature. I do hope and trust I shall not\r
+see her, for I should be frightened to death lest I should say anything\r
+about her husband. Do you think any hint has reached her?"\r
+\r
+"I should hardly think so," said Mrs. Tom Toller. "We hear that he is\r
+ill, and has never stirred out of the house since the meeting on\r
+Thursday; but she was with her girls at church yesterday, and they had\r
+new Tuscan bonnets. Her own had a feather in it. I have never seen\r
+that her religion made any difference in her dress."\r
+\r
+"She wears very neat patterns always," said Mrs. Plymdale, a little\r
+stung. "And that feather I know she got dyed a pale lavender on\r
+purpose to be consistent. I must say it of Harriet that she wishes to\r
+do right."\r
+\r
+"As to her knowing what has happened, it can't be kept from her long,"\r
+said Mrs. Hackbutt. "The Vincys know, for Mr. Vincy was at the\r
+meeting. It will be a great blow to him. There is his daughter as\r
+well as his sister."\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sprague. "Nobody supposes that Mr. Lydgate\r
+can go on holding up his head in Middlemarch, things look so black\r
+about the thousand pounds he took just at that man's death. It really\r
+makes one shudder."\r
+\r
+"Pride must have a fall," said Mrs. Hackbutt.\r
+\r
+"I am not so sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was as I am for her aunt,"\r
+said Mrs. Plymdale. "She needed a lesson."\r
+\r
+"I suppose the Bulstrodes will go and live abroad somewhere," said Mrs.\r
+Sprague. "That is what is generally done when there is anything\r
+disgraceful in a family."\r
+\r
+"And a most deadly blow it will be to Harriet," said Mrs. Plymdale.\r
+"If ever a woman was crushed, she will be. I pity her from my heart.\r
+And with all her faults, few women are better. From a girl she had the\r
+neatest ways, and was always good-hearted, and as open as the day. You\r
+might look into her drawers when you would--always the same. And so\r
+she has brought up Kate and Ellen. You may think how hard it will be\r
+for her to go among foreigners."\r
+\r
+"The doctor says that is what he should recommend the Lydgates to do,"\r
+said Mrs. Sprague. "He says Lydgate ought to have kept among the\r
+French."\r
+\r
+"That would suit _her_ well enough, I dare say," said Mrs. Plymdale;\r
+"there is that kind of lightness about her. But she got that from her\r
+mother; she never got it from her aunt Bulstrode, who always gave her\r
+good advice, and to my knowledge would rather have had her marry\r
+elsewhere."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Plymdale was in a situation which caused her some complication of\r
+feeling. There had been not only her intimacy with Mrs. Bulstrode, but\r
+also a profitable business relation of the great Plymdale dyeing house\r
+with Mr. Bulstrode, which on the one hand would have inclined her to\r
+desire that the mildest view of his character should be the true one,\r
+but on the other, made her the more afraid of seeming to palliate his\r
+culpability. Again, the late alliance of her family with the Tollers\r
+had brought her in connection with the best circle, which gratified her\r
+in every direction except in the inclination to those serious views\r
+which she believed to be the best in another sense. The sharp little\r
+woman's conscience was somewhat troubled in the adjustment of these\r
+opposing "bests," and of her griefs and satisfactions under late\r
+events, which were likely to humble those who needed humbling, but also\r
+to fall heavily on her old friend whose faults she would have preferred\r
+seeing on a background of prosperity.\r
+\r
+Poor Mrs. Bulstrode, meanwhile, had been no further shaken by the\r
+oncoming tread of calamity than in the busier stirring of that secret\r
+uneasiness which had always been present in her since the last visit of\r
+Raffles to The Shrubs. That the hateful man had come ill to Stone\r
+Court, and that her husband had chosen to remain there and watch over\r
+him, she allowed to be explained by the fact that Raffles had been\r
+employed and aided in earlier-days, and that this made a tie of\r
+benevolence towards him in his degraded helplessness; and she had been\r
+since then innocently cheered by her husband's more hopeful speech\r
+about his own health and ability to continue his attention to business.\r
+The calm was disturbed when Lydgate had brought him home ill from the\r
+meeting, and in spite of comforting assurances during the next few\r
+days, she cried in private from the conviction that her husband was not\r
+suffering from bodily illness merely, but from something that afflicted\r
+his mind. He would not allow her to read to him, and scarcely to sit\r
+with him, alleging nervous susceptibility to sounds and movements; yet\r
+she suspected that in shutting himself up in his private room he wanted\r
+to be busy with his papers. Something, she felt sure, had happened.\r
+Perhaps it was some great loss of money; and she was kept in the dark.\r
+Not daring to question her husband, she said to Lydgate, on the fifth\r
+day after the meeting, when she had not left home except to go to\r
+church--\r
+\r
+"Mr. Lydgate, pray be open with me: I like to know the truth. Has\r
+anything happened to Mr. Bulstrode?"\r
+\r
+"Some little nervous shock," said Lydgate, evasively. He felt that it\r
+was not for him to make the painful revelation.\r
+\r
+"But what brought it on?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking directly at him\r
+with her large dark eyes.\r
+\r
+"There is often something poisonous in the air of public rooms," said\r
+Lydgate. "Strong men can stand it, but it tells on people in\r
+proportion to the delicacy of their systems. It is often impossible to\r
+account for the precise moment of an attack--or rather, to say why the\r
+strength gives way at a particular moment."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode was not satisfied with this answer. There remained in\r
+her the belief that some calamity had befallen her husband, of which\r
+she was to be kept in ignorance; and it was in her nature strongly to\r
+object to such concealment. She begged leave for her daughters to sit\r
+with their father, and drove into the town to pay some visits,\r
+conjecturing that if anything were known to have gone wrong in Mr.\r
+Bulstrode's affairs, she should see or hear some sign of it.\r
+\r
+She called on Mrs. Thesiger, who was not at home, and then drove to\r
+Mrs. Hackbutt's on the other side of the churchyard. Mrs. Hackbutt saw\r
+her coming from an up-stairs window, and remembering her former alarm\r
+lest she should meet Mrs. Bulstrode, felt almost bound in consistency\r
+to send word that she was not at home; but against that, there was a\r
+sudden strong desire within her for the excitement of an interview in\r
+which she was quite determined not to make the slightest allusion to\r
+what was in her mind.\r
+\r
+Hence Mrs. Bulstrode was shown into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Hackbutt\r
+went to her, with more tightness of lip and rubbing of her hands than\r
+was usually observable in her, these being precautions adopted against\r
+freedom of speech. She was resolved not to ask how Mr. Bulstrode was.\r
+\r
+"I have not been anywhere except to church for nearly a week," said\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode, after a few introductory remarks. "But Mr. Bulstrode\r
+was taken so ill at the meeting on Thursday that I have not liked to\r
+leave the house."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Hackbutt rubbed the back of one hand with the palm of the other\r
+held against her chest, and let her eyes ramble over the pattern on the\r
+rug.\r
+\r
+"Was Mr. Hackbutt at the meeting?" persevered Mrs. Bulstrode.\r
+\r
+"Yes, he was," said Mrs. Hackbutt, with the same attitude. "The land\r
+is to be bought by subscription, I believe."\r
+\r
+"Let us hope that there will be no more cases of cholera to be buried\r
+in it," said Mrs. Bulstrode. "It is an awful visitation. But I always\r
+think Middlemarch a very healthy spot. I suppose it is being used to\r
+it from a child; but I never saw the town I should like to live at\r
+better, and especially our end."\r
+\r
+"I am sure I should be glad that you always should live at Middlemarch,\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode," said Mrs. Hackbutt, with a slight sigh. "Still, we\r
+must learn to resign ourselves, wherever our lot may be cast. Though I\r
+am sure there will always be people in this town who will wish you\r
+well."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Hackbutt longed to say, "if you take my advice you will part from\r
+your husband," but it seemed clear to her that the poor woman knew\r
+nothing of the thunder ready to bolt on her head, and she herself could\r
+do no more than prepare her a little. Mrs. Bulstrode felt suddenly\r
+rather chill and trembling: there was evidently something unusual\r
+behind this speech of Mrs. Hackbutt's; but though she had set out with\r
+the desire to be fully informed, she found herself unable now to pursue\r
+her brave purpose, and turning the conversation by an inquiry about the\r
+young Hackbutts, she soon took her leave saying that she was going to\r
+see Mrs. Plymdale. On her way thither she tried to imagine that there\r
+might have been some unusually warm sparring at the meeting between Mr.\r
+Bulstrode and some of his frequent opponents--perhaps Mr. Hackbutt\r
+might have been one of them. That would account for everything.\r
+\r
+But when she was in conversation with Mrs. Plymdale that comforting\r
+explanation seemed no longer tenable. "Selina" received her with a\r
+pathetic affectionateness and a disposition to give edifying answers on\r
+the commonest topics, which could hardly have reference to an ordinary\r
+quarrel of which the most important consequence was a perturbation of\r
+Mr. Bulstrode's health. Beforehand Mrs. Bulstrode had thought that she\r
+would sooner question Mrs. Plymdale than any one else; but she found to\r
+her surprise that an old friend is not always the person whom it is\r
+easiest to make a confidant of: there was the barrier of remembered\r
+communication under other circumstances--there was the dislike of\r
+being pitied and informed by one who had been long wont to allow her\r
+the superiority. For certain words of mysterious appropriateness that\r
+Mrs. Plymdale let fall about her resolution never to turn her back on\r
+her friends, convinced Mrs. Bulstrode that what had happened must be\r
+some kind of misfortune, and instead of being able to say with her\r
+native directness, "What is it that you have in your mind?" she found\r
+herself anxious to get away before she had heard anything more\r
+explicit. She began to have an agitating certainty that the misfortune\r
+was something more than the mere loss of money, being keenly sensitive\r
+to the fact that Selina now, just as Mrs. Hackbutt had done before,\r
+avoided noticing what she said about her husband, as they would have\r
+avoided noticing a personal blemish.\r
+\r
+She said good-by with nervous haste, and told the coachman to drive to\r
+Mr. Vincy's warehouse. In that short drive her dread gathered so much\r
+force from the sense of darkness, that when she entered the private\r
+counting-house where her brother sat at his desk, her knees trembled\r
+and her usually florid face was deathly pale. Something of the same\r
+effect was produced in him by the sight of her: he rose from his seat\r
+to meet her, took her by the hand, and said, with his impulsive\r
+rashness--\r
+\r
+"God help you, Harriet! you know all."\r
+\r
+That moment was perhaps worse than any which came after. It contained\r
+that concentrated experience which in great crises of emotion reveals\r
+the bias of a nature, and is prophetic of the ultimate act which will\r
+end an intermediate struggle. Without that memory of Raffles she might\r
+still have thought only of monetary ruin, but now along with her\r
+brother's look and words there darted into her mind the idea of some\r
+guilt in her husband--then, under the working of terror came the image\r
+of her husband exposed to disgrace--and then, after an instant of\r
+scorching shame in which she felt only the eyes of the world, with one\r
+leap of her heart she was at his side in mournful but unreproaching\r
+fellowship with shame and isolation. All this went on within her in a\r
+mere flash of time--while she sank into the chair, and raised her eyes\r
+to her brother, who stood over her. "I know nothing, Walter. What is\r
+it?" she said, faintly.\r
+\r
+He told her everything, very inartificially, in slow fragments, making\r
+her aware that the scandal went much beyond proof, especially as to the\r
+end of Raffles.\r
+\r
+"People will talk," he said. "Even if a man has been acquitted by a\r
+jury, they'll talk, and nod and wink--and as far as the world goes, a\r
+man might often as well be guilty as not. It's a breakdown blow, and\r
+it damages Lydgate as much as Bulstrode. I don't pretend to say what\r
+is the truth. I only wish we had never heard the name of either\r
+Bulstrode or Lydgate. You'd better have been a Vincy all your life,\r
+and so had Rosamond." Mrs. Bulstrode made no reply.\r
+\r
+"But you must bear up as well as you can, Harriet. People don't blame\r
+_you_. And I'll stand by you whatever you make up your mind to do,"\r
+said the brother, with rough but well-meaning affectionateness.\r
+\r
+"Give me your arm to the carriage, Walter," said Mrs. Bulstrode. "I\r
+feel very weak."\r
+\r
+And when she got home she was obliged to say to her daughter, "I am not\r
+well, my dear; I must go and lie down. Attend to your papa. Leave me\r
+in quiet. I shall take no dinner."\r
+\r
+She locked herself in her room. She needed time to get used to her\r
+maimed consciousness, her poor lopped life, before she could walk\r
+steadily to the place allotted her. A new searching light had fallen\r
+on her husband's character, and she could not judge him leniently: the\r
+twenty years in which she had believed in him and venerated him by\r
+virtue of his concealments came back with particulars that made them\r
+seem an odious deceit. He had married her with that bad past life\r
+hidden behind him, and she had no faith left to protest his innocence\r
+of the worst that was imputed to him. Her honest ostentatious nature\r
+made the sharing of a merited dishonor as bitter as it could be to any\r
+mortal.\r
+\r
+But this imperfectly taught woman, whose phrases and habits were an odd\r
+patchwork, had a loyal spirit within her. The man whose prosperity she\r
+had shared through nearly half a life, and who had unvaryingly\r
+cherished her--now that punishment had befallen him it was not possible\r
+to her in any sense to forsake him. There is a forsaking which still\r
+sits at the same board and lies on the same couch with the forsaken\r
+soul, withering it the more by unloving proximity. She knew, when she\r
+locked her door, that she should unlock it ready to go down to her\r
+unhappy husband and espouse his sorrow, and say of his guilt, I will\r
+mourn and not reproach. But she needed time to gather up her strength;\r
+she needed to sob out her farewell to all the gladness and pride of her\r
+life. When she had resolved to go down, she prepared herself by some\r
+little acts which might seem mere folly to a hard onlooker; they were\r
+her way of expressing to all spectators visible or invisible that she\r
+had begun a new life in which she embraced humiliation. She took off\r
+all her ornaments and put on a plain black gown, and instead of wearing\r
+her much-adorned cap and large bows of hair, she brushed her hair down\r
+and put on a plain bonnet-cap, which made her look suddenly like an\r
+early Methodist.\r
+\r
+Bulstrode, who knew that his wife had been out and had come in saying\r
+that she was not well, had spent the time in an agitation equal to\r
+hers. He had looked forward to her learning the truth from others, and\r
+had acquiesced in that probability, as something easier to him than any\r
+confession. But now that he imagined the moment of her knowledge come,\r
+he awaited the result in anguish. His daughters had been obliged to\r
+consent to leave him, and though he had allowed some food to be brought\r
+to him, he had not touched it. He felt himself perishing slowly in\r
+unpitied misery. Perhaps he should never see his wife's face with\r
+affection in it again. And if he turned to God there seemed to be no\r
+answer but the pressure of retribution.\r
+\r
+It was eight o'clock in the evening before the door opened and his wife\r
+entered. He dared not look up at her. He sat with his eyes bent down,\r
+and as she went towards him she thought he looked smaller--he seemed\r
+so withered and shrunken. A movement of new compassion and old\r
+tenderness went through her like a great wave, and putting one hand on\r
+his which rested on the arm of the chair, and the other on his\r
+shoulder, she said, solemnly but kindly--\r
+\r
+"Look up, Nicholas."\r
+\r
+He raised his eyes with a little start and looked at her half amazed\r
+for a moment: her pale face, her changed, mourning dress, the trembling\r
+about her mouth, all said, "I know;" and her hands and eyes rested\r
+gently on him. He burst out crying and they cried together, she\r
+sitting at his side. They could not yet speak to each other of the\r
+shame which she was bearing with him, or of the acts which had brought\r
+it down on them. His confession was silent, and her promise of\r
+faithfulness was silent. Open-minded as she was, she nevertheless\r
+shrank from the words which would have expressed their mutual\r
+consciousness, as she would have shrunk from flakes of fire. She could\r
+not say, "How much is only slander and false suspicion?" and he did not\r
+say, "I am innocent."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXV.\r
+\r
+ "Le sentiment de la fausseté des plaisirs présents, et\r
+ l'ignorance de la vanité des plaisirs absents causent\r
+ l'inconstance."--PASCAL.\r
+\r
+\r
+Rosamond had a gleam of returning cheerfulness when the house was freed\r
+from the threatening figure, and when all the disagreeable creditors\r
+were paid. But she was not joyous: her married life had fulfilled none\r
+of her hopes, and had been quite spoiled for her imagination. In this\r
+brief interval of calm, Lydgate, remembering that he had often been\r
+stormy in his hours of perturbation, and mindful of the pain Rosamond\r
+had had to bear, was carefully gentle towards her; but he, too, had\r
+lost some of his old spirit, and he still felt it necessary to refer to\r
+an economical change in their way of living as a matter of course,\r
+trying to reconcile her to it gradually, and repressing his anger when\r
+she answered by wishing that he would go to live in London. When she\r
+did not make this answer, she listened languidly, and wondered what she\r
+had that was worth living for. The hard and contemptuous words which\r
+had fallen from her husband in his anger had deeply offended that\r
+vanity which he had at first called into active enjoyment; and what she\r
+regarded as his perverse way of looking at things, kept up a secret\r
+repulsion, which made her receive all his tenderness as a poor\r
+substitute for the happiness he had failed to give her. They were at a\r
+disadvantage with their neighbors, and there was no longer any outlook\r
+towards Quallingham--there was no outlook anywhere except in an\r
+occasional letter from Will Ladislaw. She had felt stung and\r
+disappointed by Will's resolution to quit Middlemarch, for in spite of\r
+what she knew and guessed about his admiration for Dorothea, she\r
+secretly cherished the belief that he had, or would necessarily come to\r
+have, much more admiration for herself; Rosamond being one of those\r
+women who live much in the idea that each man they meet would have\r
+preferred them if the preference had not been hopeless. Mrs. Casaubon\r
+was all very well; but Will's interest in her dated before he knew Mrs.\r
+Lydgate. Rosamond took his way of talking to herself, which was a\r
+mixture of playful fault-finding and hyperbolical gallantry, as the\r
+disguise of a deeper feeling; and in his presence she felt that\r
+agreeable titillation of vanity and sense of romantic drama which\r
+Lydgate's presence had no longer the magic to create. She even\r
+fancied--what will not men and women fancy in these matters?--that\r
+Will exaggerated his admiration for Mrs. Casaubon in order to pique\r
+herself. In this way poor Rosamond's brain had been busy before Will's\r
+departure. He would have made, she thought, a much more suitable\r
+husband for her than she had found in Lydgate. No notion could have\r
+been falser than this, for Rosamond's discontent in her marriage was\r
+due to the conditions of marriage itself, to its demand for\r
+self-suppression and tolerance, and not to the nature of her husband;\r
+but the easy conception of an unreal Better had a sentimental charm\r
+which diverted her ennui. She constructed a little romance which was\r
+to vary the flatness of her life: Will Ladislaw was always to be a\r
+bachelor and live near her, always to be at her command, and have an\r
+understood though never fully expressed passion for her, which would be\r
+sending out lambent flames every now and then in interesting scenes.\r
+His departure had been a proportionate disappointment, and had sadly\r
+increased her weariness of Middlemarch; but at first she had the\r
+alternative dream of pleasures in store from her intercourse with the\r
+family at Quallingham. Since then the troubles of her married life had\r
+deepened, and the absence of other relief encouraged her regretful\r
+rumination over that thin romance which she had once fed on. Men and\r
+women make sad mistakes about their own symptoms, taking their vague\r
+uneasy longings, sometimes for genius, sometimes for religion, and\r
+oftener still for a mighty love. Will Ladislaw had written chatty\r
+letters, half to her and half to Lydgate, and she had replied: their\r
+separation, she felt, was not likely to be final, and the change she\r
+now most longed for was that Lydgate should go to live in London;\r
+everything would be agreeable in London; and she had set to work with\r
+quiet determination to win this result, when there came a sudden,\r
+delightful promise which inspirited her.\r
+\r
+It came shortly before the memorable meeting at the town-hall, and was\r
+nothing less than a letter from Will Ladislaw to Lydgate, which turned\r
+indeed chiefly on his new interest in plans of colonization, but\r
+mentioned incidentally, that he might find it necessary to pay a visit\r
+to Middlemarch within the next few weeks--a very pleasant necessity, he\r
+said, almost as good as holidays to a schoolboy. He hoped there was\r
+his old place on the rug, and a great deal of music in store for him.\r
+But he was quite uncertain as to the time. While Lydgate was reading\r
+the letter to Rosamond, her face looked like a reviving flower--it grew\r
+prettier and more blooming. There was nothing unendurable now: the\r
+debts were paid, Mr. Ladislaw was coming, and Lydgate would be\r
+persuaded to leave Middlemarch and settle in London, which was "so\r
+different from a provincial town."\r
+\r
+That was a bright bit of morning. But soon the sky became black over\r
+poor Rosamond. The presence of a new gloom in her husband, about which\r
+he was entirely reserved towards her--for he dreaded to expose his\r
+lacerated feeling to her neutrality and misconception--soon received a\r
+painfully strange explanation, alien to all her previous notions of\r
+what could affect her happiness. In the new gayety of her spirits,\r
+thinking that Lydgate had merely a worse fit of moodiness than usual,\r
+causing him to leave her remarks unanswered, and evidently to keep out\r
+of her way as much as possible, she chose, a few days after the\r
+meeting, and without speaking to him on the subject, to send out notes\r
+of invitation for a small evening party, feeling convinced that this\r
+was a judicious step, since people seemed to have been keeping aloof\r
+from them, and wanted restoring to the old habit of intercourse. When\r
+the invitations had been accepted, she would tell Lydgate, and give him\r
+a wise admonition as to how a medical man should behave to his\r
+neighbors; for Rosamond had the gravest little airs possible about\r
+other people's duties. But all the invitations were declined, and the\r
+last answer came into Lydgate's hands.\r
+\r
+"This is Chichely's scratch. What is he writing to you about?" said\r
+Lydgate, wonderingly, as he handed the note to her. She was obliged to\r
+let him see it, and, looking at her severely, he said--\r
+\r
+"Why on earth have you been sending out invitations without telling me,\r
+Rosamond? I beg, I insist that you will not invite any one to this\r
+house. I suppose you have been inviting others, and they have refused\r
+too." She said nothing.\r
+\r
+"Do you hear me?" thundered Lydgate.\r
+\r
+"Yes, certainly I hear you," said Rosamond, turning her head aside with\r
+the movement of a graceful long-necked bird.\r
+\r
+Lydgate tossed his head without any grace and walked out of the room,\r
+feeling himself dangerous. Rosamond's thought was, that he was getting\r
+more and more unbearable--not that there was any new special reason for\r
+this peremptoriness. His indisposition to tell her anything in which\r
+he was sure beforehand that she would not be interested was growing\r
+into an unreflecting habit, and she was in ignorance of everything\r
+connected with the thousand pounds except that the loan had come from\r
+her uncle Bulstrode. Lydgate's odious humors and their neighbors'\r
+apparent avoidance of them had an unaccountable date for her in their\r
+relief from money difficulties. If the invitations had been accepted\r
+she would have gone to invite her mamma and the rest, whom she had seen\r
+nothing of for several days; and she now put on her bonnet to go and\r
+inquire what had become of them all, suddenly feeling as if there were\r
+a conspiracy to leave her in isolation with a husband disposed to\r
+offend everybody. It was after the dinner hour, and she found her\r
+father and mother seated together alone in the drawing-room. They\r
+greeted her with sad looks, saying "Well, my dear!" and no more. She\r
+had never seen her father look so downcast; and seating herself near\r
+him she said--\r
+\r
+"Is there anything the matter, papa?"\r
+\r
+He did not answer, but Mrs. Vincy said, "Oh, my dear, have you heard\r
+nothing? It won't be long before it reaches you."\r
+\r
+"Is it anything about Tertius?" said Rosamond, turning pale. The idea\r
+of trouble immediately connected itself with what had been\r
+unaccountable to her in him.\r
+\r
+"Oh, my dear, yes. To think of your marrying into this trouble. Debt\r
+was bad enough, but this will be worse."\r
+\r
+"Stay, stay, Lucy," said Mr. Vincy. "Have you heard nothing about your\r
+uncle Bulstrode, Rosamond?"\r
+\r
+"No, papa," said the poor thing, feeling as if trouble were not\r
+anything she had before experienced, but some invisible power with an\r
+iron grasp that made her soul faint within her.\r
+\r
+Her father told her everything, saying at the end, "It's better for you\r
+to know, my dear. I think Lydgate must leave the town. Things have\r
+gone against him. I dare say he couldn't help it. I don't accuse him\r
+of any harm," said Mr. Vincy. He had always before been disposed to\r
+find the utmost fault with Lydgate.\r
+\r
+The shock to Rosamond was terrible. It seemed to her that no lot could\r
+be so cruelly hard as hers to have married a man who had become the\r
+centre of infamous suspicions. In many cases it is inevitable that the\r
+shame is felt to be the worst part of crime; and it would have required\r
+a great deal of disentangling reflection, such as had never entered\r
+into Rosamond's life, for her in these moments to feel that her trouble\r
+was less than if her husband had been certainly known to have done\r
+something criminal. All the shame seemed to be there. And she had\r
+innocently married this man with the belief that he and his family were\r
+a glory to her! She showed her usual reticence to her parents, and\r
+only said, that if Lydgate had done as she wished he would have left\r
+Middlemarch long ago.\r
+\r
+"She bears it beyond anything," said her mother when she was gone.\r
+\r
+"Ah, thank God!" said Mr. Vincy, who was much broken down.\r
+\r
+But Rosamond went home with a sense of justified repugnance towards her\r
+husband. What had he really done--how had he really acted? She did\r
+not know. Why had he not told her everything? He did not speak to her\r
+on the subject, and of course she could not speak to him. It came into\r
+her mind once that she would ask her father to let her go home again;\r
+but dwelling on that prospect made it seem utter dreariness to her: a\r
+married woman gone back to live with her parents--life seemed to have\r
+no meaning for her in such a position: she could not contemplate\r
+herself in it.\r
+\r
+The next two days Lydgate observed a change in her, and believed that\r
+she had heard the bad news. Would she speak to him about it, or would\r
+she go on forever in the silence which seemed to imply that she\r
+believed him guilty? We must remember that he was in a morbid state of\r
+mind, in which almost all contact was pain. Certainly Rosamond in this\r
+case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of confidence on\r
+his part; but in the bitterness of his soul he excused himself;--was\r
+he not justified in shrinking from the task of telling her, since now\r
+she knew the truth she had no impulse to speak to him? But a\r
+deeper-lying consciousness that he was in fault made him restless, and\r
+the silence between them became intolerable to him; it was as if they\r
+were both adrift on one piece of wreck and looked away from each other.\r
+\r
+He thought, "I am a fool. Haven't I given up expecting anything? I\r
+have married care, not help." And that evening he said--\r
+\r
+"Rosamond, have you heard anything that distresses you?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," she answered, laying down her work, which she had been carrying\r
+on with a languid semi-consciousness, most unlike her usual self.\r
+\r
+"What have you heard?"\r
+\r
+"Everything, I suppose. Papa told me."\r
+\r
+"That people think me disgraced?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Rosamond, faintly, beginning to sew again automatically.\r
+\r
+There was silence. Lydgate thought, "If she has any trust in me--any\r
+notion of what I am, she ought to speak now and say that she does not\r
+believe I have deserved disgrace."\r
+\r
+But Rosamond on her side went on moving her fingers languidly.\r
+Whatever was to be said on the subject she expected to come from\r
+Tertius. What did she know? And if he were innocent of any wrong, why\r
+did he not do something to clear himself?\r
+\r
+This silence of hers brought a new rush of gall to that bitter mood in\r
+which Lydgate had been saying to himself that nobody believed in\r
+him--even Farebrother had not come forward. He had begun to question\r
+her with the intent that their conversation should disperse the chill\r
+fog which had gathered between them, but he felt his resolution checked\r
+by despairing resentment. Even this trouble, like the rest, she seemed\r
+to regard as if it were hers alone. He was always to her a being\r
+apart, doing what she objected to. He started from his chair with an\r
+angry impulse, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked up and\r
+down the room. There was an underlying consciousness all the while\r
+that he should have to master this anger, and tell her everything, and\r
+convince her of the facts. For he had almost learned the lesson that\r
+he must bend himself to her nature, and that because she came short in\r
+her sympathy, he must give the more. Soon he recurred to his intention\r
+of opening himself: the occasion must not be lost. If he could bring\r
+her to feel with some solemnity that here was a slander which must be\r
+met and not run away from, and that the whole trouble had come out of\r
+his desperate want of money, it would be a moment for urging powerfully\r
+on her that they should be one in the resolve to do with as little\r
+money as possible, so that they might weather the bad time and keep\r
+themselves independent. He would mention the definite measures which\r
+he desired to take, and win her to a willing spirit. He was bound to\r
+try this--and what else was there for him to do?\r
+\r
+He did not know how long he had been walking uneasily backwards and\r
+forwards, but Rosamond felt that it was long, and wished that he would\r
+sit down. She too had begun to think this an opportunity for urging on\r
+Tertius what he ought to do. Whatever might be the truth about all\r
+this misery, there was one dread which asserted itself.\r
+\r
+Lydgate at last seated himself, not in his usual chair, but in one\r
+nearer to Rosamond, leaning aside in it towards her, and looking at her\r
+gravely before he reopened the sad subject. He had conquered himself\r
+so far, and was about to speak with a sense of solemnity, as on an\r
+occasion which was not to be repeated. He had even opened his lips,\r
+when Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked at him and said--\r
+\r
+"Surely, Tertius--"\r
+\r
+"Well?"\r
+\r
+"Surely now at last you have given up the idea of staying in\r
+Middlemarch. I cannot go on living here. Let us go to London. Papa,\r
+and every one else, says you had better go. Whatever misery I have to\r
+put up with, it will be easier away from here."\r
+\r
+Lydgate felt miserably jarred. Instead of that critical outpouring for\r
+which he had prepared himself with effort, here was the old round to be\r
+gone through again. He could not bear it. With a quick change of\r
+countenance he rose and went out of the room.\r
+\r
+Perhaps if he had been strong enough to persist in his determination to\r
+be the more because she was less, that evening might have had a better\r
+issue. If his energy could have borne down that check, he might still\r
+have wrought on Rosamond's vision and will. We cannot be sure that any\r
+natures, however inflexible or peculiar, will resist this effect from a\r
+more massive being than their own. They may be taken by storm and for\r
+the moment converted, becoming part of the soul which enwraps them in\r
+the ardor of its movement. But poor Lydgate had a throbbing pain\r
+within him, and his energy had fallen short of its task.\r
+\r
+The beginning of mutual understanding and resolve seemed as far off as\r
+ever; nay, it seemed blocked out by the sense of unsuccessful effort.\r
+They lived on from day to day with their thoughts still apart, Lydgate\r
+going about what work he had in a mood of despair, and Rosamond\r
+feeling, with some justification, that he was behaving cruelly. It was\r
+of no use to say anything to Tertius; but when Will Ladislaw came, she\r
+was determined to tell him everything. In spite of her general\r
+reticence, she needed some one who would recognize her wrongs.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXVI.\r
+\r
+ "To mercy, pity, peace, and love\r
+ All pray in their distress,\r
+ And to these virtues of delight,\r
+ Return their thankfulness.\r
+ . . . . . .\r
+ For Mercy has a human heart,\r
+ Pity a human face;\r
+ And Love, the human form divine;\r
+ And Peace, the human dress.\r
+ --WILLIAM BLAKE: Songs of Innocence.\r
+\r
+\r
+Some days later, Lydgate was riding to Lowick Manor, in consequence of\r
+a summons from Dorothea. The summons had not been unexpected, since it\r
+had followed a letter from Mr. Bulstrode, in which he stated that he\r
+had resumed his arrangements for quitting Middlemarch, and must remind\r
+Lydgate of his previous communications about the Hospital, to the\r
+purport of which he still adhered. It had been his duty, before taking\r
+further steps, to reopen the subject with Mrs. Casaubon, who now\r
+wished, as before, to discuss the question with Lydgate. "Your views\r
+may possibly have undergone some change," wrote Mr. Bulstrode; "but, in\r
+that case also, it is desirable that you should lay them before her."\r
+\r
+Dorothea awaited his arrival with eager interest. Though, in deference\r
+to her masculine advisers, she had refrained from what Sir James had\r
+called "interfering in this Bulstrode business," the hardship of\r
+Lydgate's position was continually in her mind, and when Bulstrode\r
+applied to her again about the hospital, she felt that the opportunity\r
+was come to her which she had been hindered from hastening. In her\r
+luxurious home, wandering under the boughs of her own great trees, her\r
+thought was going out over the lot of others, and her emotions were\r
+imprisoned. The idea of some active good within her reach, "haunted\r
+her like a passion," and another's need having once come to her as a\r
+distinct image, preoccupied her desire with the yearning to give\r
+relief, and made her own ease tasteless. She was full of confident\r
+hope about this interview with Lydgate, never heeding what was said of\r
+his personal reserve; never heeding that she was a very young woman.\r
+Nothing could have seemed more irrelevant to Dorothea than insistence\r
+on her youth and sex when she was moved to show her human fellowship.\r
+\r
+As she sat waiting in the library, she could do nothing but live\r
+through again all the past scenes which had brought Lydgate into her\r
+memories. They all owed their significance to her marriage and its\r
+troubles--but no; there were two occasions in which the image of\r
+Lydgate had come painfully in connection with his wife and some one\r
+else. The pain had been allayed for Dorothea, but it had left in her\r
+an awakened conjecture as to what Lydgate's marriage might be to him, a\r
+susceptibility to the slightest hint about Mrs. Lydgate. These\r
+thoughts were like a drama to her, and made her eyes bright, and gave\r
+an attitude of suspense to her whole frame, though she was only looking\r
+out from the brown library on to the turf and the bright green buds\r
+which stood in relief against the dark evergreens.\r
+\r
+When Lydgate came in, she was almost shocked at the change in his face,\r
+which was strikingly perceptible to her who had not seen him for two\r
+months. It was not the change of emaciation, but that effect which\r
+even young faces will very soon show from the persistent presence of\r
+resentment and despondency. Her cordial look, when she put out her\r
+hand to him, softened his expression, but only with melancholy.\r
+\r
+"I have wished very much to see you for a long while, Mr. Lydgate,"\r
+said Dorothea when they were seated opposite each other; "but I put off\r
+asking you to come until Mr. Bulstrode applied to me again about the\r
+Hospital. I know that the advantage of keeping the management of it\r
+separate from that of the Infirmary depends on you, or, at least, on\r
+the good which you are encouraged to hope for from having it under your\r
+control. And I am sure you will not refuse to tell me exactly what you\r
+think."\r
+\r
+"You want to decide whether you should give a generous support to the\r
+Hospital," said Lydgate. "I cannot conscientiously advise you to do it\r
+in dependence on any activity of mine. I may be obliged to leave the\r
+town."\r
+\r
+He spoke curtly, feeling the ache of despair as to his being able to\r
+carry out any purpose that Rosamond had set her mind against.\r
+\r
+"Not because there is no one to believe in you?" said Dorothea, pouring\r
+out her words in clearness from a full heart. "I know the unhappy\r
+mistakes about you. I knew them from the first moment to be mistakes.\r
+You have never done anything vile. You would not do anything\r
+dishonorable."\r
+\r
+It was the first assurance of belief in him that had fallen on\r
+Lydgate's ears. He drew a deep breath, and said, "Thank you." He could\r
+say no more: it was something very new and strange in his life that\r
+these few words of trust from a woman should be so much to him.\r
+\r
+"I beseech you to tell me how everything was," said Dorothea,\r
+fearlessly. "I am sure that the truth would clear you."\r
+\r
+Lydgate started up from his chair and went towards the window,\r
+forgetting where he was. He had so often gone over in his mind the\r
+possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances\r
+that would tell, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and had so often\r
+decided against it--he had so often said to himself that his assertions\r
+would not change people's impressions--that Dorothea's words sounded\r
+like a temptation to do something which in his soberness he had\r
+pronounced to be unreasonable.\r
+\r
+"Tell me, pray," said Dorothea, with simple earnestness; "then we can\r
+consult together. It is wicked to let people think evil of any one\r
+falsely, when it can be hindered."\r
+\r
+Lydgate turned, remembering where he was, and saw Dorothea's face\r
+looking up at him with a sweet trustful gravity. The presence of a\r
+noble nature, generous in its wishes, ardent in its charity, changes\r
+the lights for us: we begin to see things again in their larger,\r
+quieter masses, and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in\r
+the wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning to act on\r
+Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all life as one who is\r
+dragged and struggling amid the throng. He sat down again, and felt\r
+that he was recovering his old self in the consciousness that he was\r
+with one who believed in it.\r
+\r
+"I don't want," he said, "to bear hard on Bulstrode, who has lent me\r
+money of which I was in need--though I would rather have gone without\r
+it now. He is hunted down and miserable, and has only a poor thread of\r
+life in him. But I should like to tell you everything. It will be a\r
+comfort to me to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and where I\r
+shall not seem to be offering assertions of my own honesty. You will\r
+feel what is fair to another, as you feel what is fair to me."\r
+\r
+"Do trust me," said Dorothea; "I will not repeat anything without your\r
+leave. But at the very least, I could say that you have made all the\r
+circumstances clear to me, and that I know you are not in any way\r
+guilty. Mr. Farebrother would believe me, and my uncle, and Sir James\r
+Chettam. Nay, there are persons in Middlemarch to whom I could go;\r
+although they don't know much of me, they would believe me. They would\r
+know that I could have no other motive than truth and justice. I would\r
+take any pains to clear you. I have very little to do. There is\r
+nothing better that I can do in the world."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's voice, as she made this childlike picture of what she would\r
+do, might have been almost taken as a proof that she could do it\r
+effectively. The searching tenderness of her woman's tones seemed made\r
+for a defence against ready accusers. Lydgate did not stay to think\r
+that she was Quixotic: he gave himself up, for the first time in his\r
+life, to the exquisite sense of leaning entirely on a generous\r
+sympathy, without any check of proud reserve. And he told her\r
+everything, from the time when, under the pressure of his difficulties,\r
+he unwillingly made his first application to Bulstrode; gradually, in\r
+the relief of speaking, getting into a more thorough utterance of what\r
+had gone on in his mind--entering fully into the fact that his\r
+treatment of the patient was opposed to the dominant practice, into his\r
+doubts at the last, his ideal of medical duty, and his uneasy\r
+consciousness that the acceptance of the money had made some difference\r
+in his private inclination and professional behavior, though not in his\r
+fulfilment of any publicly recognized obligation.\r
+\r
+"It has come to my knowledge since," he added, "that Hawley sent some\r
+one to examine the housekeeper at Stone Court, and she said that she\r
+gave the patient all the opium in the phial I left, as well as a good\r
+deal of brandy. But that would not have been opposed to ordinary\r
+prescriptions, even of first-rate men. The suspicions against me had\r
+no hold there: they are grounded on the knowledge that I took money,\r
+that Bulstrode had strong motives for wishing the man to die, and that\r
+he gave me the money as a bribe to concur in some malpractices or other\r
+against the patient--that in any case I accepted a bribe to hold my\r
+tongue. They are just the suspicions that cling the most obstinately,\r
+because they lie in people's inclination and can never be disproved.\r
+How my orders came to be disobeyed is a question to which I don't know\r
+the answer. It is still possible that Bulstrode was innocent of any\r
+criminal intention--even possible that he had nothing to do with the\r
+disobedience, and merely abstained from mentioning it. But all that\r
+has nothing to do with the public belief. It is one of those cases on\r
+which a man is condemned on the ground of his character--it is\r
+believed that he has committed a crime in some undefined way, because\r
+he had the motive for doing it; and Bulstrode's character has enveloped\r
+me, because I took his money. I am simply blighted--like a damaged\r
+ear of corn--the business is done and can't be undone."\r
+\r
+"Oh, it is hard!" said Dorothea. "I understand the difficulty there is\r
+in your vindicating yourself. And that all this should have come to\r
+you who had meant to lead a higher life than the common, and to find\r
+out better ways--I cannot bear to rest in this as unchangeable. I know\r
+you meant that. I remember what you said to me when you first spoke to\r
+me about the hospital. There is no sorrow I have thought more about\r
+than that--to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Lydgate, feeling that here he had found room for the full\r
+meaning of his grief. "I had some ambition. I meant everything to be\r
+different with me. I thought I had more strength and mastery. But the\r
+most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except oneself."\r
+\r
+"Suppose," said Dorothea, meditatively,--"suppose we kept on the\r
+Hospital according to the present plan, and you stayed here though only\r
+with the friendship and support of a few, the evil feeling towards you\r
+would gradually die out; there would come opportunities in which people\r
+would be forced to acknowledge that they had been unjust to you,\r
+because they would see that your purposes were pure. You may still win\r
+a great fame like the Louis and Laennec I have heard you speak of, and\r
+we shall all be proud of you," she ended, with a smile.\r
+\r
+"That might do if I had my old trust in myself," said Lydgate,\r
+mournfully. "Nothing galls me more than the notion of turning round\r
+and running away before this slander, leaving it unchecked behind me.\r
+Still, I can't ask any one to put a great deal of money into a plan\r
+which depends on me."\r
+\r
+"It would be quite worth my while," said Dorothea, simply. "Only\r
+think. I am very uncomfortable with my money, because they tell me I\r
+have too little for any great scheme of the sort I like best, and yet I\r
+have too much. I don't know what to do. I have seven hundred a-year\r
+of my own fortune, and nineteen hundred a-year that Mr. Casaubon left\r
+me, and between three and four thousand of ready money in the bank. I\r
+wished to raise money and pay it off gradually out of my income which I\r
+don't want, to buy land with and found a village which should be a\r
+school of industry; but Sir James and my uncle have convinced me that\r
+the risk would be too great. So you see that what I should most\r
+rejoice at would be to have something good to do with my money: I\r
+should like it to make other people's lives better to them. It makes\r
+me very uneasy--coming all to me who don't want it."\r
+\r
+A smile broke through the gloom of Lydgate's face. The childlike\r
+grave-eyed earnestness with which Dorothea said all this was\r
+irresistible--blent into an adorable whole with her ready understanding\r
+of high experience. (Of lower experience such as plays a great part in\r
+the world, poor Mrs. Casaubon had a very blurred shortsighted\r
+knowledge, little helped by her imagination.) But she took the smile as\r
+encouragement of her plan.\r
+\r
+"I think you see now that you spoke too scrupulously," she said, in a\r
+tone of persuasion. "The hospital would be one good; and making your\r
+life quite whole and well again would be another."\r
+\r
+Lydgate's smile had died away. "You have the goodness as well as the\r
+money to do all that; if it could be done," he said. "But--"\r
+\r
+He hesitated a little while, looking vaguely towards the window; and\r
+she sat in silent expectation. At last he turned towards her and said\r
+impetuously--\r
+\r
+"Why should I not tell you?--you know what sort of bond marriage is.\r
+You will understand everything."\r
+\r
+Dorothea felt her heart beginning to beat faster. Had he that sorrow\r
+too? But she feared to say any word, and he went on immediately.\r
+\r
+"It is impossible for me now to do anything--to take any step without\r
+considering my wife's happiness. The thing that I might like to do if\r
+I were alone, is become impossible to me. I can't see her miserable.\r
+She married me without knowing what she was going into, and it might\r
+have been better for her if she had not married me."\r
+\r
+"I know, I know--you could not give her pain, if you were not obliged\r
+to do it," said Dorothea, with keen memory of her own life.\r
+\r
+"And she has set her mind against staying. She wishes to go. The\r
+troubles she has had here have wearied her," said Lydgate, breaking off\r
+again, lest he should say too much.\r
+\r
+"But when she saw the good that might come of staying--" said Dorothea,\r
+remonstrantly, looking at Lydgate as if he had forgotten the reasons\r
+which had just been considered. He did not speak immediately.\r
+\r
+"She would not see it," he said at last, curtly, feeling at first that\r
+this statement must do without explanation. "And, indeed, I have lost\r
+all spirit about carrying on my life here." He paused a moment and\r
+then, following the impulse to let Dorothea see deeper into the\r
+difficulty of his life, he said, "The fact is, this trouble has come\r
+upon her confusedly. We have not been able to speak to each other\r
+about it. I am not sure what is in her mind about it: she may fear\r
+that I have really done something base. It is my fault; I ought to be\r
+more open. But I have been suffering cruelly."\r
+\r
+"May I go and see her?" said Dorothea, eagerly. "Would she accept my\r
+sympathy? I would tell her that you have not been blamable before any\r
+one's judgment but your own. I would tell her that you shall be\r
+cleared in every fair mind. I would cheer her heart. Will you ask her\r
+if I may go to see her? I did see her once."\r
+\r
+"I am sure you may," said Lydgate, seizing the proposition with some\r
+hope. "She would feel honored--cheered, I think, by the proof that you\r
+at least have some respect for me. I will not speak to her about your\r
+coming--that she may not connect it with my wishes at all. I know very\r
+well that I ought not to have left anything to be told her by others,\r
+but--"\r
+\r
+He broke off, and there was a moment's silence. Dorothea refrained\r
+from saying what was in her mind--how well she knew that there might be\r
+invisible barriers to speech between husband and wife. This was a\r
+point on which even sympathy might make a wound. She returned to the\r
+more outward aspect of Lydgate's position, saying cheerfully--\r
+\r
+"And if Mrs. Lydgate knew that there were friends who would believe in\r
+you and support you, she might then be glad that you should stay in\r
+your place and recover your hopes--and do what you meant to do.\r
+Perhaps then you would see that it was right to agree with what I\r
+proposed about your continuing at the Hospital. Surely you would, if\r
+you still have faith in it as a means of making your knowledge useful?"\r
+\r
+Lydgate did not answer, and she saw that he was debating with himself.\r
+\r
+"You need not decide immediately," she said, gently. "A few days hence\r
+it will be early enough for me to send my answer to Mr. Bulstrode."\r
+\r
+Lydgate still waited, but at last turned to speak in his most decisive\r
+tones.\r
+\r
+"No; I prefer that there should be no interval left for wavering. I am\r
+no longer sure enough of myself--I mean of what it would be possible\r
+for me to do under the changed circumstances of my life. It would be\r
+dishonorable to let others engage themselves to anything serious in\r
+dependence on me. I might be obliged to go away after all; I see\r
+little chance of anything else. The whole thing is too problematic; I\r
+cannot consent to be the cause of your goodness being wasted. No--let\r
+the new Hospital be joined with the old Infirmary, and everything go on\r
+as it might have done if I had never come. I have kept a valuable\r
+register since I have been there; I shall send it to a man who will\r
+make use of it," he ended bitterly. "I can think of nothing for a long\r
+while but getting an income."\r
+\r
+"It hurts me very much to hear you speak so hopelessly," said Dorothea.\r
+"It would be a happiness to your friends, who believe in your future,\r
+in your power to do great things, if you would let them save you from\r
+that. Think how much money I have; it would be like taking a burthen\r
+from me if you took some of it every year till you got free from this\r
+fettering want of income. Why should not people do these things? It\r
+is so difficult to make shares at all even. This is one way."\r
+\r
+"God bless you, Mrs. Casaubon!" said Lydgate, rising as if with the\r
+same impulse that made his words energetic, and resting his arm on the\r
+back of the great leather chair he had been sitting in. "It is good\r
+that you should have such feelings. But I am not the man who ought to\r
+allow himself to benefit by them. I have not given guarantees enough.\r
+I must not at least sink into the degradation of being pensioned for\r
+work that I never achieved. It is very clear to me that I must not\r
+count on anything else than getting away from Middlemarch as soon as I\r
+can manage it. I should not be able for a long while, at the very\r
+best, to get an income here, and--and it is easier to make necessary\r
+changes in a new place. I must do as other men do, and think what will\r
+please the world and bring in money; look for a little opening in the\r
+London crowd, and push myself; set up in a watering-place, or go to\r
+some southern town where there are plenty of idle English, and get\r
+myself puffed,--that is the sort of shell I must creep into and try to\r
+keep my soul alive in."\r
+\r
+"Now that is not brave," said Dorothea,--"to give up the fight."\r
+\r
+"No, it is not brave," said Lydgate, "but if a man is afraid of\r
+creeping paralysis?" Then, in another tone, "Yet you have made a great\r
+difference in my courage by believing in me. Everything seems more\r
+bearable since I have talked to you; and if you can clear me in a few\r
+other minds, especially in Farebrother's, I shall be deeply grateful.\r
+The point I wish you not to mention is the fact of disobedience to my\r
+orders. That would soon get distorted. After all, there is no\r
+evidence for me but people's opinion of me beforehand. You can only\r
+repeat my own report of myself."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Farebrother will believe--others will believe," said Dorothea. "I\r
+can say of you what will make it stupidity to suppose that you would be\r
+bribed to do a wickedness."\r
+\r
+"I don't know," said Lydgate, with something like a groan in his voice.\r
+"I have not taken a bribe yet. But there is a pale shade of bribery\r
+which is sometimes called prosperity. You will do me another great\r
+kindness, then, and come to see my wife?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, I will. I remember how pretty she is," said Dorothea, into whose\r
+mind every impression about Rosamond had cut deep. "I hope she will\r
+like me."\r
+\r
+As Lydgate rode away, he thought, "This young creature has a heart\r
+large enough for the Virgin Mary. She evidently thinks nothing of her\r
+own future, and would pledge away half her income at once, as if she\r
+wanted nothing for herself but a chair to sit in from which she can\r
+look down with those clear eyes at the poor mortals who pray to her.\r
+She seems to have what I never saw in any woman before--a fountain of\r
+friendship towards men--a man can make a friend of her. Casaubon must\r
+have raised some heroic hallucination in her. I wonder if she could\r
+have any other sort of passion for a man? Ladislaw?--there was\r
+certainly an unusual feeling between them. And Casaubon must have had\r
+a notion of it. Well--her love might help a man more than her money."\r
+\r
+Dorothea on her side had immediately formed a plan of relieving Lydgate\r
+from his obligation to Bulstrode, which she felt sure was a part,\r
+though small, of the galling pressure he had to bear. She sat down at\r
+once under the inspiration of their interview, and wrote a brief note,\r
+in which she pleaded that she had more claim than Mr. Bulstrode had to\r
+the satisfaction of providing the money which had been serviceable to\r
+Lydgate--that it would be unkind in Lydgate not to grant her the\r
+position of being his helper in this small matter, the favor being\r
+entirely to her who had so little that was plainly marked out for her\r
+to do with her superfluous money. He might call her a creditor or by\r
+any other name if it did but imply that he granted her request. She\r
+enclosed a check for a thousand pounds, and determined to take the\r
+letter with her the next day when she went to see Rosamond.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXVII.\r
+\r
+ "And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,\r
+ To mark the full-fraught man and best indued\r
+ With some suspicion."\r
+ --Henry V.\r
+\r
+\r
+The next day Lydgate had to go to Brassing, and told Rosamond that he\r
+should be away until the evening. Of late she had never gone beyond\r
+her own house and garden, except to church, and once to see her papa,\r
+to whom she said, "If Tertius goes away, you will help us to move, will\r
+you not, papa? I suppose we shall have very little money. I am sure I\r
+hope some one will help us." And Mr. Vincy had said, "Yes, child, I\r
+don't mind a hundred or two. I can see the end of that." With these\r
+exceptions she had sat at home in languid melancholy and suspense,\r
+fixing her mind on Will Ladislaw's coming as the one point of hope and\r
+interest, and associating this with some new urgency on Lydgate to make\r
+immediate arrangements for leaving Middlemarch and going to London,\r
+till she felt assured that the coming would be a potent cause of the\r
+going, without at all seeing how. This way of establishing sequences\r
+is too common to be fairly regarded as a peculiar folly in Rosamond.\r
+And it is precisely this sort of sequence which causes the greatest\r
+shock when it is sundered: for to see how an effect may be produced is\r
+often to see possible missings and checks; but to see nothing except\r
+the desirable cause, and close upon it the desirable effect, rids us of\r
+doubt and makes our minds strongly intuitive. That was the process\r
+going on in poor Rosamond, while she arranged all objects around her\r
+with the same nicety as ever, only with more slowness--or sat down to\r
+the piano, meaning to play, and then desisting, yet lingering on the\r
+music stool with her white fingers suspended on the wooden front, and\r
+looking before her in dreamy ennui. Her melancholy had become so\r
+marked that Lydgate felt a strange timidity before it, as a perpetual\r
+silent reproach, and the strong man, mastered by his keen sensibilities\r
+towards this fair fragile creature whose life he seemed somehow to have\r
+bruised, shrank from her look, and sometimes started at her approach,\r
+fear of her and fear for her rushing in only the more forcibly after it\r
+had been momentarily expelled by exasperation.\r
+\r
+But this morning Rosamond descended from her room upstairs--where she\r
+sometimes sat the whole day when Lydgate was out--equipped for a walk\r
+in the town. She had a letter to post--a letter addressed to Mr.\r
+Ladislaw and written with charming discretion, but intended to hasten\r
+his arrival by a hint of trouble. The servant-maid, their sole\r
+house-servant now, noticed her coming down-stairs in her walking dress,\r
+and thought "there never did anybody look so pretty in a bonnet poor\r
+thing."\r
+\r
+Meanwhile Dorothea's mind was filled with her project of going to\r
+Rosamond, and with the many thoughts, both of the past and the probable\r
+future, which gathered round the idea of that visit. Until yesterday\r
+when Lydgate had opened to her a glimpse of some trouble in his married\r
+life, the image of Mrs. Lydgate had always been associated for her with\r
+that of Will Ladislaw. Even in her most uneasy moments--even when she\r
+had been agitated by Mrs. Cadwallader's painfully graphic report of\r
+gossip--her effort, nay, her strongest impulsive prompting, had been\r
+towards the vindication of Will from any sullying surmises; and when,\r
+in her meeting with him afterwards, she had at first interpreted his\r
+words as a probable allusion to a feeling towards Mrs. Lydgate which he\r
+was determined to cut himself off from indulging, she had had a quick,\r
+sad, excusing vision of the charm there might be in his constant\r
+opportunities of companionship with that fair creature, who most likely\r
+shared his other tastes as she evidently did his delight in music. But\r
+there had followed his parting words--the few passionate words in\r
+which he had implied that she herself was the object of whom his love\r
+held him in dread, that it was his love for her only which he was\r
+resolved not to declare but to carry away into banishment. From the\r
+time of that parting, Dorothea, believing in Will's love for her,\r
+believing with a proud delight in his delicate sense of honor and his\r
+determination that no one should impeach him justly, felt her heart\r
+quite at rest as to the regard he might have for Mrs. Lydgate. She was\r
+sure that the regard was blameless.\r
+\r
+There are natures in which, if they love us, we are conscious of having\r
+a sort of baptism and consecration: they bind us over to rectitude and\r
+purity by their pure belief about us; and our sins become that worst\r
+kind of sacrilege which tears down the invisible altar of trust. "If\r
+you are not good, none is good"--those little words may give a\r
+terrific meaning to responsibility, may hold a vitriolic intensity for\r
+remorse.\r
+\r
+Dorothea's nature was of that kind: her own passionate faults lay along\r
+the easily counted open channels of her ardent character; and while she\r
+was full of pity for the visible mistakes of others, she had not yet\r
+any material within her experience for subtle constructions and\r
+suspicions of hidden wrong. But that simplicity of hers, holding up an\r
+ideal for others in her believing conception of them, was one of the\r
+great powers of her womanhood. And it had from the first acted\r
+strongly on Will Ladislaw. He felt, when he parted from her, that the\r
+brief words by which he had tried to convey to her his feeling about\r
+herself and the division which her fortune made between them, would\r
+only profit by their brevity when Dorothea had to interpret them: he\r
+felt that in her mind he had found his highest estimate.\r
+\r
+And he was right there. In the months since their parting Dorothea had\r
+felt a delicious though sad repose in their relation to each other, as\r
+one which was inwardly whole and without blemish. She had an active\r
+force of antagonism within her, when the antagonism turned on the\r
+defence either of plans or persons that she believed in; and the wrongs\r
+which she felt that Will had received from her husband, and the\r
+external conditions which to others were grounds for slighting him,\r
+only gave the more tenacity to her affection and admiring judgment.\r
+And now with the disclosures about Bulstrode had come another fact\r
+affecting Will's social position, which roused afresh Dorothea's inward\r
+resistance to what was said about him in that part of her world which\r
+lay within park palings.\r
+\r
+"Young Ladislaw the grandson of a thieving Jew pawnbroker" was a phrase\r
+which had entered emphatically into the dialogues about the Bulstrode\r
+business, at Lowick, Tipton, and Freshitt, and was a worse kind of\r
+placard on poor Will's back than the "Italian with white mice."\r
+Upright Sir James Chettam was convinced that his own satisfaction was\r
+righteous when he thought with some complacency that here was an added\r
+league to that mountainous distance between Ladislaw and Dorothea,\r
+which enabled him to dismiss any anxiety in that direction as too\r
+absurd. And perhaps there had been some pleasure in pointing Mr.\r
+Brooke's attention to this ugly bit of Ladislaw's genealogy, as a fresh\r
+candle for him to see his own folly by. Dorothea had observed the\r
+animus with which Will's part in the painful story had been recalled\r
+more than once; but she had uttered no word, being checked now, as she\r
+had not been formerly in speaking of Will, by the consciousness of a\r
+deeper relation between them which must always remain in consecrated\r
+secrecy. But her silence shrouded her resistant emotion into a more\r
+thorough glow; and this misfortune in Will's lot which, it seemed,\r
+others were wishing to fling at his back as an opprobrium, only gave\r
+something more of enthusiasm to her clinging thought.\r
+\r
+She entertained no visions of their ever coming into nearer union, and\r
+yet she had taken no posture of renunciation. She had accepted her\r
+whole relation to Will very simply as part of her marriage sorrows, and\r
+would have thought it very sinful in her to keep up an inward wail\r
+because she was not completely happy, being rather disposed to dwell on\r
+the superfluities of her lot. She could bear that the chief pleasures\r
+of her tenderness should lie in memory, and the idea of marriage came\r
+to her solely as a repulsive proposition from some suitor of whom she\r
+at present knew nothing, but whose merits, as seen by her friends,\r
+would be a source of torment to her:--"somebody who will manage your\r
+property for you, my dear," was Mr. Brooke's attractive suggestion of\r
+suitable characteristics. "I should like to manage it myself, if I\r
+knew what to do with it," said Dorothea. No--she adhered to her\r
+declaration that she would never be married again, and in the long\r
+valley of her life which looked so flat and empty of waymarks, guidance\r
+would come as she walked along the road, and saw her fellow-passengers\r
+by the way.\r
+\r
+This habitual state of feeling about Will Ladislaw had been strong in\r
+all her waking hours since she had proposed to pay a visit to Mrs.\r
+Lydgate, making a sort of background against which she saw Rosamond's\r
+figure presented to her without hindrances to her interest and\r
+compassion. There was evidently some mental separation, some barrier\r
+to complete confidence which had arisen between this wife and the\r
+husband who had yet made her happiness a law to him. That was a\r
+trouble which no third person must directly touch. But Dorothea\r
+thought with deep pity of the loneliness which must have come upon\r
+Rosamond from the suspicions cast on her husband; and there would\r
+surely be help in the manifestation of respect for Lydgate and sympathy\r
+with her.\r
+\r
+"I shall talk to her about her husband," thought Dorothea, as she was\r
+being driven towards the town. The clear spring morning, the scent of\r
+the moist earth, the fresh leaves just showing their creased-up wealth\r
+of greenery from out their half-opened sheaths, seemed part of the\r
+cheerfulness she was feeling from a long conversation with Mr.\r
+Farebrother, who had joyfully accepted the justifying explanation of\r
+Lydgate's conduct. "I shall take Mrs. Lydgate good news, and perhaps\r
+she will like to talk to me and make a friend of me."\r
+\r
+Dorothea had another errand in Lowick Gate: it was about a new\r
+fine-toned bell for the school-house, and as she had to get out of her\r
+carriage very near to Lydgate's, she walked thither across the street,\r
+having told the coachman to wait for some packages. The street door\r
+was open, and the servant was taking the opportunity of looking out at\r
+the carriage which was pausing within sight when it became apparent to\r
+her that the lady who "belonged to it" was coming towards her.\r
+\r
+"Is Mrs. Lydgate at home?" said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"I'm not sure, my lady; I'll see, if you'll please to walk in," said\r
+Martha, a little confused on the score of her kitchen apron, but\r
+collected enough to be sure that "mum" was not the right title for this\r
+queenly young widow with a carriage and pair. "Will you please to walk\r
+in, and I'll go and see."\r
+\r
+"Say that I am Mrs. Casaubon," said Dorothea, as Martha moved forward\r
+intending to show her into the drawing-room and then to go up-stairs to\r
+see if Rosamond had returned from her walk.\r
+\r
+They crossed the broader part of the entrance-hall, and turned up the\r
+passage which led to the garden. The drawing-room door was unlatched,\r
+and Martha, pushing it without looking into the room, waited for Mrs.\r
+Casaubon to enter and then turned away, the door having swung open and\r
+swung back again without noise.\r
+\r
+Dorothea had less of outward vision than usual this morning, being\r
+filled with images of things as they had been and were going to be.\r
+She found herself on the other side of the door without seeing anything\r
+remarkable, but immediately she heard a voice speaking in low tones\r
+which startled her as with a sense of dreaming in daylight, and\r
+advancing unconsciously a step or two beyond the projecting slab of a\r
+bookcase, she saw, in the terrible illumination of a certainty which\r
+filled up all outlines, something which made her pause, motionless,\r
+without self-possession enough to speak.\r
+\r
+Seated with his back towards her on a sofa which stood against the wall\r
+on a line with the door by which she had entered, she saw Will\r
+Ladislaw: close by him and turned towards him with a flushed\r
+tearfulness which gave a new brilliancy to her face sat Rosamond, her\r
+bonnet hanging back, while Will leaning towards her clasped both her\r
+upraised hands in his and spoke with low-toned fervor.\r
+\r
+Rosamond in her agitated absorption had not noticed the silently\r
+advancing figure; but when Dorothea, after the first immeasurable\r
+instant of this vision, moved confusedly backward and found herself\r
+impeded by some piece of furniture, Rosamond was suddenly aware of her\r
+presence, and with a spasmodic movement snatched away her hands and\r
+rose, looking at Dorothea who was necessarily arrested. Will Ladislaw,\r
+starting up, looked round also, and meeting Dorothea's eyes with a new\r
+lightning in them, seemed changing to marble: But she immediately\r
+turned them away from him to Rosamond and said in a firm voice--\r
+\r
+"Excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate, the servant did not know that you were here.\r
+I called to deliver an important letter for Mr. Lydgate, which I wished\r
+to put into your own hands."\r
+\r
+She laid down the letter on the small table which had checked her\r
+retreat, and then including Rosamond and Will in one distant glance and\r
+bow, she went quickly out of the room, meeting in the passage the\r
+surprised Martha, who said she was sorry the mistress was not at home,\r
+and then showed the strange lady out with an inward reflection that\r
+grand people were probably more impatient than others.\r
+\r
+Dorothea walked across the street with her most elastic step and was\r
+quickly in her carriage again.\r
+\r
+"Drive on to Freshitt Hall," she said to the coachman, and any one\r
+looking at her might have thought that though she was paler than usual\r
+she was never animated by a more self-possessed energy. And that was\r
+really her experience. It was as if she had drunk a great draught of\r
+scorn that stimulated her beyond the susceptibility to other feelings.\r
+She had seen something so far below her belief, that her emotions\r
+rushed back from it and made an excited throng without an object. She\r
+needed something active to turn her excitement out upon. She felt\r
+power to walk and work for a day, without meat or drink. And she would\r
+carry out the purpose with which she had started in the morning, of\r
+going to Freshitt and Tipton to tell Sir James and her uncle all that\r
+she wished them to know about Lydgate, whose married loneliness under\r
+his trial now presented itself to her with new significance, and made\r
+her more ardent in readiness to be his champion. She had never felt\r
+anything like this triumphant power of indignation in the struggle of\r
+her married life, in which there had always been a quickly subduing\r
+pang; and she took it as a sign of new strength.\r
+\r
+"Dodo, how very bright your eyes are!" said Celia, when Sir James was\r
+gone out of the room. "And you don't see anything you look at, Arthur\r
+or anything. You are going to do something uncomfortable, I know. Is\r
+it all about Mr. Lydgate, or has something else happened?" Celia had\r
+been used to watch her sister with expectation.\r
+\r
+"Yes, dear, a great many things have happened," said Dodo, in her full\r
+tones.\r
+\r
+"I wonder what," said Celia, folding her arms cozily and leaning\r
+forward upon them.\r
+\r
+"Oh, all the troubles of all people on the face of the earth," said\r
+Dorothea, lifting her arms to the back of her head.\r
+\r
+"Dear me, Dodo, are you going to have a scheme for them?" said Celia, a\r
+little uneasy at this Hamlet-like raving.\r
+\r
+But Sir James came in again, ready to accompany Dorothea to the Grange,\r
+and she finished her expedition well, not swerving in her resolution\r
+until she descended at her own door.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXVIII.\r
+\r
+ "Would it were yesterday and I i' the grave,\r
+ With her sweet faith above for monument"\r
+\r
+\r
+Rosamond and Will stood motionless--they did not know how long--he\r
+looking towards the spot where Dorothea had stood, and she looking\r
+towards him with doubt. It seemed an endless time to Rosamond, in\r
+whose inmost soul there was hardly so much annoyance as gratification\r
+from what had just happened. Shallow natures dream of an easy sway\r
+over the emotions of others, trusting implicitly in their own petty\r
+magic to turn the deepest streams, and confident, by pretty gestures\r
+and remarks, of making the thing that is not as though it were. She\r
+knew that Will had received a severe blow, but she had been little used\r
+to imagining other people's states of mind except as a material cut\r
+into shape by her own wishes; and she believed in her own power to\r
+soothe or subdue. Even Tertius, that most perverse of men, was always\r
+subdued in the long-run: events had been obstinate, but still Rosamond\r
+would have said now, as she did before her marriage, that she never\r
+gave up what she had set her mind on.\r
+\r
+She put out her arm and laid the tips of her fingers on Will's\r
+coat-sleeve.\r
+\r
+"Don't touch me!" he said, with an utterance like the cut of a lash,\r
+darting from her, and changing from pink to white and back again, as if\r
+his whole frame were tingling with the pain of the sting. He wheeled\r
+round to the other side of the room and stood opposite to her, with the\r
+tips of his fingers in his pockets and his head thrown back, looking\r
+fiercely not at Rosamond but at a point a few inches away from her.\r
+\r
+She was keenly offended, but the Signs she made of this were such as\r
+only Lydgate was used to interpret. She became suddenly quiet and\r
+seated herself, untying her hanging bonnet and laying it down with her\r
+shawl. Her little hands which she folded before her were very cold.\r
+\r
+It would have been safer for Will in the first instance to have taken\r
+up his hat and gone away; but he had felt no impulse to do this; on the\r
+contrary, he had a horrible inclination to stay and shatter Rosamond\r
+with his anger. It seemed as impossible to bear the fatality she had\r
+drawn down on him without venting his fury as it would be to a panther\r
+to bear the javelin-wound without springing and biting. And yet--how\r
+could he tell a woman that he was ready to curse her? He was fuming\r
+under a repressive law which he was forced to acknowledge: he was\r
+dangerously poised, and Rosamond's voice now brought the decisive\r
+vibration. In flute-like tones of sarcasm she said--\r
+\r
+"You can easily go after Mrs. Casaubon and explain your preference."\r
+\r
+"Go after her!" he burst out, with a sharp edge in his voice. "Do you\r
+think she would turn to look at me, or value any word I ever uttered to\r
+her again at more than a dirty feather?--Explain! How can a man\r
+explain at the expense of a woman?"\r
+\r
+"You can tell her what you please," said Rosamond with more tremor.\r
+\r
+"Do you suppose she would like me better for sacrificing you? She is\r
+not a woman to be flattered because I made myself despicable--to\r
+believe that I must be true to her because I was a dastard to you."\r
+\r
+He began to move about with the restlessness of a wild animal that sees\r
+prey but cannot reach it. Presently he burst out again--\r
+\r
+"I had no hope before--not much--of anything better to come. But I had\r
+one certainty--that she believed in me. Whatever people had said or\r
+done about me, she believed in me.--That's gone! She'll never again\r
+think me anything but a paltry pretence--too nice to take heaven\r
+except upon flattering conditions, and yet selling myself for any\r
+devil's change by the sly. She'll think of me as an incarnate insult\r
+to her, from the first moment we--"\r
+\r
+Will stopped as if he had found himself grasping something that must\r
+not be thrown and shattered. He found another vent for his rage by\r
+snatching up Rosamond's words again, as if they were reptiles to be\r
+throttled and flung off.\r
+\r
+"Explain! Tell a man to explain how he dropped into hell! Explain my\r
+preference! I never had a _preference_ for her, any more than I have a\r
+preference for breathing. No other woman exists by the side of her. I\r
+would rather touch her hand if it were dead, than I would touch any\r
+other woman's living."\r
+\r
+Rosamond, while these poisoned weapons were being hurled at her, was\r
+almost losing the sense of her identity, and seemed to be waking into\r
+some new terrible existence. She had no sense of chill resolute\r
+repulsion, of reticent self-justification such as she had known under\r
+Lydgate's most stormy displeasure: all her sensibility was turned into\r
+a bewildering novelty of pain; she felt a new terrified recoil under a\r
+lash never experienced before. What another nature felt in opposition\r
+to her own was being burnt and bitten into her consciousness. When\r
+Will had ceased to speak she had become an image of sickened misery:\r
+her lips were pale, and her eyes had a tearless dismay in them. If it\r
+had been Tertius who stood opposite to her, that look of misery would\r
+have been a pang to him, and he would have sunk by her side to comfort\r
+her, with that strong-armed comfort which, she had often held very\r
+cheap.\r
+\r
+Let it be forgiven to Will that he had no such movement of pity. He\r
+had felt no bond beforehand to this woman who had spoiled the ideal\r
+treasure of his life, and he held himself blameless. He knew that he\r
+was cruel, but he had no relenting in him yet.\r
+\r
+After he had done speaking, he still moved about, half in absence of\r
+mind, and Rosamond sat perfectly still. At length Will, seeming to\r
+bethink himself, took up his hat, yet stood some moments irresolute.\r
+He had spoken to her in a way that made a phrase of common politeness\r
+difficult to utter; and yet, now that he had come to the point of going\r
+away from her without further speech, he shrank from it as a brutality;\r
+he felt checked and stultified in his anger. He walked towards the\r
+mantel-piece and leaned his arm on it, and waited in silence for--he\r
+hardly knew what. The vindictive fire was still burning in him, and he\r
+could utter no word of retractation; but it was nevertheless in his\r
+mind that having come back to this hearth where he had enjoyed a\r
+caressing friendship he had found calamity seated there--he had had\r
+suddenly revealed to him a trouble that lay outside the home as well as\r
+within it. And what seemed a foreboding was pressing upon him as with\r
+slow pincers:--that his life might come to be enslaved by this helpless\r
+woman who had thrown herself upon him in the dreary sadness of her\r
+heart. But he was in gloomy rebellion against the fact that his quick\r
+apprehensiveness foreshadowed to him, and when his eyes fell on\r
+Rosamond's blighted face it seemed to him that he was the more pitiable\r
+of the two; for pain must enter into its glorified life of memory\r
+before it can turn into compassion.\r
+\r
+And so they remained for many minutes, opposite each other, far apart,\r
+in silence; Will's face still possessed by a mute rage, and Rosamond's\r
+by a mute misery. The poor thing had no force to fling out any passion\r
+in return; the terrible collapse of the illusion towards which all her\r
+hope had been strained was a stroke which had too thoroughly shaken\r
+her: her little world was in ruins, and she felt herself tottering in\r
+the midst as a lonely bewildered consciousness.\r
+\r
+Will wished that she would speak and bring some mitigating shadow\r
+across his own cruel speech, which seemed to stand staring at them both\r
+in mockery of any attempt at revived fellowship. But she said nothing,\r
+and at last with a desperate effort over himself, he asked, "Shall I\r
+come in and see Lydgate this evening?"\r
+\r
+"If you like," Rosamond answered, just audibly.\r
+\r
+And then Will went out of the house, Martha never knowing that he had\r
+been in.\r
+\r
+After he was gone, Rosamond tried to get up from her seat, but fell\r
+back fainting. When she came to herself again, she felt too ill to\r
+make the exertion of rising to ring the bell, and she remained helpless\r
+until the girl, surprised at her long absence, thought for the first\r
+time of looking for her in all the down-stairs rooms. Rosamond said\r
+that she had felt suddenly sick and faint, and wanted to be helped\r
+up-stairs. When there she threw herself on the bed with her clothes on,\r
+and lay in apparent torpor, as she had done once before on a memorable\r
+day of grief.\r
+\r
+Lydgate came home earlier than he had expected, about half-past five,\r
+and found her there. The perception that she was ill threw every other\r
+thought into the background. When he felt her pulse, her eyes rested\r
+on him with more persistence than they had done for a long while, as if\r
+she felt some content that he was there. He perceived the difference\r
+in a moment, and seating himself by her put his arm gently under her,\r
+and bending over her said, "My poor Rosamond! has something agitated\r
+you?" Clinging to him she fell into hysterical sobbings and cries, and\r
+for the next hour he did nothing but soothe and tend her. He imagined\r
+that Dorothea had been to see her, and that all this effect on her\r
+nervous system, which evidently involved some new turning towards\r
+himself, was due to the excitement of the new impressions which that\r
+visit had raised.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXIX.\r
+\r
+ "Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended their\r
+ talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was in the\r
+ midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall\r
+ suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was\r
+ Despond."--BUNYAN.\r
+\r
+\r
+When Rosamond was quiet, and Lydgate had left her, hoping that she\r
+might soon sleep under the effect of an anodyne, he went into the\r
+drawing-room to fetch a book which he had left there, meaning to spend\r
+the evening in his work-room, and he saw on the table Dorothea's letter\r
+addressed to him. He had not ventured to ask Rosamond if Mrs. Casaubon\r
+had called, but the reading of this letter assured him of the fact, for\r
+Dorothea mentioned that it was to be carried by herself.\r
+\r
+When Will Ladislaw came in a little later Lydgate met him with a\r
+surprise which made it clear that he had not been told of the earlier\r
+visit, and Will could not say, "Did not Mrs. Lydgate tell you that I\r
+came this morning?"\r
+\r
+"Poor Rosamond is ill," Lydgate added immediately on his greeting.\r
+\r
+"Not seriously, I hope," said Will.\r
+\r
+"No--only a slight nervous shock--the effect of some agitation. She\r
+has been overwrought lately. The truth is, Ladislaw, I am an unlucky\r
+devil. We have gone through several rounds of purgatory since you\r
+left, and I have lately got on to a worse ledge of it than ever. I\r
+suppose you are only just come down--you look rather battered--you\r
+have not been long enough in the town to hear anything?"\r
+\r
+"I travelled all night and got to the White Hart at eight o'clock this\r
+morning. I have been shutting myself up and resting," said Will,\r
+feeling himself a sneak, but seeing no alternative to this evasion.\r
+\r
+And then he heard Lydgate's account of the troubles which Rosamond had\r
+already depicted to him in her way. She had not mentioned the fact of\r
+Will's name being connected with the public story--this detail not\r
+immediately affecting her--and he now heard it for the first time.\r
+\r
+"I thought it better to tell you that your name is mixed up with the\r
+disclosures," said Lydgate, who could understand better than most men\r
+how Ladislaw might be stung by the revelation. "You will be sure to\r
+hear it as soon as you turn out into the town. I suppose it is true\r
+that Raffles spoke to you."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Will, sardonically. "I shall be fortunate if gossip does\r
+not make me the most disreputable person in the whole affair. I should\r
+think the latest version must be, that I plotted with Raffles to murder\r
+Bulstrode, and ran away from Middlemarch for the purpose."\r
+\r
+He was thinking "Here is a new ring in the sound of my name to\r
+recommend it in her hearing; however--what does it signify now?"\r
+\r
+But he said nothing of Bulstrode's offer to him. Will was very open\r
+and careless about his personal affairs, but it was among the more\r
+exquisite touches in nature's modelling of him that he had a delicate\r
+generosity which warned him into reticence here. He shrank from saying\r
+that he had rejected Bulstrode's money, in the moment when he was\r
+learning that it was Lydgate's misfortune to have accepted it.\r
+\r
+Lydgate too was reticent in the midst of his confidence. He made no\r
+allusion to Rosamond's feeling under their trouble, and of Dorothea he\r
+only said, "Mrs. Casaubon has been the one person to come forward and\r
+say that she had no belief in any of the suspicions against me."\r
+Observing a change in Will's face, he avoided any further mention of\r
+her, feeling himself too ignorant of their relation to each other not\r
+to fear that his words might have some hidden painful bearing on it.\r
+And it occurred to him that Dorothea was the real cause of the present\r
+visit to Middlemarch.\r
+\r
+The two men were pitying each other, but it was only Will who guessed\r
+the extent of his companion's trouble. When Lydgate spoke with\r
+desperate resignation of going to settle in London, and said with a\r
+faint smile, "We shall have you again, old fellow." Will felt\r
+inexpressibly mournful, and said nothing. Rosamond had that morning\r
+entreated him to urge this step on Lydgate; and it seemed to him as if\r
+he were beholding in a magic panorama a future where he himself was\r
+sliding into that pleasureless yielding to the small solicitations of\r
+circumstance, which is a commoner history of perdition than any single\r
+momentous bargain.\r
+\r
+We are on a perilous margin when we begin to look passively at our\r
+future selves, and see our own figures led with dull consent into\r
+insipid misdoing and shabby achievement. Poor Lydgate was inwardly\r
+groaning on that margin, and Will was arriving at it. It seemed to him\r
+this evening as if the cruelty of his outburst to Rosamond had made an\r
+obligation for him, and he dreaded the obligation: he dreaded Lydgate's\r
+unsuspecting good-will: he dreaded his own distaste for his spoiled\r
+life, which would leave him in motiveless levity.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXX.\r
+\r
+ "Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear\r
+ The Godhead's most benignant grace;\r
+ Nor know we anything so fair\r
+ As is the smile upon thy face;\r
+ Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,\r
+ And fragrance in thy footing treads;\r
+ Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;\r
+ And the most ancient Heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong.\r
+ --WORDSWORTH: Ode to Duty.\r
+\r
+\r
+When Dorothea had seen Mr. Farebrother in the morning, she had promised\r
+to go and dine at the parsonage on her return from Freshitt. There was\r
+a frequent interchange of visits between her and the Farebrother\r
+family, which enabled her to say that she was not at all lonely at the\r
+Manor, and to resist for the present the severe prescription of a lady\r
+companion. When she reached home and remembered her engagement, she\r
+was glad of it; and finding that she had still an hour before she could\r
+dress for dinner, she walked straight to the schoolhouse and entered\r
+into a conversation with the master and mistress about the new bell,\r
+giving eager attention to their small details and repetitions, and\r
+getting up a dramatic sense that her life was very busy. She paused on\r
+her way back to talk to old Master Bunney who was putting in some\r
+garden-seeds, and discoursed wisely with that rural sage about the\r
+crops that would make the most return on a perch of ground, and the\r
+result of sixty years' experience as to soils--namely, that if your\r
+soil was pretty mellow it would do, but if there came wet, wet, wet to\r
+make it all of a mummy, why then--\r
+\r
+Finding that the social spirit had beguiled her into being rather late,\r
+she dressed hastily and went over to the parsonage rather earlier than\r
+was necessary. That house was never dull, Mr. Farebrother, like\r
+another White of Selborne, having continually something new to tell of\r
+his inarticulate guests and proteges, whom he was teaching the boys not\r
+to torment; and he had just set up a pair of beautiful goats to be pets\r
+of the village in general, and to walk at large as sacred animals. The\r
+evening went by cheerfully till after tea, Dorothea talking more than\r
+usual and dilating with Mr. Farebrother on the possible histories of\r
+creatures that converse compendiously with their antennae, and for\r
+aught we know may hold reformed parliaments; when suddenly some\r
+inarticulate little sounds were heard which called everybody's\r
+attention.\r
+\r
+"Henrietta Noble," said Mrs. Farebrother, seeing her small sister\r
+moving about the furniture-legs distressfully, "what is the matter?"\r
+\r
+"I have lost my tortoise-shell lozenge-box. I fear the kitten has\r
+rolled it away," said the tiny old lady, involuntarily continuing her\r
+beaver-like notes.\r
+\r
+"Is it a great treasure, aunt?" said Mr. Farebrother, putting up his\r
+glasses and looking at the carpet.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Ladislaw gave it me," said Miss Noble. "A German box--very\r
+pretty, but if it falls it always spins away as far as it can."\r
+\r
+"Oh, if it is Ladislaw's present," said Mr. Farebrother, in a deep tone\r
+of comprehension, getting up and hunting. The box was found at last\r
+under a chiffonier, and Miss Noble grasped it with delight, saying, "it\r
+was under a fender the last time."\r
+\r
+"That is an affair of the heart with my aunt," said Mr. Farebrother,\r
+smiling at Dorothea, as he reseated himself.\r
+\r
+"If Henrietta Noble forms an attachment to any one, Mrs. Casaubon,"\r
+said his mother, emphatically,--"she is like a dog--she would take\r
+their shoes for a pillow and sleep the better."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Ladislaw's shoes, I would," said Henrietta Noble.\r
+\r
+Dorothea made an attempt at smiling in return. She was surprised and\r
+annoyed to find that her heart was palpitating violently, and that it\r
+was quite useless to try after a recovery of her former animation.\r
+Alarmed at herself--fearing some further betrayal of a change so marked\r
+in its occasion, she rose and said in a low voice with undisguised\r
+anxiety, "I must go; I have overtired myself."\r
+\r
+Mr. Farebrother, quick in perception, rose and said, "It is true; you\r
+must have half-exhausted yourself in talking about Lydgate. That sort\r
+of work tells upon one after the excitement is over."\r
+\r
+He gave her his arm back to the Manor, but Dorothea did not attempt to\r
+speak, even when he said good-night.\r
+\r
+The limit of resistance was reached, and she had sunk back helpless\r
+within the clutch of inescapable anguish. Dismissing Tantripp with a\r
+few faint words, she locked her door, and turning away from it towards\r
+the vacant room she pressed her hands hard on the top of her head, and\r
+moaned out--\r
+\r
+"Oh, I did love him!"\r
+\r
+Then came the hour in which the waves of suffering shook her too\r
+thoroughly to leave any power of thought. She could only cry in loud\r
+whispers, between her sobs, after her lost belief which she had planted\r
+and kept alive from a very little seed since the days in Rome--after\r
+her lost joy of clinging with silent love and faith to one who,\r
+misprized by others, was worthy in her thought--after her lost woman's\r
+pride of reigning in his memory--after her sweet dim perspective of\r
+hope, that along some pathway they should meet with unchanged\r
+recognition and take up the backward years as a yesterday.\r
+\r
+In that hour she repeated what the merciful eyes of solitude have\r
+looked on for ages in the spiritual struggles of man--she besought\r
+hardness and coldness and aching weariness to bring her relief from the\r
+mysterious incorporeal might of her anguish: she lay on the bare floor\r
+and let the night grow cold around her; while her grand woman's frame\r
+was shaken by sobs as if she had been a despairing child.\r
+\r
+There were two images--two living forms that tore her heart in two, as\r
+if it had been the heart of a mother who seems to see her child divided\r
+by the sword, and presses one bleeding half to her breast while her\r
+gaze goes forth in agony towards the half which is carried away by the\r
+lying woman that has never known the mother's pang.\r
+\r
+Here, with the nearness of an answering smile, here within the\r
+vibrating bond of mutual speech, was the bright creature whom she had\r
+trusted--who had come to her like the spirit of morning visiting the\r
+dim vault where she sat as the bride of a worn-out life; and now, with\r
+a full consciousness which had never awakened before, she stretched out\r
+her arms towards him and cried with bitter cries that their nearness\r
+was a parting vision: she discovered her passion to herself in the\r
+unshrinking utterance of despair.\r
+\r
+And there, aloof, yet persistently with her, moving wherever she moved,\r
+was the Will Ladislaw who was a changed belief exhausted of hope, a\r
+detected illusion--no, a living man towards whom there could not yet\r
+struggle any wail of regretful pity, from the midst of scorn and\r
+indignation and jealous offended pride. The fire of Dorothea's anger\r
+was not easily spent, and it flamed out in fitful returns of spurning\r
+reproach. Why had he come obtruding his life into hers, hers that\r
+might have been whole enough without him? Why had he brought his cheap\r
+regard and his lip-born words to her who had nothing paltry to give in\r
+exchange? He knew that he was deluding her--wished, in the very moment\r
+of farewell, to make her believe that he gave her the whole price of\r
+her heart, and knew that he had spent it half before. Why had he not\r
+stayed among the crowd of whom she asked nothing--but only prayed that\r
+they might be less contemptible?\r
+\r
+But she lost energy at last even for her loud-whispered cries and\r
+moans: she subsided into helpless sobs, and on the cold floor she\r
+sobbed herself to sleep.\r
+\r
+In the chill hours of the morning twilight, when all was dim around\r
+her, she awoke--not with any amazed wondering where she was or what had\r
+happened, but with the clearest consciousness that she was looking into\r
+the eyes of sorrow. She rose, and wrapped warm things around her, and\r
+seated herself in a great chair where she had often watched before.\r
+She was vigorous enough to have borne that hard night without feeling\r
+ill in body, beyond some aching and fatigue; but she had waked to a new\r
+condition: she felt as if her soul had been liberated from its terrible\r
+conflict; she was no longer wrestling with her grief, but could sit\r
+down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her\r
+thoughts. For now the thoughts came thickly. It was not in Dorothea's\r
+nature, for longer than the duration of a paroxysm, to sit in the\r
+narrow cell of her calamity, in the besotted misery of a consciousness\r
+that only sees another's lot as an accident of its own.\r
+\r
+She began now to live through that yesterday morning deliberately\r
+again, forcing herself to dwell on every detail and its possible\r
+meaning. Was she alone in that scene? Was it her event only? She\r
+forced herself to think of it as bound up with another woman's life--a\r
+woman towards whom she had set out with a longing to carry some\r
+clearness and comfort into her beclouded youth. In her first outleap\r
+of jealous indignation and disgust, when quitting the hateful room, she\r
+had flung away all the mercy with which she had undertaken that visit.\r
+She had enveloped both Will and Rosamond in her burning scorn, and it\r
+seemed to her as if Rosamond were burned out of her sight forever. But\r
+that base prompting which makes a women more cruel to a rival than to a\r
+faithless lover, could have no strength of recurrence in Dorothea when\r
+the dominant spirit of justice within her had once overcome the tumult\r
+and had once shown her the truer measure of things. All the active\r
+thought with which she had before been representing to herself the\r
+trials of Lydgate's lot, and this young marriage union which, like her\r
+own, seemed to have its hidden as well as evident troubles--all this\r
+vivid sympathetic experience returned to her now as a power: it\r
+asserted itself as acquired knowledge asserts itself and will not let\r
+us see as we saw in the day of our ignorance. She said to her own\r
+irremediable grief, that it should make her more helpful, instead of\r
+driving her back from effort.\r
+\r
+And what sort of crisis might not this be in three lives whose contact\r
+with hers laid an obligation on her as if they had been suppliants\r
+bearing the sacred branch? The objects of her rescue were not to be\r
+sought out by her fancy: they were chosen for her. She yearned towards\r
+the perfect Right, that it might make a throne within her, and rule her\r
+errant will. "What should I do--how should I act now, this very day,\r
+if I could clutch my own pain, and compel it to silence, and think of\r
+those three?"\r
+\r
+It had taken long for her to come to that question, and there was light\r
+piercing into the room. She opened her curtains, and looked out\r
+towards the bit of road that lay in view, with fields beyond outside\r
+the entrance-gates. On the road there was a man with a bundle on his\r
+back and a woman carrying her baby; in the field she could see figures\r
+moving--perhaps the shepherd with his dog. Far off in the bending sky\r
+was the pearly light; and she felt the largeness of the world and the\r
+manifold wakings of men to labor and endurance. She was a part of that\r
+involuntary, palpitating life, and could neither look out on it from\r
+her luxurious shelter as a mere spectator, nor hide her eyes in selfish\r
+complaining.\r
+\r
+What she would resolve to do that day did not yet seem quite clear, but\r
+something that she could achieve stirred her as with an approaching\r
+murmur which would soon gather distinctness. She took off the clothes\r
+which seemed to have some of the weariness of a hard watching in them,\r
+and began to make her toilet. Presently she rang for Tantripp, who\r
+came in her dressing-gown.\r
+\r
+"Why, madam, you've never been in bed this blessed night," burst out\r
+Tantripp, looking first at the bed and then at Dorothea's face, which\r
+in spite of bathing had the pale cheeks and pink eyelids of a mater\r
+dolorosa. "You'll kill yourself, you _will_. Anybody might think now\r
+you had a right to give yourself a little comfort."\r
+\r
+"Don't be alarmed, Tantripp," said Dorothea, smiling. "I have slept; I\r
+am not ill. I shall be glad of a cup of coffee as soon as possible.\r
+And I want you to bring me my new dress; and most likely I shall want\r
+my new bonnet to-day."\r
+\r
+"They've lain there a month and more ready for you, madam, and most\r
+thankful I shall be to see you with a couple o' pounds' worth less of\r
+crape," said Tantripp, stooping to light the fire. "There's a reason\r
+in mourning, as I've always said; and three folds at the bottom of your\r
+skirt and a plain quilling in your bonnet--and if ever anybody looked\r
+like an angel, it's you in a net quilling--is what's consistent for a\r
+second year. At least, that's _my_ thinking," ended Tantripp, looking\r
+anxiously at the fire; "and if anybody was to marry me flattering\r
+himself I should wear those hijeous weepers two years for him, he'd be\r
+deceived by his own vanity, that's all."\r
+\r
+"The fire will do, my good Tan," said Dorothea, speaking as she used to\r
+do in the old Lausanne days, only with a very low voice; "get me the\r
+coffee."\r
+\r
+She folded herself in the large chair, and leaned her head against it\r
+in fatigued quiescence, while Tantripp went away wondering at this\r
+strange contrariness in her young mistress--that just the morning when\r
+she had more of a widow's face than ever, she should have asked for her\r
+lighter mourning which she had waived before. Tantripp would never\r
+have found the clew to this mystery. Dorothea wished to acknowledge\r
+that she had not the less an active life before her because she had\r
+buried a private joy; and the tradition that fresh garments belonged to\r
+all initiation, haunting her mind, made her grasp after even that\r
+slight outward help towards calm resolve. For the resolve was not easy.\r
+\r
+Nevertheless at eleven o'clock she was walking towards Middlemarch,\r
+having made up her mind that she would make as quietly and unnoticeably\r
+as possible her second attempt to see and save Rosamond.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXXI.\r
+\r
+ "Du Erde warst auch diese Nacht bestandig,\r
+ Und athmest neu erquickt zu meinen Fussen,\r
+ Beginnest schon mit Lust mich zu umgeben,\r
+ Zum regst und ruhrst ein kraftiges Reschliessen\r
+ Zum hochsten Dasein immerfort zu streben.\r
+ --Faust: 2r Theil.\r
+\r
+\r
+When Dorothea was again at Lydgate's door speaking to Martha, he was in\r
+the room close by with the door ajar, preparing to go out. He heard\r
+her voice, and immediately came to her.\r
+\r
+"Do you think that Mrs. Lydgate can receive me this morning?" she said,\r
+having reflected that it would be better to leave out all allusion to\r
+her previous visit.\r
+\r
+"I have no doubt she will," said Lydgate, suppressing his thought about\r
+Dorothea's looks, which were as much changed as Rosamond's, "if you\r
+will be kind enough to come in and let me tell her that you are here.\r
+She has not been very well since you were here yesterday, but she is\r
+better this morning, and I think it is very likely that she will be\r
+cheered by seeing you again."\r
+\r
+It was plain that Lydgate, as Dorothea had expected, knew nothing about\r
+the circumstances of her yesterday's visit; nay, he appeared to imagine\r
+that she had carried it out according to her intention. She had\r
+prepared a little note asking Rosamond to see her, which she would have\r
+given to the servant if he had not been in the way, but now she was in\r
+much anxiety as to the result of his announcement.\r
+\r
+After leading her into the drawing-room, he paused to take a letter\r
+from his pocket and put it into her hands, saying, "I wrote this last\r
+night, and was going to carry it to Lowick in my ride. When one is\r
+grateful for something too good for common thanks, writing is less\r
+unsatisfactory than speech--one does not at least _hear_ how inadequate\r
+the words are."\r
+\r
+Dorothea's face brightened. "It is I who have most to thank for, since\r
+you have let me take that place. You _have_ consented?" she said,\r
+suddenly doubting.\r
+\r
+"Yes, the check is going to Bulstrode to-day."\r
+\r
+He said no more, but went up-stairs to Rosamond, who had but lately\r
+finished dressing herself, and sat languidly wondering what she should\r
+do next, her habitual industry in small things, even in the days of her\r
+sadness, prompting her to begin some kind of occupation, which she\r
+dragged through slowly or paused in from lack of interest. She looked\r
+ill, but had recovered her usual quietude of manner, and Lydgate had\r
+feared to disturb her by any questions. He had told her of Dorothea's\r
+letter containing the check, and afterwards he had said, "Ladislaw is\r
+come, Rosy; he sat with me last night; I dare say he will be here again\r
+to-day. I thought he looked rather battered and depressed." And\r
+Rosamond had made no reply.\r
+\r
+Now, when he came up, he said to her very gently, "Rosy, dear, Mrs.\r
+Casaubon is come to see you again; you would like to see her, would you\r
+not?" That she colored and gave rather a startled movement did not\r
+surprise him after the agitation produced by the interview yesterday--a\r
+beneficent agitation, he thought, since it seemed to have made her turn\r
+to him again.\r
+\r
+Rosamond dared not say no. She dared not with a tone of her voice\r
+touch the facts of yesterday. Why had Mrs. Casaubon come again? The\r
+answer was a blank which Rosamond could only fill up with dread, for\r
+Will Ladislaw's lacerating words had made every thought of Dorothea a\r
+fresh smart to her. Nevertheless, in her new humiliating uncertainty\r
+she dared do nothing but comply. She did not say yes, but she rose and\r
+let Lydgate put a light shawl over her shoulders, while he said, "I am\r
+going out immediately." Then something crossed her mind which prompted\r
+her to say, "Pray tell Martha not to bring any one else into the\r
+drawing-room." And Lydgate assented, thinking that he fully understood\r
+this wish. He led her down to the drawing-room door, and then turned\r
+away, observing to himself that he was rather a blundering husband to\r
+be dependent for his wife's trust in him on the influence of another\r
+woman.\r
+\r
+Rosamond, wrapping her soft shawl around her as she walked towards\r
+Dorothea, was inwardly wrapping her soul in cold reserve. Had Mrs.\r
+Casaubon come to say anything to her about Will? If so, it was a\r
+liberty that Rosamond resented; and she prepared herself to meet every\r
+word with polite impassibility. Will had bruised her pride too sorely\r
+for her to feel any compunction towards him and Dorothea: her own\r
+injury seemed much the greater. Dorothea was not only the "preferred"\r
+woman, but had also a formidable advantage in being Lydgate's\r
+benefactor; and to poor Rosamond's pained confused vision it seemed\r
+that this Mrs. Casaubon--this woman who predominated in all things\r
+concerning her--must have come now with the sense of having the\r
+advantage, and with animosity prompting her to use it. Indeed, not\r
+Rosamond only, but any one else, knowing the outer facts of the case,\r
+and not the simple inspiration on which Dorothea acted, might well have\r
+wondered why she came.\r
+\r
+Looking like the lovely ghost of herself, her graceful slimness wrapped\r
+in her soft white shawl, the rounded infantine mouth and cheek\r
+inevitably suggesting mildness and innocence, Rosamond paused at three\r
+yards' distance from her visitor and bowed. But Dorothea, who had\r
+taken off her gloves, from an impulse which she could never resist when\r
+she wanted a sense of freedom, came forward, and with her face full of\r
+a sad yet sweet openness, put out her hand. Rosamond could not avoid\r
+meeting her glance, could not avoid putting her small hand into\r
+Dorothea's, which clasped it with gentle motherliness; and immediately\r
+a doubt of her own prepossessions began to stir within her. Rosamond's\r
+eye was quick for faces; she saw that Mrs. Casaubon's face looked pale\r
+and changed since yesterday, yet gentle, and like the firm softness of\r
+her hand. But Dorothea had counted a little too much on her own\r
+strength: the clearness and intensity of her mental action this morning\r
+were the continuance of a nervous exaltation which made her frame as\r
+dangerously responsive as a bit of finest Venetian crystal; and in\r
+looking at Rosamond, she suddenly found her heart swelling, and was\r
+unable to speak--all her effort was required to keep back tears. She\r
+succeeded in that, and the emotion only passed over her face like the\r
+spirit of a sob; but it added to Rosamond's impression that Mrs.\r
+Casaubon's state of mind must be something quite different from what\r
+she had imagined.\r
+\r
+So they sat down without a word of preface on the two chairs that\r
+happened to be nearest, and happened also to be close together; though\r
+Rosamond's notion when she first bowed was that she should stay a long\r
+way off from Mrs. Casaubon. But she ceased thinking how anything would\r
+turn out--merely wondering what would come. And Dorothea began to\r
+speak quite simply, gathering firmness as she went on.\r
+\r
+"I had an errand yesterday which I did not finish; that is why I am\r
+here again so soon. You will not think me too troublesome when I tell\r
+you that I came to talk to you about the injustice that has been shown\r
+towards Mr. Lydgate. It will cheer you--will it not?--to know a great\r
+deal about him, that he may not like to speak about himself just\r
+because it is in his own vindication and to his own honor. You will\r
+like to know that your husband has warm friends, who have not left off\r
+believing in his high character? You will let me speak of this without\r
+thinking that I take a liberty?"\r
+\r
+The cordial, pleading tones which seemed to flow with generous\r
+heedlessness above all the facts which had filled Rosamond's mind as\r
+grounds of obstruction and hatred between her and this woman, came as\r
+soothingly as a warm stream over her shrinking fears. Of course Mrs.\r
+Casaubon had the facts in her mind, but she was not going to speak of\r
+anything connected with them. That relief was too great for Rosamond\r
+to feel much else at the moment. She answered prettily, in the new\r
+ease of her soul--\r
+\r
+"I know you have been very good. I shall like to hear anything you\r
+will say to me about Tertius."\r
+\r
+"The day before yesterday," said Dorothea, "when I had asked him to\r
+come to Lowick to give me his opinion on the affairs of the Hospital,\r
+he told me everything about his conduct and feelings in this sad event\r
+which has made ignorant people cast suspicions on him. The reason he\r
+told me was because I was very bold and asked him. I believed that he\r
+had never acted dishonorably, and I begged him to tell me the history.\r
+He confessed to me that he had never told it before, not even to you,\r
+because he had a great dislike to say, 'I was not wrong,' as if that\r
+were proof, when there are guilty people who will say so. The truth\r
+is, he knew nothing of this man Raffles, or that there were any bad\r
+secrets about him; and he thought that Mr. Bulstrode offered him the\r
+money because he repented, out of kindness, of having refused it\r
+before. All his anxiety about his patient was to treat him rightly,\r
+and he was a little uncomfortable that the case did not end as he had\r
+expected; but he thought then and still thinks that there may have been\r
+no wrong in it on any one's part. And I have told Mr. Farebrother, and\r
+Mr. Brooke, and Sir James Chettam: they all believe in your husband.\r
+That will cheer you, will it not? That will give you courage?"\r
+\r
+Dorothea's face had become animated, and as it beamed on Rosamond very\r
+close to her, she felt something like bashful timidity before a\r
+superior, in the presence of this self-forgetful ardor. She said, with\r
+blushing embarrassment, "Thank you: you are very kind."\r
+\r
+"And he felt that he had been so wrong not to pour out everything about\r
+this to you. But you will forgive him. It was because he feels so\r
+much more about your happiness than anything else--he feels his life\r
+bound into one with yours, and it hurts him more than anything, that\r
+his misfortunes must hurt you. He could speak to me because I am an\r
+indifferent person. And then I asked him if I might come to see you;\r
+because I felt so much for his trouble and yours. That is why I came\r
+yesterday, and why I am come to-day. Trouble is so hard to bear, is it\r
+not?-- How can we live and think that any one has trouble--piercing\r
+trouble--and we could help them, and never try?"\r
+\r
+Dorothea, completely swayed by the feeling that she was uttering,\r
+forgot everything but that she was speaking from out the heart of her\r
+own trial to Rosamond's. The emotion had wrought itself more and more\r
+into her utterance, till the tones might have gone to one's very\r
+marrow, like a low cry from some suffering creature in the darkness.\r
+And she had unconsciously laid her hand again on the little hand that\r
+she had pressed before.\r
+\r
+Rosamond, with an overmastering pang, as if a wound within her had been\r
+probed, burst into hysterical crying as she had done the day before\r
+when she clung to her husband. Poor Dorothea was feeling a great wave\r
+of her own sorrow returning over her--her thought being drawn to the\r
+possible share that Will Ladislaw might have in Rosamond's mental\r
+tumult. She was beginning to fear that she should not be able to\r
+suppress herself enough to the end of this meeting, and while her hand\r
+was still resting on Rosamond's lap, though the hand underneath it was\r
+withdrawn, she was struggling against her own rising sobs. She tried\r
+to master herself with the thought that this might be a turning-point\r
+in three lives--not in her own; no, there the irrevocable had\r
+happened, but--in those three lives which were touching hers with the\r
+solemn neighborhood of danger and distress. The fragile creature who\r
+was crying close to her--there might still be time to rescue her from\r
+the misery of false incompatible bonds; and this moment was unlike any\r
+other: she and Rosamond could never be together again with the same\r
+thrilling consciousness of yesterday within them both. She felt the\r
+relation between them to be peculiar enough to give her a peculiar\r
+influence, though she had no conception that the way in which her own\r
+feelings were involved was fully known to Mrs. Lydgate.\r
+\r
+It was a newer crisis in Rosamond's experience than even Dorothea could\r
+imagine: she was under the first great shock that had shattered her\r
+dream-world in which she had been easily confident of herself and\r
+critical of others; and this strange unexpected manifestation of\r
+feeling in a woman whom she had approached with a shrinking aversion\r
+and dread, as one who must necessarily have a jealous hatred towards\r
+her, made her soul totter all the more with a sense that she had been\r
+walking in an unknown world which had just broken in upon her.\r
+\r
+When Rosamond's convulsed throat was subsiding into calm, and she\r
+withdrew the handkerchief with which she had been hiding her face, her\r
+eyes met Dorothea's as helplessly as if they had been blue flowers.\r
+What was the use of thinking about behavior after this crying? And\r
+Dorothea looked almost as childish, with the neglected trace of a\r
+silent tear. Pride was broken down between these two.\r
+\r
+"We were talking about your husband," Dorothea said, with some\r
+timidity. "I thought his looks were sadly changed with suffering the\r
+other day. I had not seen him for many weeks before. He said he had\r
+been feeling very lonely in his trial; but I think he would have borne\r
+it all better if he had been able to be quite open with you."\r
+\r
+"Tertius is so angry and impatient if I say anything," said Rosamond,\r
+imagining that he had been complaining of her to Dorothea. "He ought\r
+not to wonder that I object to speak to him on painful subjects."\r
+\r
+"It was himself he blamed for not speaking," said Dorothea. "What he\r
+said of you was, that he could not be happy in doing anything which\r
+made you unhappy--that his marriage was of course a bond which must\r
+affect his choice about everything; and for that reason he refused my\r
+proposal that he should keep his position at the Hospital, because that\r
+would bind him to stay in Middlemarch, and he would not undertake to do\r
+anything which would be painful to you. He could say that to me,\r
+because he knows that I had much trial in my marriage, from my\r
+husband's illness, which hindered his plans and saddened him; and he\r
+knows that I have felt how hard it is to walk always in fear of hurting\r
+another who is tied to us."\r
+\r
+Dorothea waited a little; she had discerned a faint pleasure stealing\r
+over Rosamond's face. But there was no answer, and she went on, with a\r
+gathering tremor, "Marriage is so unlike everything else. There is\r
+something even awful in the nearness it brings. Even if we loved some\r
+one else better than--than those we were married to, it would be no\r
+use"--poor Dorothea, in her palpitating anxiety, could only seize her\r
+language brokenly--"I mean, marriage drinks up all our power of giving\r
+or getting any blessedness in that sort of love. I know it may be very\r
+dear--but it murders our marriage--and then the marriage stays with us\r
+like a murder--and everything else is gone. And then our husband--if\r
+he loved and trusted us, and we have not helped him, but made a curse\r
+in his life--"\r
+\r
+Her voice had sunk very low: there was a dread upon her of presuming\r
+too far, and of speaking as if she herself were perfection addressing\r
+error. She was too much preoccupied with her own anxiety, to be aware\r
+that Rosamond was trembling too; and filled with the need to express\r
+pitying fellowship rather than rebuke, she put her hands on Rosamond's,\r
+and said with more agitated rapidity,--"I know, I know that the feeling\r
+may be very dear--it has taken hold of us unawares--it is so hard, it\r
+may seem like death to part with it--and we are weak--I am weak--"\r
+\r
+The waves of her own sorrow, from out of which she was struggling to\r
+save another, rushed over Dorothea with conquering force. She stopped\r
+in speechless agitation, not crying, but feeling as if she were being\r
+inwardly grappled. Her face had become of a deathlier paleness, her\r
+lips trembled, and she pressed her hands helplessly on the hands that\r
+lay under them.\r
+\r
+Rosamond, taken hold of by an emotion stronger than her own--hurried\r
+along in a new movement which gave all things some new, awful,\r
+undefined aspect--could find no words, but involuntarily she put her\r
+lips to Dorothea's forehead which was very near her, and then for a\r
+minute the two women clasped each other as if they had been in a\r
+shipwreck.\r
+\r
+"You are thinking what is not true," said Rosamond, in an eager\r
+half-whisper, while she was still feeling Dorothea's arms round\r
+her--urged by a mysterious necessity to free herself from something\r
+that oppressed her as if it were blood guiltiness.\r
+\r
+They moved apart, looking at each other.\r
+\r
+"When you came in yesterday--it was not as you thought," said Rosamond\r
+in the same tone.\r
+\r
+There was a movement of surprised attention in Dorothea. She expected\r
+a vindication of Rosamond herself.\r
+\r
+"He was telling me how he loved another woman, that I might know he\r
+could never love me," said Rosamond, getting more and more hurried as\r
+she went on. "And now I think he hates me because--because you\r
+mistook him yesterday. He says it is through me that you will think\r
+ill of him--think that he is a false person. But it shall not be\r
+through me. He has never had any love for me--I know he has not--he\r
+has always thought slightly of me. He said yesterday that no other\r
+woman existed for him beside you. The blame of what happened is\r
+entirely mine. He said he could never explain to you--because of me.\r
+He said you could never think well of him again. But now I have told\r
+you, and he cannot reproach me any more."\r
+\r
+Rosamond had delivered her soul under impulses which she had not known\r
+before. She had begun her confession under the subduing influence of\r
+Dorothea's emotion; and as she went on she had gathered the sense that\r
+she was repelling Will's reproaches, which were still like a\r
+knife-wound within her.\r
+\r
+The revulsion of feeling in Dorothea was too strong to be called joy.\r
+It was a tumult in which the terrible strain of the night and morning\r
+made a resistant pain:--she could only perceive that this would be joy\r
+when she had recovered her power of feeling it. Her immediate\r
+consciousness was one of immense sympathy without check; she cared for\r
+Rosamond without struggle now, and responded earnestly to her last\r
+words--\r
+\r
+"No, he cannot reproach you any more."\r
+\r
+With her usual tendency to over-estimate the good in others, she felt a\r
+great outgoing of her heart towards Rosamond, for the generous effort\r
+which had redeemed her from suffering, not counting that the effort was\r
+a reflex of her own energy. After they had been silent a little, she\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"You are not sorry that I came this morning?"\r
+\r
+"No, you have been very good to me," said Rosamond. "I did not think\r
+that you would be so good. I was very unhappy. I am not happy now.\r
+Everything is so sad."\r
+\r
+"But better days will come. Your husband will be rightly valued. And\r
+he depends on you for comfort. He loves you best. The worst loss\r
+would be to lose that--and you have not lost it," said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+She tried to thrust away the too overpowering thought of her own\r
+relief, lest she should fail to win some sign that Rosamond's affection\r
+was yearning back towards her husband.\r
+\r
+"Tertius did not find fault with me, then?" said Rosamond,\r
+understanding now that Lydgate might have said anything to Mrs.\r
+Casaubon, and that she certainly was different from other women.\r
+Perhaps there was a faint taste of jealousy in the question. A smile\r
+began to play over Dorothea's face as she said--\r
+\r
+"No, indeed! How could you imagine it?" But here the door opened, and\r
+Lydgate entered.\r
+\r
+"I am come back in my quality of doctor," he said. "After I went away,\r
+I was haunted by two pale faces: Mrs. Casaubon looked as much in need\r
+of care as you, Rosy. And I thought that I had not done my duty in\r
+leaving you together; so when I had been to Coleman's I came home\r
+again. I noticed that you were walking, Mrs. Casaubon, and the sky has\r
+changed--I think we may have rain. May I send some one to order your\r
+carriage to come for you?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, no! I am strong: I need the walk," said Dorothea, rising with\r
+animation in her face. "Mrs. Lydgate and I have chatted a great deal,\r
+and it is time for me to go. I have always been accused of being\r
+immoderate and saying too much."\r
+\r
+She put out her hand to Rosamond, and they said an earnest, quiet\r
+good-by without kiss or other show of effusion: there had been between\r
+them too much serious emotion for them to use the signs of it\r
+superficially.\r
+\r
+As Lydgate took her to the door she said nothing of Rosamond, but told\r
+him of Mr. Farebrother and the other friends who had listened with\r
+belief to his story.\r
+\r
+When he came back to Rosamond, she had already thrown herself on the\r
+sofa, in resigned fatigue.\r
+\r
+"Well, Rosy," he said, standing over her, and touching her hair, "what\r
+do you think of Mrs. Casaubon now you have seen so much of her?"\r
+\r
+"I think she must be better than any one," said Rosamond, "and she is\r
+very beautiful. If you go to talk to her so often, you will be more\r
+discontented with me than ever!"\r
+\r
+Lydgate laughed at the "so often." "But has she made you any less\r
+discontented with me?"\r
+\r
+"I think she has," said Rosamond, looking up in his face. "How heavy\r
+your eyes are, Tertius--and do push your hair back." He lifted up his\r
+large white hand to obey her, and felt thankful for this little mark of\r
+interest in him. Poor Rosamond's vagrant fancy had come back terribly\r
+scourged--meek enough to nestle under the old despised shelter. And\r
+the shelter was still there: Lydgate had accepted his narrowed lot with\r
+sad resignation. He had chosen this fragile creature, and had taken\r
+the burthen of her life upon his arms. He must walk as he could,\r
+carrying that burthen pitifully.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXXII.\r
+\r
+ "My grief lies onward and my joy behind."\r
+ --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.\r
+\r
+\r
+Exiles notoriously feed much on hopes, and are unlikely to stay in\r
+banishment unless they are obliged. When Will Ladislaw exiled himself\r
+from Middlemarch he had placed no stronger obstacle to his return than\r
+his own resolve, which was by no means an iron barrier, but simply a\r
+state of mind liable to melt into a minuet with other states of mind,\r
+and to find itself bowing, smiling, and giving place with polite\r
+facility. As the months went on, it had seemed more and more difficult\r
+to him to say why he should not run down to Middlemarch--merely for the\r
+sake of hearing something about Dorothea; and if on such a flying visit\r
+he should chance by some strange coincidence to meet with her, there\r
+was no reason for him to be ashamed of having taken an innocent journey\r
+which he had beforehand supposed that he should not take. Since he was\r
+hopelessly divided from her, he might surely venture into her\r
+neighborhood; and as to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch\r
+over her--their opinions seemed less and less important with time and\r
+change of air.\r
+\r
+And there had come a reason quite irrespective of Dorothea, which\r
+seemed to make a journey to Middlemarch a sort of philanthropic duty.\r
+Will had given a disinterested attention to an intended settlement on a\r
+new plan in the Far West, and the need for funds in order to carry out\r
+a good design had set him on debating with himself whether it would not\r
+be a laudable use to make of his claim on Bulstrode, to urge the\r
+application of that money which had been offered to himself as a means\r
+of carrying out a scheme likely to be largely beneficial. The question\r
+seemed a very dubious one to Will, and his repugnance to again entering\r
+into any relation with the banker might have made him dismiss it\r
+quickly, if there had not arisen in his imagination the probability\r
+that his judgment might be more safely determined by a visit to\r
+Middlemarch.\r
+\r
+That was the object which Will stated to himself as a reason for coming\r
+down. He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and discuss the money\r
+question with him, and he had meant to amuse himself for the few\r
+evenings of his stay by having a great deal of music and badinage with\r
+fair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick Parsonage:--if\r
+the Parsonage was close to the Manor, that was no fault of his. He had\r
+neglected the Farebrothers before his departure, from a proud\r
+resistance to the possible accusation of indirectly seeking interviews\r
+with Dorothea; but hunger tames us, and Will had become very hungry for\r
+the vision of a certain form and the sound of a certain voice.\r
+Nothing, had done instead--not the opera, or the converse of zealous\r
+politicians, or the flattering reception (in dim corners) of his new\r
+hand in leading articles.\r
+\r
+Thus he had come down, foreseeing with confidence how almost everything\r
+would be in his familiar little world; fearing, indeed, that there\r
+would be no surprises in his visit. But he had found that humdrum\r
+world in a terribly dynamic condition, in which even badinage and\r
+lyrism had turned explosive; and the first day of this visit had become\r
+the most fatal epoch of his life. The next morning he felt so harassed\r
+with the nightmare of consequences--he dreaded so much the immediate\r
+issues before him--that seeing while he breakfasted the arrival of the\r
+Riverston coach, he went out hurriedly and took his place on it, that\r
+he might be relieved, at least for a day, from the necessity of doing\r
+or saying anything in Middlemarch. Will Ladislaw was in one of those\r
+tangled crises which are commoner in experience than one might imagine,\r
+from the shallow absoluteness of men's judgments. He had found\r
+Lydgate, for whom he had the sincerest respect, under circumstances\r
+which claimed his thorough and frankly declared sympathy; and the\r
+reason why, in spite of that claim, it would have been better for Will\r
+to have avoided all further intimacy, or even contact, with Lydgate,\r
+was precisely of the kind to make such a course appear impossible. To\r
+a creature of Will's susceptible temperament--without any neutral\r
+region of indifference in his nature, ready to turn everything that\r
+befell him into the collisions of a passionate drama--the revelation\r
+that Rosamond had made her happiness in any way dependent on him was a\r
+difficulty which his outburst of rage towards her had immeasurably\r
+increased for him. He hated his own cruelty, and yet he dreaded to\r
+show the fulness of his relenting: he must go to her again; the\r
+friendship could not be put to a sudden end; and her unhappiness was a\r
+power which he dreaded. And all the while there was no more foretaste\r
+of enjoyment in the life before him than if his limbs had been lopped\r
+off and he was making his fresh start on crutches. In the night he had\r
+debated whether he should not get on the coach, not for Riverston, but\r
+for London, leaving a note to Lydgate which would give a makeshift\r
+reason for his retreat. But there were strong cords pulling him back\r
+from that abrupt departure: the blight on his happiness in thinking of\r
+Dorothea, the crushing of that chief hope which had remained in spite\r
+of the acknowledged necessity for renunciation, was too fresh a misery\r
+for him to resign himself to it and go straightway into a distance\r
+which was also despair.\r
+\r
+Thus he did nothing more decided than taking the Riverston coach. He\r
+came back again by it while it was still daylight, having made up his\r
+mind that he must go to Lydgate's that evening. The Rubicon, we know,\r
+was a very insignificant stream to look at; its significance lay\r
+entirely in certain invisible conditions. Will felt as if he were\r
+forced to cross his small boundary ditch, and what he saw beyond it was\r
+not empire, but discontented subjection.\r
+\r
+But it is given to us sometimes even in our every-day life to witness\r
+the saving influence of a noble nature, the divine efficacy of rescue\r
+that may lie in a self-subduing act of fellowship. If Dorothea, after\r
+her night's anguish, had not taken that walk to Rosamond--why, she\r
+perhaps would have been a woman who gained a higher character for\r
+discretion, but it would certainly not have been as well for those\r
+three who were on one hearth in Lydgate's house at half-past seven that\r
+evening.\r
+\r
+Rosamond had been prepared for Will's visit, and she received him with\r
+a languid coldness which Lydgate accounted for by her nervous\r
+exhaustion, of which he could not suppose that it had any relation to\r
+Will. And when she sat in silence bending over a bit of work, he\r
+innocently apologized for her in an indirect way by begging her to lean\r
+backward and rest. Will was miserable in the necessity for playing the\r
+part of a friend who was making his first appearance and greeting to\r
+Rosamond, while his thoughts were busy about her feeling since that\r
+scene of yesterday, which seemed still inexorably to enclose them both,\r
+like the painful vision of a double madness. It happened that nothing\r
+called Lydgate out of the room; but when Rosamond poured out the tea,\r
+and Will came near to fetch it, she placed a tiny bit of folded paper\r
+in his saucer. He saw it and secured it quickly, but as he went back\r
+to his inn he had no eagerness to unfold the paper. What Rosamond had\r
+written to him would probably deepen the painful impressions of the\r
+evening. Still, he opened and read it by his bed-candle. There were\r
+only these few words in her neatly flowing hand:--\r
+\r
+"I have told Mrs. Casaubon. She is not under any mistake about you. I\r
+told her because she came to see me and was very kind. You will have\r
+nothing to reproach me with now. I shall not have made any difference\r
+to you."\r
+\r
+The effect of these words was not quite all gladness. As Will dwelt on\r
+them with excited imagination, he felt his cheeks and ears burning at\r
+the thought of what had occurred between Dorothea and Rosamond--at the\r
+uncertainty how far Dorothea might still feel her dignity wounded in\r
+having an explanation of his conduct offered to her. There might still\r
+remain in her mind a changed association with him which made an\r
+irremediable difference--a lasting flaw. With active fancy he wrought\r
+himself into a state of doubt little more easy than that of the man who\r
+has escaped from wreck by night and stands on unknown ground in the\r
+darkness. Until that wretched yesterday--except the moment of\r
+vexation long ago in the very same room and in the very same\r
+presence--all their vision, all their thought of each other, had been\r
+as in a world apart, where the sunshine fell on tall white lilies,\r
+where no evil lurked, and no other soul entered. But now--would\r
+Dorothea meet him in that world again?\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXXIII.\r
+\r
+ "And now good-morrow to our waking souls\r
+ Which watch not one another out of fear;\r
+ For love all love of other sights controls,\r
+ And makes one little room, an everywhere."\r
+ --DR. DONNE.\r
+\r
+\r
+On the second morning after Dorothea's visit to Rosamond, she had had\r
+two nights of sound sleep, and had not only lost all traces of fatigue,\r
+but felt as if she had a great deal of superfluous strength--that is\r
+to say, more strength than she could manage to concentrate on any\r
+occupation. The day before, she had taken long walks outside the\r
+grounds, and had paid two visits to the Parsonage; but she never in her\r
+life told any one the reason why she spent her time in that fruitless\r
+manner, and this morning she was rather angry with herself for her\r
+childish restlessness. To-day was to be spent quite differently. What\r
+was there to be done in the village? Oh dear! nothing. Everybody was\r
+well and had flannel; nobody's pig had died; and it was Saturday\r
+morning, when there was a general scrubbing of doors and door-stones,\r
+and when it was useless to go into the school. But there were various\r
+subjects that Dorothea was trying to get clear upon, and she resolved\r
+to throw herself energetically into the gravest of all. She sat down\r
+in the library before her particular little heap of books on political\r
+economy and kindred matters, out of which she was trying to get light\r
+as to the best way of spending money so as not to injure one's\r
+neighbors, or--what comes to the same thing--so as to do them the most\r
+good. Here was a weighty subject which, if she could but lay hold of\r
+it, would certainly keep her mind steady. Unhappily her mind slipped\r
+off it for a whole hour; and at the end she found herself reading\r
+sentences twice over with an intense consciousness of many things, but\r
+not of any one thing contained in the text. This was hopeless. Should\r
+she order the carriage and drive to Tipton? No; for some reason or\r
+other she preferred staying at Lowick. But her vagrant mind must be\r
+reduced to order: there was an art in self-discipline; and she walked\r
+round and round the brown library considering by what sort of manoeuvre\r
+she could arrest her wandering thoughts. Perhaps a mere task was the\r
+best means--something to which she must go doggedly. Was there not the\r
+geography of Asia Minor, in which her slackness had often been rebuked\r
+by Mr. Casaubon? She went to the cabinet of maps and unrolled one:\r
+this morning she might make herself finally sure that Paphlagonia was\r
+not on the Levantine coast, and fix her total darkness about the\r
+Chalybes firmly on the shores of the Euxine. A map was a fine thing to\r
+study when you were disposed to think of something else, being made up\r
+of names that would turn into a chime if you went back upon them.\r
+Dorothea set earnestly to work, bending close to her map, and uttering\r
+the names in an audible, subdued tone, which often got into a chime.\r
+She looked amusingly girlish after all her deep experience--nodding\r
+her head and marking the names off on her fingers, with a little\r
+pursing of her lip, and now and then breaking off to put her hands on\r
+each side of her face and say, "Oh dear! oh dear!"\r
+\r
+There was no reason why this should end any more than a merry-go-round;\r
+but it was at last interrupted by the opening of the door and the\r
+announcement of Miss Noble.\r
+\r
+The little old lady, whose bonnet hardly reached Dorothea's shoulder,\r
+was warmly welcomed, but while her hand was being pressed she made many\r
+of her beaver-like noises, as if she had something difficult to say.\r
+\r
+"Do sit down," said Dorothea, rolling a chair forward. "Am I wanted\r
+for anything? I shall be so glad if I can do anything."\r
+\r
+"I will not stay," said Miss Noble, putting her hand into her small\r
+basket, and holding some article inside it nervously; "I have left a\r
+friend in the churchyard." She lapsed into her inarticulate sounds,\r
+and unconsciously drew forth the article which she was fingering. It\r
+was the tortoise-shell lozenge-box, and Dorothea felt the color\r
+mounting to her cheeks.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Ladislaw," continued the timid little woman. "He fears he has\r
+offended you, and has begged me to ask if you will see him for a few\r
+minutes."\r
+\r
+Dorothea did not answer on the instant: it was crossing her mind that\r
+she could not receive him in this library, where her husband's\r
+prohibition seemed to dwell. She looked towards the window. Could she\r
+go out and meet him in the grounds? The sky was heavy, and the trees\r
+had begun to shiver as at a coming storm. Besides, she shrank from\r
+going out to him.\r
+\r
+"Do see him, Mrs. Casaubon," said Miss Noble, pathetically; "else I\r
+must go back and say No, and that will hurt him."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I will see him," said Dorothea. "Pray tell him to come."\r
+\r
+What else was there to be done? There was nothing that she longed for\r
+at that moment except to see Will: the possibility of seeing him had\r
+thrust itself insistently between her and every other object; and yet\r
+she had a throbbing excitement like an alarm upon her--a sense that\r
+she was doing something daringly defiant for his sake.\r
+\r
+When the little lady had trotted away on her mission, Dorothea stood in\r
+the middle of the library with her hands falling clasped before her,\r
+making no attempt to compose herself in an attitude of dignified\r
+unconsciousness. What she was least conscious of just then was her own\r
+body: she was thinking of what was likely to be in Will's mind, and of\r
+the hard feelings that others had had about him. How could any duty\r
+bind her to hardness? Resistance to unjust dispraise had mingled with\r
+her feeling for him from the very first, and now in the rebound of her\r
+heart after her anguish the resistance was stronger than ever. "If I\r
+love him too much it is because he has been used so ill:"--there was a\r
+voice within her saying this to some imagined audience in the library,\r
+when the door was opened, and she saw Will before her.\r
+\r
+She did not move, and he came towards her with more doubt and timidity\r
+in his face than she had ever seen before. He was in a state of\r
+uncertainty which made him afraid lest some look or word of his should\r
+condemn him to a new distance from her; and Dorothea was afraid of her\r
+_own_ emotion. She looked as if there were a spell upon her, keeping\r
+her motionless and hindering her from unclasping her hands, while some\r
+intense, grave yearning was imprisoned within her eyes. Seeing that\r
+she did not put out her hand as usual, Will paused a yard from her and\r
+said with embarrassment, "I am so grateful to you for seeing me."\r
+\r
+"I wanted to see you," said Dorothea, having no other words at command.\r
+It did not occur to her to sit down, and Will did not give a cheerful\r
+interpretation to this queenly way of receiving him; but he went on to\r
+say what he had made up his mind to say.\r
+\r
+"I fear you think me foolish and perhaps wrong for coming back so soon.\r
+I have been punished for my impatience. You know--every one knows\r
+now--a painful story about my parentage. I knew of it before I went\r
+away, and I always meant to tell you of it if--if we ever met again."\r
+\r
+There was a slight movement in Dorothea, and she unclasped her hands,\r
+but immediately folded them over each other.\r
+\r
+"But the affair is matter of gossip now," Will continued. "I wished\r
+you to know that something connected with it--something which happened\r
+before I went away, helped to bring me down here again. At least I\r
+thought it excused my coming. It was the idea of getting Bulstrode to\r
+apply some money to a public purpose--some money which he had thought\r
+of giving me. Perhaps it is rather to Bulstrode's credit that he\r
+privately offered me compensation for an old injury: he offered to give\r
+me a good income to make amends; but I suppose you know the\r
+disagreeable story?"\r
+\r
+Will looked doubtfully at Dorothea, but his manner was gathering some\r
+of the defiant courage with which he always thought of this fact in his\r
+destiny. He added, "You know that it must be altogether painful to me."\r
+\r
+"Yes--yes--I know," said Dorothea, hastily.\r
+\r
+"I did not choose to accept an income from such a source. I was sure\r
+that you would not think well of me if I did so," said Will. Why\r
+should he mind saying anything of that sort to her now? She knew that\r
+he had avowed his love for her. "I felt that"--he broke off,\r
+nevertheless.\r
+\r
+"You acted as I should have expected you to act," said Dorothea, her\r
+face brightening and her head becoming a little more erect on its\r
+beautiful stem.\r
+\r
+"I did not believe that you would let any circumstance of my birth\r
+create a prejudice in you against me, though it was sure to do so in\r
+others," said Will, shaking his head backward in his old way, and\r
+looking with a grave appeal into her eyes.\r
+\r
+"If it were a new hardship it would be a new reason for me to cling to\r
+you," said Dorothea, fervidly. "Nothing could have changed me but--"\r
+her heart was swelling, and it was difficult to go on; she made a great\r
+effort over herself to say in a low tremulous voice, "but thinking that\r
+you were different--not so good as I had believed you to be."\r
+\r
+"You are sure to believe me better than I am in everything but one,"\r
+said Will, giving way to his own feeling in the evidence of hers. "I\r
+mean, in my truth to you. When I thought you doubted of that, I didn't\r
+care about anything that was left. I thought it was all over with me,\r
+and there was nothing to try for--only things to endure."\r
+\r
+"I don't doubt you any longer," said Dorothea, putting out her hand; a\r
+vague fear for him impelling her unutterable affection.\r
+\r
+He took her hand and raised it to his lips with something like a sob.\r
+But he stood with his hat and gloves in the other hand, and might have\r
+done for the portrait of a Royalist. Still it was difficult to loose\r
+the hand, and Dorothea, withdrawing it in a confusion that distressed\r
+her, looked and moved away.\r
+\r
+"See how dark the clouds have become, and how the trees are tossed,"\r
+she said, walking towards the window, yet speaking and moving with only\r
+a dim sense of what she was doing.\r
+\r
+Will followed her at a little distance, and leaned against the tall\r
+back of a leather chair, on which he ventured now to lay his hat and\r
+gloves, and free himself from the intolerable durance of formality to\r
+which he had been for the first time condemned in Dorothea's presence.\r
+It must be confessed that he felt very happy at that moment leaning on\r
+the chair. He was not much afraid of anything that she might feel now.\r
+\r
+They stood silent, not looking at each other, but looking at the\r
+evergreens which were being tossed, and were showing the pale underside\r
+of their leaves against the blackening sky. Will never enjoyed the\r
+prospect of a storm so much: it delivered him from the necessity of\r
+going away. Leaves and little branches were hurled about, and the\r
+thunder was getting nearer. The light was more and more sombre, but\r
+there came a flash of lightning which made them start and look at each\r
+other, and then smile. Dorothea began to say what she had been\r
+thinking of.\r
+\r
+"That was a wrong thing for you to say, that you would have had nothing\r
+to try for. If we had lost our own chief good, other people's good\r
+would remain, and that is worth trying for. Some can be happy. I\r
+seemed to see that more clearly than ever, when I was the most\r
+wretched. I can hardly think how I could have borne the trouble, if\r
+that feeling had not come to me to make strength."\r
+\r
+"You have never felt the sort of misery I felt," said Will; "the misery\r
+of knowing that you must despise me."\r
+\r
+"But I have felt worse--it was worse to think ill--" Dorothea had begun\r
+impetuously, but broke off.\r
+\r
+Will colored. He had the sense that whatever she said was uttered in\r
+the vision of a fatality that kept them apart. He was silent a moment,\r
+and then said passionately--\r
+\r
+"We may at least have the comfort of speaking to each other without\r
+disguise. Since I must go away--since we must always be divided--you\r
+may think of me as one on the brink of the grave."\r
+\r
+While he was speaking there came a vivid flash of lightning which lit\r
+each of them up for the other--and the light seemed to be the terror of\r
+a hopeless love. Dorothea darted instantaneously from the window; Will\r
+followed her, seizing her hand with a spasmodic movement; and so they\r
+stood, with their hands clasped, like two children, looking out on the\r
+storm, while the thunder gave a tremendous crack and roll above them,\r
+and the rain began to pour down. Then they turned their faces towards\r
+each other, with the memory of his last words in them, and they did not\r
+loose each other's hands.\r
+\r
+"There is no hope for me," said Will. "Even if you loved me as well as\r
+I love you--even if I were everything to you--I shall most likely\r
+always be very poor: on a sober calculation, one can count on nothing\r
+but a creeping lot. It is impossible for us ever to belong to each\r
+other. It is perhaps base of me to have asked for a word from you. I\r
+meant to go away into silence, but I have not been able to do what I\r
+meant."\r
+\r
+"Don't be sorry," said Dorothea, in her clear tender tones. "I would\r
+rather share all the trouble of our parting."\r
+\r
+Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known which lips were\r
+the first to move towards the other lips; but they kissed tremblingly,\r
+and then they moved apart.\r
+\r
+The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an angry spirit\r
+were within it, and behind it was the great swoop of the wind; it was\r
+one of those moments in which both the busy and the idle pause with a\r
+certain awe.\r
+\r
+Dorothea sat down on the seat nearest to her, a long low ottoman in the\r
+middle of the room, and with her hands folded over each other on her\r
+lap, looked at the drear outer world. Will stood still an instant\r
+looking at her, then seated himself beside her, and laid his hand on\r
+hers, which turned itself upward to be clasped. They sat in that way\r
+without looking at each other, until the rain abated and began to fall\r
+in stillness. Each had been full of thoughts which neither of them\r
+could begin to utter.\r
+\r
+But when the rain was quiet, Dorothea turned to look at Will. With\r
+passionate exclamation, as if some torture screw were threatening him,\r
+he started up and said, "It is impossible!"\r
+\r
+He went and leaned on the back of the chair again, and seemed to be\r
+battling with his own anger, while she looked towards him sadly.\r
+\r
+"It is as fatal as a murder or any other horror that divides people,"\r
+he burst out again; "it is more intolerable--to have our life maimed by\r
+petty accidents."\r
+\r
+"No--don't say that--your life need not be maimed," said Dorothea,\r
+gently.\r
+\r
+"Yes, it must," said Will, angrily. "It is cruel of you to speak in\r
+that way--as if there were any comfort. You may see beyond the misery\r
+of it, but I don't. It is unkind--it is throwing back my love for you\r
+as if it were a trifle, to speak in that way in the face of the fact.\r
+We can never be married."\r
+\r
+"Some time--we might," said Dorothea, in a trembling voice.\r
+\r
+"When?" said Will, bitterly. "What is the use of counting on any\r
+success of mine? It is a mere toss up whether I shall ever do more\r
+than keep myself decently, unless I choose to sell myself as a mere pen\r
+and a mouthpiece. I can see that clearly enough. I could not offer\r
+myself to any woman, even if she had no luxuries to renounce."\r
+\r
+There was silence. Dorothea's heart was full of something that she\r
+wanted to say, and yet the words were too difficult. She was wholly\r
+possessed by them: at that moment debate was mute within her. And it\r
+was very hard that she could not say what she wanted to say. Will was\r
+looking out of the window angrily. If he would have looked at her and\r
+not gone away from her side, she thought everything would have been\r
+easier. At last he turned, still resting against the chair, and\r
+stretching his hand automatically towards his hat, said with a sort of\r
+exasperation, "Good-by."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I cannot bear it--my heart will break," said Dorothea, starting\r
+from her seat, the flood of her young passion bearing down all the\r
+obstructions which had kept her silent--the great tears rising and\r
+falling in an instant: "I don't mind about poverty--I hate my wealth."\r
+\r
+In an instant Will was close to her and had his arms round her, but she\r
+drew her head back and held his away gently that she might go on\r
+speaking, her large tear-filled eyes looking at his very simply, while\r
+she said in a sobbing childlike way, "We could live quite well on my\r
+own fortune--it is too much--seven hundred a-year--I want so little--no\r
+new clothes--and I will learn what everything costs."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXXIV.\r
+\r
+ "Though it be songe of old and yonge,\r
+ That I sholde be to blame,\r
+ Theyrs be the charge, that spoke so large\r
+ In hurtynge of my name."\r
+ --The Not-Browne Mayde.\r
+\r
+\r
+It was just after the Lords had thrown out the Reform Bill: that\r
+explains how Mr. Cadwallader came to be walking on the slope of the\r
+lawn near the great conservatory at Freshitt Hall, holding the "Times"\r
+in his hands behind him, while he talked with a trout-fisher's\r
+dispassionateness about the prospects of the country to Sir James\r
+Chettam. Mrs. Cadwallader, the Dowager Lady Chettam, and Celia were\r
+sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet little\r
+Arthur, who was being drawn in his chariot, and, as became the\r
+infantine Bouddha, was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with handsome\r
+silken fringe.\r
+\r
+The ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully. Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader was strong on the intended creation of peers: she had it\r
+for certain from her cousin that Truberry had gone over to the other\r
+side entirely at the instigation of his wife, who had scented peerages\r
+in the air from the very first introduction of the Reform question, and\r
+would sign her soul away to take precedence of her younger sister, who\r
+had married a baronet. Lady Chettam thought that such conduct was very\r
+reprehensible, and remembered that Mrs. Truberry's mother was a Miss\r
+Walsingham of Melspring. Celia confessed it was nicer to be "Lady"\r
+than "Mrs.," and that Dodo never minded about precedence if she could\r
+have her own way. Mrs. Cadwallader held that it was a poor\r
+satisfaction to take precedence when everybody about you knew that you\r
+had not a drop of good blood in your veins; and Celia again, stopping\r
+to look at Arthur, said, "It would be very nice, though, if he were a\r
+Viscount--and his lordship's little tooth coming through! He might\r
+have been, if James had been an Earl."\r
+\r
+"My dear Celia," said the Dowager, "James's title is worth far more\r
+than any new earldom. I never wished his father to be anything else\r
+than Sir James."\r
+\r
+"Oh, I only meant about Arthur's little tooth," said Celia,\r
+comfortably. "But see, here is my uncle coming."\r
+\r
+She tripped off to meet her uncle, while Sir James and Mr. Cadwallader\r
+came forward to make one group with the ladies. Celia had slipped her\r
+arm through her uncle's, and he patted her hand with a rather\r
+melancholy "Well, my dear!" As they approached, it was evident that\r
+Mr. Brooke was looking dejected, but this was fully accounted for by\r
+the state of politics; and as he was shaking hands all round without\r
+more greeting than a "Well, you're all here, you know," the Rector\r
+said, laughingly--\r
+\r
+"Don't take the throwing out of the Bill so much to heart, Brooke;\r
+you've got all the riff-raff of the country on your side."\r
+\r
+"The Bill, eh? ah!" said Mr. Brooke, with a mild distractedness of\r
+manner. "Thrown out, you know, eh? The Lords are going too far,\r
+though. They'll have to pull up. Sad news, you know. I mean, here at\r
+home--sad news. But you must not blame me, Chettam."\r
+\r
+"What is the matter?" said Sir James. "Not another gamekeeper shot, I\r
+hope? It's what I should expect, when a fellow like Trapping Bass is\r
+let off so easily."\r
+\r
+"Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the house, you\r
+know," said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the Cadwalladers, to show that he\r
+included them in his confidence. "As to poachers like Trapping Bass,\r
+you know, Chettam," he continued, as they were entering, "when you are\r
+a magistrate, you'll not find it so easy to commit. Severity is all\r
+very well, but it's a great deal easier when you've got somebody to do\r
+it for you. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, you\r
+know--you're not a Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous perturbation. When he\r
+had something painful to tell, it was usually his way to introduce it\r
+among a number of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that\r
+would get a milder flavor by mixing. He continued his chat with Sir\r
+James about the poachers until they were all seated, and Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said--\r
+\r
+"I'm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that is\r
+settled. What is it, then?"\r
+\r
+"Well, it's a very trying thing, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "I'm glad\r
+you and the Rector are here; it's a family matter--but you will help\r
+us all to bear it, Cadwallader. I've got to break it to you, my dear."\r
+Here Mr. Brooke looked at Celia--"You've no notion what it is, you\r
+know. And, Chettam, it will annoy you uncommonly--but, you see, you\r
+have not been able to hinder it, any more than I have. There's\r
+something singular in things: they come round, you know."\r
+\r
+"It must be about Dodo," said Celia, who had been used to think of her\r
+sister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seated\r
+herself on a low stool against her husband's knee.\r
+\r
+"For God's sake let us hear what it is!" said Sir James.\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, Chettam, I couldn't help Casaubon's will: it was a\r
+sort of will to make things worse."\r
+\r
+"Exactly," said Sir James, hastily. "But _what_ is worse?"\r
+\r
+"Dorothea is going to be married again, you know," said Mr. Brooke,\r
+nodding towards Celia, who immediately looked up at her husband with a\r
+frightened glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almost\r
+white with anger, but he did not speak.\r
+\r
+"Merciful heaven!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Not to _young_ Ladislaw?"\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke nodded, saying, "Yes; to Ladislaw," and then fell into a\r
+prudential silence.\r
+\r
+"You see, Humphrey!" said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her arm towards her\r
+husband. "Another time you will admit that I have some foresight; or\r
+rather you will contradict me and be just as blind as ever. _You_\r
+supposed that the young gentleman was gone out of the country."\r
+\r
+"So he might be, and yet come back," said the Rector, quietly\r
+\r
+"When did you learn this?" said Sir James, not liking to hear any one\r
+else speak, though finding it difficult to speak himself.\r
+\r
+"Yesterday," said Mr. Brooke, meekly. "I went to Lowick. Dorothea\r
+sent for me, you know. It had come about quite suddenly--neither of\r
+them had any idea two days ago--not any idea, you know. There's\r
+something singular in things. But Dorothea is quite determined--it is\r
+no use opposing. I put it strongly to her. I did my duty, Chettam.\r
+But she can act as she likes, you know."\r
+\r
+"It would have been better if I had called him out and shot him a year\r
+ago," said Sir James, not from bloody-mindedness, but because he needed\r
+something strong to say.\r
+\r
+"Really, James, that would have been very disagreeable," said Celia.\r
+\r
+"Be reasonable, Chettam. Look at the affair more quietly," said Mr.\r
+Cadwallader, sorry to see his good-natured friend so overmastered by\r
+anger.\r
+\r
+"That is not so very easy for a man of any dignity--with any sense of\r
+right--when the affair happens to be in his own family," said Sir\r
+James, still in his white indignation. "It is perfectly scandalous.\r
+If Ladislaw had had a spark of honor he would have gone out of the\r
+country at once, and never shown his face in it again. However, I am\r
+not surprised. The day after Casaubon's funeral I said what ought to\r
+be done. But I was not listened to."\r
+\r
+"You wanted what was impossible, you know, Chettam," said Mr. Brooke.\r
+"You wanted him shipped off. I told you Ladislaw was not to be done as\r
+we liked with: he had his ideas. He was a remarkable fellow--I always\r
+said he was a remarkable fellow."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, "it is rather a pity\r
+you formed that high opinion of him. We are indebted to that for his\r
+being lodged in this neighborhood. We are indebted to that for seeing\r
+a woman like Dorothea degrading herself by marrying him." Sir James\r
+made little stoppages between his clauses, the words not coming easily.\r
+"A man so marked out by her husband's will, that delicacy ought to have\r
+forbidden her from seeing him again--who takes her out of her proper\r
+rank--into poverty--has the meanness to accept such a sacrifice--has\r
+always had an objectionable position--a bad origin--and, I _believe_,\r
+is a man of little principle and light character. That is my opinion."\r
+Sir James ended emphatically, turning aside and crossing his leg.\r
+\r
+"I pointed everything out to her," said Mr. Brooke, apologetically--"I\r
+mean the poverty, and abandoning her position. I said, 'My dear, you\r
+don't know what it is to live on seven hundred a-year, and have no\r
+carriage, and that kind of thing, and go amongst people who don't know\r
+who you are.' I put it strongly to her. But I advise you to talk to\r
+Dorothea herself. The fact is, she has a dislike to Casaubon's\r
+property. You will hear what she says, you know."\r
+\r
+"No--excuse me--I shall not," said Sir James, with more coolness. "I\r
+cannot bear to see her again; it is too painful. It hurts me too much\r
+that a woman like Dorothea should have done what is wrong."\r
+\r
+"Be just, Chettam," said the easy, large-lipped Rector, who objected to\r
+all this unnecessary discomfort. "Mrs. Casaubon may be acting\r
+imprudently: she is giving up a fortune for the sake of a man, and we\r
+men have so poor an opinion of each other that we can hardly call a\r
+woman wise who does that. But I think you should not condemn it as a\r
+wrong action, in the strict sense of the word."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I do," answered Sir James. "I think that Dorothea commits a\r
+wrong action in marrying Ladislaw."\r
+\r
+"My dear fellow, we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it\r
+is unpleasant to us," said the Rector, quietly. Like many men who take\r
+life easily, he had the knack of saying a home truth occasionally to\r
+those who felt themselves virtuously out of temper. Sir James took out\r
+his handkerchief and began to bite the corner.\r
+\r
+"It is very dreadful of Dodo, though," said Celia, wishing to justify\r
+her husband. "She said she _never would_ marry again--not anybody at\r
+all."\r
+\r
+"I heard her say the same thing myself," said Lady Chettam,\r
+majestically, as if this were royal evidence.\r
+\r
+"Oh, there is usually a silent exception in such cases," said Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader. "The only wonder to me is, that any of you are surprised.\r
+You did nothing to hinder it. If you would have had Lord Triton down\r
+here to woo her with his philanthropy, he might have carried her off\r
+before the year was over. There was no safety in anything else. Mr.\r
+Casaubon had prepared all this as beautifully as possible. He made\r
+himself disagreeable--or it pleased God to make him so--and then he\r
+dared her to contradict him. It's the way to make any trumpery\r
+tempting, to ticket it at a high price in that way."\r
+\r
+"I don't know what you mean by wrong, Cadwallader," said Sir James,\r
+still feeling a little stung, and turning round in his chair towards\r
+the Rector. "He's not a man we can take into the family. At least, I\r
+must speak for myself," he continued, carefully keeping his eyes off\r
+Mr. Brooke. "I suppose others will find his society too pleasant to\r
+care about the propriety of the thing."\r
+\r
+"Well, you know, Chettam," said Mr. Brooke, good-humoredly, nursing his\r
+leg, "I can't turn my back on Dorothea. I must be a father to her up\r
+to a certain point. I said, 'My dear, I won't refuse to give you\r
+away.' I had spoken strongly before. But I can cut off the entail,\r
+you know. It will cost money and be troublesome; but I can do it, you\r
+know."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke nodded at Sir James, and felt that he was both showing his\r
+own force of resolution and propitiating what was just in the Baronet's\r
+vexation. He had hit on a more ingenious mode of parrying than he was\r
+aware of. He had touched a motive of which Sir James was ashamed. The\r
+mass of his feeling about Dorothea's marriage to Ladislaw was due\r
+partly to excusable prejudice, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a\r
+jealous repugnance hardly less in Ladislaw's case than in Casaubon's.\r
+He was convinced that the marriage was a fatal one for Dorothea. But\r
+amid that mass ran a vein of which he was too good and honorable a man\r
+to like the avowal even to himself: it was undeniable that the union of\r
+the two estates--Tipton and Freshitt--lying charmingly within a\r
+ring-fence, was a prospect that flattered him for his son and heir.\r
+Hence when Mr. Brooke noddingly appealed to that motive, Sir James felt\r
+a sudden embarrassment; there was a stoppage in his throat; he even\r
+blushed. He had found more words than usual in the first jet of his\r
+anger, but Mr. Brooke's propitiation was more clogging to his tongue\r
+than Mr. Cadwallader's caustic hint.\r
+\r
+But Celia was glad to have room for speech after her uncle's suggestion\r
+of the marriage ceremony, and she said, though with as little eagerness\r
+of manner as if the question had turned on an invitation to dinner, "Do\r
+you mean that Dodo is going to be married directly, uncle?"\r
+\r
+"In three weeks, you know," said Mr. Brooke, helplessly. "I can do\r
+nothing to hinder it, Cadwallader," he added, turning for a little\r
+countenance toward the Rector, who said--\r
+\r
+"--I--should not make any fuss about it. If she likes to be poor, that\r
+is her affair. Nobody would have said anything if she had married the\r
+young fellow because he was rich. Plenty of beneficed clergy are\r
+poorer than they will be. Here is Elinor," continued the provoking\r
+husband; "she vexed her friends by me: I had hardly a thousand\r
+a-year--I was a lout--nobody could see anything in me--my shoes were\r
+not the right cut--all the men wondered how a woman could like me.\r
+Upon my word, I must take Ladislaw's part until I hear more harm of\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"Humphrey, that is all sophistry, and you know it," said his wife.\r
+"Everything is all one--that is the beginning and end with you. As if\r
+you had not been a Cadwallader! Does any one suppose that I would have\r
+taken such a monster as you by any other name?"\r
+\r
+"And a clergyman too," observed Lady Chettam with approbation. "Elinor\r
+cannot be said to have descended below her rank. It is difficult to\r
+say what Mr. Ladislaw is, eh, James?"\r
+\r
+Sir James gave a small grunt, which was less respectful than his usual\r
+mode of answering his mother. Celia looked up at him like a thoughtful\r
+kitten.\r
+\r
+"It must be admitted that his blood is a frightful mixture!" said Mrs.\r
+Cadwallader. "The Casaubon cuttle-fish fluid to begin with, and then a\r
+rebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was it?--and then an old\r
+clo--"\r
+\r
+"Nonsense, Elinor," said the Rector, rising. "It is time for us to go."\r
+\r
+"After all, he is a pretty sprig," said Mrs. Cadwallader, rising too,\r
+and wishing to make amends. "He is like the fine old Crichley\r
+portraits before the idiots came in."\r
+\r
+"I'll go with you," said Mr. Brooke, starting up with alacrity. "You\r
+must all come and dine with me to-morrow, you know--eh, Celia, my dear?"\r
+\r
+"You will, James--won't you?" said Celia, taking her husband's hand.\r
+\r
+"Oh, of course, if you like," said Sir James, pulling down his\r
+waistcoat, but unable yet to adjust his face good-humoredly. "That is\r
+to say, if it is not to meet anybody else.':\r
+\r
+"No, no, no," said Mr. Brooke, understanding the condition. "Dorothea\r
+would not come, you know, unless you had been to see her."\r
+\r
+When Sir James and Celia were alone, she said, "Do you mind about my\r
+having the carriage to go to Lowick, James?"\r
+\r
+"What, now, directly?" he answered, with some surprise.\r
+\r
+"Yes, it is very important," said Celia.\r
+\r
+"Remember, Celia, I cannot see her," said Sir James.\r
+\r
+"Not if she gave up marrying?"\r
+\r
+"What is the use of saying that?--however, I'm going to the stables.\r
+I'll tell Briggs to bring the carriage round."\r
+\r
+Celia thought it was of great use, if not to say that, at least to take\r
+a journey to Lowick in order to influence Dorothea's mind. All through\r
+their girlhood she had felt that she could act on her sister by a word\r
+judiciously placed--by opening a little window for the daylight of her\r
+own understanding to enter among the strange colored lamps by which\r
+Dodo habitually saw. And Celia the matron naturally felt more able to\r
+advise her childless sister. How could any one understand Dodo so well\r
+as Celia did or love her so tenderly?\r
+\r
+Dorothea, busy in her boudoir, felt a glow of pleasure at the sight of\r
+her sister so soon after the revelation of her intended marriage. She\r
+had prefigured to herself, even with exaggeration, the disgust of her\r
+friends, and she had even feared that Celia might be kept aloof from\r
+her.\r
+\r
+"O Kitty, I am delighted to see you!" said Dorothea, putting her hands\r
+on Celia's shoulders, and beaming on her. "I almost thought you would\r
+not come to me."\r
+\r
+"I have not brought Arthur, because I was in a hurry," said Celia, and\r
+they sat down on two small chairs opposite each other, with their knees\r
+touching.\r
+\r
+"You know, Dodo, it is very bad," said Celia, in her placid guttural,\r
+looking as prettily free from humors as possible. "You have\r
+disappointed us all so. And I can't think that it ever _will_ be--you\r
+never can go and live in that way. And then there are all your plans!\r
+You never can have thought of that. James would have taken any trouble\r
+for you, and you might have gone on all your life doing what you liked."\r
+\r
+"On the contrary, dear," said Dorothea, "I never could do anything that\r
+I liked. I have never carried out any plan yet."\r
+\r
+"Because you always wanted things that wouldn't do. But other plans\r
+would have come. And how can you marry Mr. Ladislaw, that we none of\r
+us ever thought you _could_ marry? It shocks James so dreadfully. And\r
+then it is all so different from what you have always been. You would\r
+have Mr. Casaubon because he had such a great soul, and was so and\r
+dismal and learned; and now, to think of marrying Mr. Ladislaw, who has\r
+got no estate or anything. I suppose it is because you must be making\r
+yourself uncomfortable in some way or other."\r
+\r
+Dorothea laughed.\r
+\r
+"Well, it is very serious, Dodo," said Celia, becoming more impressive.\r
+"How will you live? and you will go away among queer people. And I\r
+shall never see you--and you won't mind about little Arthur--and I\r
+thought you always would--"\r
+\r
+Celia's rare tears had got into her eyes, and the corners of her mouth\r
+were agitated.\r
+\r
+"Dear Celia," said Dorothea, with tender gravity, "if you don't ever\r
+see me, it will not be my fault."\r
+\r
+"Yes, it will," said Celia, with the same touching distortion of her\r
+small features. "How can I come to you or have you with me when James\r
+can't bear it?--that is because he thinks it is not right--he thinks\r
+you are so wrong, Dodo. But you always were wrong: only I can't help\r
+loving you. And nobody can think where you will live: where can you\r
+go?"\r
+\r
+"I am going to London," said Dorothea.\r
+\r
+"How can you always live in a street? And you will be so poor. I\r
+could give you half my things, only how can I, when I never see you?"\r
+\r
+"Bless you, Kitty," said Dorothea, with gentle warmth. "Take comfort:\r
+perhaps James will forgive me some time."\r
+\r
+"But it would be much better if you would not be married," said Celia,\r
+drying her eyes, and returning to her argument; "then there would be\r
+nothing uncomfortable. And you would not do what nobody thought you\r
+could do. James always said you ought to be a queen; but this is not\r
+at all being like a queen. You know what mistakes you have always been\r
+making, Dodo, and this is another. Nobody thinks Mr. Ladislaw a proper\r
+husband for you. And you _said you_ would never be married again."\r
+\r
+"It is quite true that I might be a wiser person, Celia," said\r
+Dorothea, "and that I might have done something better, if I had been\r
+better. But this is what I am going to do. I have promised to marry\r
+Mr. Ladislaw; and I am going to marry him."\r
+\r
+The tone in which Dorothea said this was a note that Celia had long\r
+learned to recognize. She was silent a few moments, and then said, as\r
+if she had dismissed all contest, "Is he very fond of you, Dodo?"\r
+\r
+"I hope so. I am very fond of him."\r
+\r
+"That is nice," said Celia, comfortably. "Only I rather you had such a\r
+sort of husband as James is, with a place very near, that I could drive\r
+to."\r
+\r
+Dorothea smiled, and Celia looked rather meditative. Presently she\r
+said, "I cannot think how it all came about." Celia thought it would be\r
+pleasant to hear the story.\r
+\r
+"I dare say not," said-Dorothea, pinching her sister's chin. "If you\r
+knew how it came about, it would not seem wonderful to you."\r
+\r
+"Can't you tell me?" said Celia, settling her arms cozily.\r
+\r
+"No, dear, you would have to feel with me, else you would never know."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXXV.\r
+\r
+ "Then went the jury out whose names were Mr. Blindman, Mr.\r
+ No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Live-loose, Mr.\r
+ Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr.\r
+ Hate-light, Mr. Implacable, who every one gave in his\r
+ private verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards\r
+ unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before the\r
+ judge. And first among themselves, Mr. Blindman, the\r
+ foreman, said, I see clearly that this man is a heretic.\r
+ Then said Mr. No-good, Away with such a fellow from the\r
+ earth! Ay, said Mr. Malice, for I hate the very look of him.\r
+ Then said Mr. Love-lust, I could never endure him. Nor I,\r
+ said Mr. Live-loose; for he would be always condemning my\r
+ way. Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said\r
+ Mr. High-mind. My heart riseth against him, said Mr. Enmity.\r
+ He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging is too good for him,\r
+ said Mr. Cruelty. Let us despatch him out of the way said\r
+ Mr. Hate-light. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have all\r
+ the world given me, I could not be reconciled to him;\r
+ therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death."\r
+ --Pilgrim's Progress.\r
+\r
+\r
+When immortal Bunyan makes his picture of the persecuting passions\r
+bringing in their verdict of guilty, who pities Faithful? That is a\r
+rare and blessed lot which some greatest men have not attained, to know\r
+ourselves guiltless before a condemning crowd--to be sure that what we\r
+are denounced for is solely the good in us. The pitiable lot is that\r
+of the man who could not call himself a martyr even though he were to\r
+persuade himself that the men who stoned him were but ugly passions\r
+incarnate--who knows that he is stoned, not for professing the Right,\r
+but for not being the man he professed to be.\r
+\r
+This was the consciousness that Bulstrode was withering under while he\r
+made his preparations for departing from Middlemarch, and going to end\r
+his stricken life in that sad refuge, the indifference of new faces.\r
+The duteous merciful constancy of his wife had delivered him from one\r
+dread, but it could not hinder her presence from being still a tribunal\r
+before which he shrank from confession and desired advocacy. His\r
+equivocations with himself about the death of Raffles had sustained the\r
+conception of an Omniscience whom he prayed to, yet he had a terror\r
+upon him which would not let him expose them to judgment by a full\r
+confession to his wife: the acts which he had washed and diluted with\r
+inward argument and motive, and for which it seemed comparatively easy\r
+to win invisible pardon--what name would she call them by? That she\r
+should ever silently call his acts Murder was what he could not bear.\r
+He felt shrouded by her doubt: he got strength to face her from the\r
+sense that she could not yet feel warranted in pronouncing that worst\r
+condemnation on him. Some time, perhaps--when he was dying--he would\r
+tell her all: in the deep shadow of that time, when she held his hand\r
+in the gathering darkness, she might listen without recoiling from his\r
+touch. Perhaps: but concealment had been the habit of his life, and\r
+the impulse to confession had no power against the dread of a deeper\r
+humiliation.\r
+\r
+He was full of timid care for his wife, not only because he deprecated\r
+any harshness of judgment from her, but because he felt a deep distress\r
+at the sight of her suffering. She had sent her daughters away to\r
+board at a school on the coast, that this crisis might be hidden from\r
+them as far as possible. Set free by their absence from the\r
+intolerable necessity of accounting for her grief or of beholding their\r
+frightened wonder, she could live unconstrainedly with the sorrow that\r
+was every day streaking her hair with whiteness and making her eyelids\r
+languid.\r
+\r
+"Tell me anything that you would like to have me do, Harriet,"\r
+Bulstrode had said to her; "I mean with regard to arrangements of\r
+property. It is my intention not to sell the land I possess in this\r
+neighborhood, but to leave it to you as a safe provision. If you have\r
+any wish on such subjects, do not conceal it from me."\r
+\r
+A few days afterwards, when she had returned from a visit to her\r
+brother's, she began to speak to her husband on a subject which had for\r
+some time been in her mind.\r
+\r
+"I _should_ like to do something for my brother's family, Nicholas; and\r
+I think we are bound to make some amends to Rosamond and her husband.\r
+Walter says Mr. Lydgate must leave the town, and his practice is almost\r
+good for nothing, and they have very little left to settle anywhere\r
+with. I would rather do without something for ourselves, to make some\r
+amends to my poor brother's family."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Bulstrode did not wish to go nearer to the facts than in the\r
+phrase "make some amends;" knowing that her husband must understand\r
+her. He had a particular reason, which she was not aware of, for\r
+wincing under her suggestion. He hesitated before he said--\r
+\r
+"It is not possible to carry out your wish in the way you propose, my\r
+dear. Mr. Lydgate has virtually rejected any further service from me.\r
+He has returned the thousand pounds which I lent him. Mrs. Casaubon\r
+advanced him the sum for that purpose. Here is his letter."\r
+\r
+The letter seemed to cut Mrs. Bulstrode severely. The mention of Mrs.\r
+Casaubon's loan seemed a reflection of that public feeling which held\r
+it a matter of course that every one would avoid a connection with her\r
+husband. She was silent for some time; and the tears fell one after\r
+the other, her chin trembling as she wiped them away. Bulstrode,\r
+sitting opposite to her, ached at the sight of that grief-worn face,\r
+which two months before had been bright and blooming. It had aged to\r
+keep sad company with his own withered features. Urged into some\r
+effort at comforting her, he said--\r
+\r
+"There is another means, Harriet, by which I might do a service to your\r
+brother's family, if you like to act in it. And it would, I think, be\r
+beneficial to you: it would be an advantageous way of managing the land\r
+which I mean to be yours."\r
+\r
+She looked attentive.\r
+\r
+"Garth once thought of undertaking the management of Stone Court in\r
+order to place your nephew Fred there. The stock was to remain as it\r
+is, and they were to pay a certain share of the profits instead of an\r
+ordinary rent. That would be a desirable beginning for the young man,\r
+in conjunction with his employment under Garth. Would it be a\r
+satisfaction to you?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, it would," said Mrs. Bulstrode, with some return of energy.\r
+"Poor Walter is so cast down; I would try anything in my power to do\r
+him some good before I go away. We have always been brother and\r
+sister."\r
+\r
+"You must make the proposal to Garth yourself, Harriet," said Mr.\r
+Bulstrode, not liking what he had to say, but desiring the end he had\r
+in view, for other reasons besides the consolation of his wife. "You\r
+must state to him that the land is virtually yours, and that he need\r
+have no transactions with me. Communications can be made through\r
+Standish. I mention this, because Garth gave up being my agent. I can\r
+put into your hands a paper which he himself drew up, stating\r
+conditions; and you can propose his renewed acceptance of them. I\r
+think it is not unlikely that he will accept when you propose the thing\r
+for the sake of your nephew."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER LXXXVI.\r
+\r
+ "Le coeur se sature d'amour comme d'un sel divin qui le\r
+ conserve; de la l'incorruptible adherence de ceux qui se\r
+ sont aimes des l'aube de la vie, et la fraicheur des vielles\r
+ amours prolonges. Il existe un embaumement d'amour. C'est de\r
+ Daphnis et Chloe que sont faits Philemon et Baucis. Cette\r
+ vieillesse la, ressemblance du soir avec l'aurore."\r
+ --VICTOR HUGO: L'homme qui rit.\r
+\r
+\r
+Mrs. Garth, hearing Caleb enter the passage about tea-time, opened the\r
+parlor-door and said, "There you are, Caleb. Have you had your\r
+dinner?" (Mr. Garth's meals were much subordinated to "business.")\r
+\r
+"Oh yes, a good dinner--cold mutton and I don't know what. Where is\r
+Mary?"\r
+\r
+"In the garden with Letty, I think."\r
+\r
+"Fred is not come yet?"\r
+\r
+"No. Are you going out again without taking tea, Caleb?" said Mrs.\r
+Garth, seeing that her absent-minded husband was putting on again the\r
+hat which he had just taken off.\r
+\r
+"No, no; I'm only going to Mary a minute."\r
+\r
+Mary was in a grassy corner of the garden, where there was a swing\r
+loftily hung between two pear-trees. She had a pink kerchief tied over\r
+her head, making a little poke to shade her eyes from the level\r
+sunbeams, while she was giving a glorious swing to Letty, who laughed\r
+and screamed wildly.\r
+\r
+Seeing her father, Mary left the swing and went to meet him, pushing\r
+back the pink kerchief and smiling afar off at him with the involuntary\r
+smile of loving pleasure.\r
+\r
+"I came to look for you, Mary," said Mr. Garth. "Let us walk about a\r
+bit."\r
+\r
+Mary knew quite well that her father had something particular to say:\r
+his eyebrows made their pathetic angle, and there was a tender gravity\r
+in his voice: these things had been signs to her when she was Letty's\r
+age. She put her arm within his, and they turned by the row of\r
+nut-trees.\r
+\r
+"It will be a sad while before you can be married, Mary," said her\r
+father, not looking at her, but at the end of the stick which he held\r
+in his other hand.\r
+\r
+"Not a sad while, father--I mean to be merry," said Mary, laughingly.\r
+"I have been single and merry for four-and-twenty years and more: I\r
+suppose it will not be quite as long again as that." Then, after a\r
+little pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her\r
+father's, "If you are contented with Fred?"\r
+\r
+Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.\r
+\r
+"Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had an\r
+uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things."\r
+\r
+"Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and everything,"\r
+said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then his\r
+behavior to you, father, is really good; he has a deep respect for you;\r
+and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has."\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match."\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match."\r
+\r
+"What for, then?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like\r
+scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in\r
+a husband."\r
+\r
+"Your mind is quite settled, then, Mary?" said Caleb, returning to his\r
+first tone. "There's no other wish come into it since things have been\r
+going on as they have been of late?" (Caleb meant a great deal in that\r
+vague phrase;) "because, better late than never. A woman must not\r
+force her heart--she'll do a man no good by that."\r
+\r
+"My feelings have not changed, father," said Mary, calmly. "I shall be\r
+constant to Fred as long as he is constant to me. I don't think either\r
+of us could spare the other, or like any one else better, however much\r
+we might admire them. It would make too great a difference to us--like\r
+seeing all the old places altered, and changing the name for\r
+everything. We must wait for each other a long while; but Fred knows\r
+that."\r
+\r
+Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb stood still and screwed his\r
+stick on the grassy walk. Then he said, with emotion in his voice,\r
+"Well, I've got a bit of news. What do you think of Fred going to live\r
+at Stone Court, and managing the land there?"\r
+\r
+"How can that ever be, father?" said Mary, wonderingly.\r
+\r
+"He would manage it for his aunt Bulstrode. The poor woman has been to\r
+me begging and praying. She wants to do the lad good, and it might be\r
+a fine thing for him. With saving, he might gradually buy the stock,\r
+and he has a turn for farming."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Fred would be so happy! It is too good to believe."\r
+\r
+"Ah, but mind you," said Caleb, turning his head warningly, "I must\r
+take it on _my_ shoulders, and be responsible, and see after\r
+everything; and that will grieve your mother a bit, though she mayn't\r
+say so. Fred had need be careful."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps it is too much, father," said Mary, checked in her joy.\r
+"There would be no happiness in bringing you any fresh trouble."\r
+\r
+"Nay, nay; work is my delight, child, when it doesn't vex your mother.\r
+And then, if you and Fred get married," here Caleb's voice shook just\r
+perceptibly, "he'll be steady and saving; and you've got your mother's\r
+cleverness, and mine too, in a woman's sort of way; and you'll keep him\r
+in order. He'll be coming by-and-by, so I wanted to tell you first,\r
+because I think you'd like to tell _him_ by yourselves. After that, I\r
+could talk it well over with him, and we could go into business and the\r
+nature of things."\r
+\r
+"Oh, you dear good father!" cried Mary, putting her hands round her\r
+father's neck, while he bent his head placidly, willing to be caressed.\r
+"I wonder if any other girl thinks her father the best man in the\r
+world!"\r
+\r
+"Nonsense, child; you'll think your husband better."\r
+\r
+"Impossible," said Mary, relapsing into her usual tone; "husbands are\r
+an inferior class of men, who require keeping in order."\r
+\r
+When they were entering the house with Letty, who had run to join them,\r
+Mary saw Fred at the orchard-gate, and went to meet him.\r
+\r
+"What fine clothes you wear, you extravagant youth!" said Mary, as Fred\r
+stood still and raised his hat to her with playful formality. "You are\r
+not learning economy."\r
+\r
+"Now that is too bad, Mary," said Fred. "Just look at the edges of\r
+these coat-cuffs! It is only by dint of good brushing that I look\r
+respectable. I am saving up three suits--one for a wedding-suit."\r
+\r
+"How very droll you will look!--like a gentleman in an old\r
+fashion-book."\r
+\r
+"Oh no, they will keep two years."\r
+\r
+"Two years! be reasonable, Fred," said Mary, turning to walk. "Don't\r
+encourage flattering expectations."\r
+\r
+"Why not? One lives on them better than on unflattering ones. If we\r
+can't be married in two years, the truth will be quite bad enough when\r
+it comes."\r
+\r
+"I have heard a story of a young gentleman who once encouraged\r
+flattering expectations, and they did him harm."\r
+\r
+"Mary, if you've got something discouraging to tell me, I shall bolt; I\r
+shall go into the house to Mr. Garth. I am out of spirits. My father\r
+is so cut up--home is not like itself. I can't bear any more bad news."\r
+\r
+"Should you call it bad news to be told that you were to live at Stone\r
+Court, and manage the farm, and be remarkably prudent, and save money\r
+every year till all the stock and furniture were your own, and you were\r
+a distinguished agricultural character, as Mr. Borthrop Trumbull\r
+says--rather stout, I fear, and with the Greek and Latin sadly\r
+weather-worn?"\r
+\r
+"You don't mean anything except nonsense, Mary?" said Fred, coloring\r
+slightly nevertheless.\r
+\r
+"That is what my father has just told me of as what may happen, and he\r
+never talks nonsense," said Mary, looking up at Fred now, while he\r
+grasped her hand as they walked, till it rather hurt her; but she would\r
+not complain.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I could be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary, and we could be\r
+married directly."\r
+\r
+"Not so fast, sir; how do you know that I would not rather defer our\r
+marriage for some years? That would leave you time to misbehave, and\r
+then if I liked some one else better, I should have an excuse for\r
+jilting you."\r
+\r
+"Pray don't joke, Mary," said Fred, with strong feeling. "Tell me\r
+seriously that all this is true, and that you are happy because of\r
+it--because you love me best."\r
+\r
+"It is all true, Fred, and I am happy because of it--because I love you\r
+best," said Mary, in a tone of obedient recitation.\r
+\r
+They lingered on the door-step under the steep-roofed porch, and Fred\r
+almost in a whisper said--\r
+\r
+"When we were first engaged, with the umbrella-ring, Mary, you used\r
+to--"\r
+\r
+The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in Mary's eyes, but the\r
+fatal Ben came running to the door with Brownie yapping behind him,\r
+and, bouncing against them, said--\r
+\r
+"Fred and Mary! are you ever coming in?--or may I eat your cake?"\r
+\r
+\r
+FINALE.\r
+\r
+\r
+Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. Who can quit young\r
+lives after being long in company with them, and not desire to know\r
+what befell them in their after-years? For the fragment of a life,\r
+however typical, is not the sample of an even web: promises may not be\r
+kept, and an ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent powers\r
+may find their long-waited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand\r
+retrieval.\r
+\r
+Marriage, which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is still a\r
+great beginning, as it was to Adam and Eve, who kept their honeymoon in\r
+Eden, but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of\r
+the wilderness. It is still the beginning of the home epic--the\r
+gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which\r
+makes the advancing years a climax, and age the harvest of sweet\r
+memories in common.\r
+\r
+Some set out, like Crusaders of old, with a glorious equipment of hope\r
+and enthusiasm and get broken by the way, wanting patience with each\r
+other and the world.\r
+\r
+All who have cared for Fred Vincy and Mary Garth will like to know that\r
+these two made no such failure, but achieved a solid mutual happiness.\r
+Fred surprised his neighbors in various ways. He became rather\r
+distinguished in his side of the county as a theoretic and practical\r
+farmer, and produced a work on the "Cultivation of Green Crops and the\r
+Economy of Cattle-Feeding" which won him high congratulations at\r
+agricultural meetings. In Middlemarch admiration was more reserved:\r
+most persons there were inclined to believe that the merit of Fred's\r
+authorship was due to his wife, since they had never expected Fred\r
+Vincy to write on turnips and mangel-wurzel.\r
+\r
+But when Mary wrote a little book for her boys, called "Stories of\r
+Great Men, taken from Plutarch," and had it printed and published by\r
+Gripp & Co., Middlemarch, every one in the town was willing to give the\r
+credit of this work to Fred, observing that he had been to the\r
+University, "where the ancients were studied," and might have been a\r
+clergyman if he had chosen.\r
+\r
+In this way it was made clear that Middlemarch had never been deceived,\r
+and that there was no need to praise anybody for writing a book, since\r
+it was always done by somebody else.\r
+\r
+Moreover, Fred remained unswervingly steady. Some years after his\r
+marriage he told Mary that his happiness was half owing to Farebrother,\r
+who gave him a strong pull-up at the right moment. I cannot say that\r
+he was never again misled by his hopefulness: the yield of crops or the\r
+profits of a cattle sale usually fell below his estimate; and he was\r
+always prone to believe that he could make money by the purchase of a\r
+horse which turned out badly--though this, Mary observed, was of\r
+course the fault of the horse, not of Fred's judgment. He kept his\r
+love of horsemanship, but he rarely allowed himself a day's hunting;\r
+and when he did so, it was remarkable that he submitted to be laughed\r
+at for cowardliness at the fences, seeming to see Mary and the boys\r
+sitting on the five-barred gate, or showing their curly heads between\r
+hedge and ditch.\r
+\r
+There were three boys: Mary was not discontented that she brought forth\r
+men-children only; and when Fred wished to have a girl like her, she\r
+said, laughingly, "that would be too great a trial to your mother."\r
+Mrs. Vincy in her declining years, and in the diminished lustre of her\r
+housekeeping, was much comforted by her perception that two at least of\r
+Fred's boys were real Vincys, and did not "feature the Garths." But\r
+Mary secretly rejoiced that the youngest of the three was very much\r
+what her father must have been when he wore a round jacket, and showed\r
+a marvellous nicety of aim in playing at marbles, or in throwing stones\r
+to bring down the mellow pears.\r
+\r
+Ben and Letty Garth, who were uncle and aunt before they were well in\r
+their teens, disputed much as to whether nephews or nieces were more\r
+desirable; Ben contending that it was clear girls were good for less\r
+than boys, else they would not be always in petticoats, which showed\r
+how little they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who argued much from\r
+books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam\r
+and Eve alike--also it occurred to her that in the East the men too\r
+wore petticoats. But this latter argument, obscuring the majesty of\r
+the former, was one too many, for Ben answered contemptuously, "The\r
+more spooneys they!" and immediately appealed to his mother whether\r
+boys were not better than girls. Mrs. Garth pronounced that both were\r
+alike naughty, but that boys were undoubtedly stronger, could run\r
+faster, and throw with more precision to a greater distance. With this\r
+oracular sentence Ben was well satisfied, not minding the naughtiness;\r
+but Letty took it ill, her feeling of superiority being stronger than\r
+her muscles.\r
+\r
+Fred never became rich--his hopefulness had not led him to expect that;\r
+but he gradually saved enough to become owner of the stock and\r
+furniture at Stone Court, and the work which Mr. Garth put into his\r
+hands carried him in plenty through those "bad times" which are always\r
+present with farmers. Mary, in her matronly days, became as solid in\r
+figure as her mother; but, unlike her, gave the boys little formal\r
+teaching, so that Mrs. Garth was alarmed lest they should never be well\r
+grounded in grammar and geography. Nevertheless, they were found quite\r
+forward enough when they went to school; perhaps, because they had\r
+liked nothing so well as being with their mother. When Fred was riding\r
+home on winter evenings he had a pleasant vision beforehand of the\r
+bright hearth in the wainscoted parlor, and was sorry for other men who\r
+could not have Mary for their wife; especially for Mr. Farebrother.\r
+"He was ten times worthier of you than I was," Fred could now say to\r
+her, magnanimously. "To be sure he was," Mary answered; "and for that\r
+reason he could do better without me. But you--I shudder to think what\r
+you would have been--a curate in debt for horse-hire and cambric\r
+pocket-handkerchiefs!"\r
+\r
+On inquiry it might possibly be found that Fred and Mary still inhabit\r
+Stone Court--that the creeping plants still cast the foam of their\r
+blossoms over the fine stone-wall into the field where the walnut-trees\r
+stand in stately row--and that on sunny days the two lovers who were\r
+first engaged with the umbrella-ring may be seen in white-haired\r
+placidity at the open window from which Mary Garth, in the days of old\r
+Peter Featherstone, had often been ordered to look out for Mr. Lydgate.\r
+\r
+Lydgate's hair never became white. He died when he was only fifty,\r
+leaving his wife and children provided for by a heavy insurance on his\r
+life. He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to\r
+the season, between London and a Continental bathing-place; having\r
+written a treatise on Gout, a disease which has a good deal of wealth\r
+on its side. His skill was relied on by many paying patients, but he\r
+always regarded himself as a failure: he had not done what he once\r
+meant to do. His acquaintances thought him enviable to have so\r
+charming a wife, and nothing happened to shake their opinion. Rosamond\r
+never committed a second compromising indiscretion. She simply\r
+continued to be mild in her temper, inflexible in her judgment,\r
+disposed to admonish her husband, and able to frustrate him by\r
+stratagem. As the years went on he opposed her less and less, whence\r
+Rosamond concluded that he had learned the value of her opinion; on the\r
+other hand, she had a more thorough conviction of his talents now that\r
+he gained a good income, and instead of the threatened cage in Bride\r
+Street provided one all flowers and gilding, fit for the bird of\r
+paradise that she resembled. In brief, Lydgate was what is called a\r
+successful man. But he died prematurely of diphtheria, and Rosamond\r
+afterwards married an elderly and wealthy physician, who took kindly to\r
+her four children. She made a very pretty show with her daughters,\r
+driving out in her carriage, and often spoke of her happiness as "a\r
+reward"--she did not say for what, but probably she meant that it was a\r
+reward for her patience with Tertius, whose temper never became\r
+faultless, and to the last occasionally let slip a bitter speech which\r
+was more memorable than the signs he made of his repentance. He once\r
+called her his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said\r
+that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully on a murdered\r
+man's brains. Rosamond had a placid but strong answer to such\r
+speeches. Why then had he chosen her? It was a pity he had not had\r
+Mrs. Ladislaw, whom he was always praising and placing above her. And\r
+thus the conversation ended with the advantage on Rosamond's side. But\r
+it would be unjust not to tell, that she never uttered a word in\r
+depreciation of Dorothea, keeping in religious remembrance the\r
+generosity which had come to her aid in the sharpest crisis of her life.\r
+\r
+Dorothea herself had no dreams of being praised above other women,\r
+feeling that there was always something better which she might have\r
+done, if she had only been better and known better. Still, she never\r
+repented that she had given up position and fortune to marry Will\r
+Ladislaw, and he would have held it the greatest shame as well as\r
+sorrow to him if she had repented. They were bound to each other by a\r
+love stronger than any impulses which could have marred it. No life\r
+would have been possible to Dorothea which was not filled with emotion,\r
+and she had now a life filled also with a beneficent activity which she\r
+had not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for herself.\r
+Will became an ardent public man, working well in those times when\r
+reforms were begun with a young hopefulness of immediate good which has\r
+been much checked in our days, and getting at last returned to\r
+Parliament by a constituency who paid his expenses. Dorothea could\r
+have liked nothing better, since wrongs existed, than that her husband\r
+should be in the thick of a struggle against them, and that she should\r
+give him wifely help. Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so\r
+substantive and rare a creature should have been absorbed into the life\r
+of another, and be only known in a certain circle as a wife and mother.\r
+But no one stated exactly what else that was in her power she ought\r
+rather to have done--not even Sir James Chettam, who went no further\r
+than the negative prescription that she ought not to have married Will\r
+Ladislaw.\r
+\r
+But this opinion of his did not cause a lasting alienation; and the way\r
+in which the family was made whole again was characteristic of all\r
+concerned. Mr. Brooke could not resist the pleasure of corresponding\r
+with Will and Dorothea; and one morning when his pen had been\r
+remarkably fluent on the prospects of Municipal Reform, it ran off into\r
+an invitation to the Grange, which, once written, could not be done\r
+away with at less cost than the sacrifice (hardly to be conceived) of\r
+the whole valuable letter. During the months of this correspondence\r
+Mr. Brooke had continually, in his talk with Sir James Chettam, been\r
+presupposing or hinting that the intention of cutting off the entail\r
+was still maintained; and the day on which his pen gave the daring\r
+invitation, he went to Freshitt expressly to intimate that he had a\r
+stronger sense than ever of the reasons for taking that energetic step\r
+as a precaution against any mixture of low blood in the heir of the\r
+Brookes.\r
+\r
+But that morning something exciting had happened at the Hall. A letter\r
+had come to Celia which made her cry silently as she read it; and when\r
+Sir James, unused to see her in tears, asked anxiously what was the\r
+matter, she burst out in a wail such as he had never heard from her\r
+before.\r
+\r
+"Dorothea has a little boy. And you will not let me go and see her.\r
+And I am sure she wants to see me. And she will not know what to do\r
+with the baby--she will do wrong things with it. And they thought she\r
+would die. It is very dreadful! Suppose it had been me and little\r
+Arthur, and Dodo had been hindered from coming to see me! I wish you\r
+would be less unkind, James!"\r
+\r
+"Good heavens, Celia!" said Sir James, much wrought upon, "what do you\r
+wish? I will do anything you like. I will take you to town to-morrow\r
+if you wish it." And Celia did wish it.\r
+\r
+It was after this that Mr. Brooke came, and meeting the Baronet in the\r
+grounds, began to chat with him in ignorance of the news, which Sir\r
+James for some reason did not care to tell him immediately. But when\r
+the entail was touched on in the usual way, he said, "My dear sir, it\r
+is not for me to dictate to you, but for my part I would let that\r
+alone. I would let things remain as they are."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke felt so much surprised that he did not at once find out how\r
+much he was relieved by the sense that he was not expected to do\r
+anything in particular.\r
+\r
+Such being the bent of Celia's heart, it was inevitable that Sir James\r
+should consent to a reconciliation with Dorothea and her husband.\r
+Where women love each other, men learn to smother their mutual dislike.\r
+Sir James never liked Ladislaw, and Will always preferred to have Sir\r
+James's company mixed with another kind: they were on a footing of\r
+reciprocal tolerance which was made quite easy only when Dorothea and\r
+Celia were present.\r
+\r
+It became an understood thing that Mr. and Mrs. Ladislaw should pay at\r
+least two visits during the year to the Grange, and there came\r
+gradually a small row of cousins at Freshitt who enjoyed playing with\r
+the two cousins visiting Tipton as much as if the blood of these\r
+cousins had been less dubiously mixed.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brooke lived to a good old age, and his estate was inherited by\r
+Dorothea's son, who might have represented Middlemarch, but declined,\r
+thinking that his opinions had less chance of being stifled if he\r
+remained out of doors.\r
+\r
+Sir James never ceased to regard Dorothea's second marriage as a\r
+mistake; and indeed this remained the tradition concerning it in\r
+Middlemarch, where she was spoken of to a younger generation as a fine\r
+girl who married a sickly clergyman, old enough to be her father, and\r
+in little more than a year after his death gave up her estate to marry\r
+his cousin--young enough to have been his son, with no property, and\r
+not well-born. Those who had not seen anything of Dorothea usually\r
+observed that she could not have been "a nice woman," else she would\r
+not have married either the one or the other.\r
+\r
+Certainly those determining acts of her life were not ideally\r
+beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse\r
+struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which\r
+great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the\r
+aspect of illusion. For there is no creature whose inward being is so\r
+strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside it. A\r
+new Theresa will hardly have the opportunity of reforming a conventual\r
+life, any more than a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in\r
+daring all for the sake of a brother's burial: the medium in which\r
+their ardent deeds took shape is forever gone. But we insignificant\r
+people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many\r
+Dorotheas, some of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that\r
+of the Dorothea whose story we know.\r
+\r
+Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were\r
+not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus\r
+broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on\r
+the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was\r
+incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly\r
+dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you\r
+and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived\r
+faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.\r
projects / gender-roles-text-analysis.git / blobdiff